The original alphabets


46

We are pollen, all we do follows
the flight of flowers of the rock
facing the ancient green sea
our culture remains distributed

a glowing meme of what we loved
and how others perceived us
glowing with our brief life-purpose
flowers of the rock, figures drawn
by some divine hand for a mortal hour

We are pollen, all we do follows
the sun above pine-trees, planets silenced
after centuries of greed, life is all the same
we cannot assume flowers and organisms
on other worlds behave so differently

We are pollen, the flying meaning of youth
hunting for the adaptation that is legitimate
that will learn to survive on some secret seashore
Greece is dying, once a birthplace of renaissance
Spain is haunted, once fountain-ground for colonization

We are pollen, all we do follows
footsteps of our thirst at noon
the water of our being circulated
for writing vanished, cities under layers
desires and passions as legitimate as yours

we lived our lives mistaken, in error
so we changed our life or became extinct.
we wrote humanity’s name in the sea-breeze
but the sea-breeze knew we would not live forever.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/The-setting-sun-from-the-Tokyo-sky-tree-404168103

Portrait of the Void


These hours are not pregnant
Maybe in reversed tempo
I must be broken to love again
I wake up to the smell of pine needles
The hours of my humanity were edited
Performed memory autopsy
By the impotence of our toppled world
Yesterday or today or tomorrow
Blend into one, like a reconstructed
Holographic life, a quantum signature
With the breath of a fairy
Erected from lost discipline, cheated disciplines
These hours are like a miscarriage
Of all the love we stored in each other
Moments as brutal as magnetic suns
Whose ballet of light is unrelentless.