1. 'cause happiness isn't all about smiles and laughter
    it sometimes holds tears and sorrow that come after
    it holds love and fear in a pillow
    it holds darkness under the light 
    and it’ll wait for you
    because you need the time to hold the sadness
    just a bit longer,
    just a bit tighter
    before you can let it go
    and
    it’s okay,
    If the night is never dark enough
    if the moon is never whole enough
    and you don’t need to make excuses
    to exist in your mind
    and it’s okay-
    if you don’t have words for politeness
    because of all the goodbyes
    you’ve had to say.

     

  2. the smell of sweet rice and jasmine garlands,
    fill my nose.
    A pin-wheel spinning in my right hand-
    the wind finds a narrow course
    through a crowd of sweaty worshippers.
    Faith smell like hard work.
    But,

    Hard work is not god’s work-
    I’m reminded, 
    as I see my mother

    kneeling behind chambers-
    repeat the names of thurga;
    lips move as tongues slice the wind
    to make way for all her incarnations.

     

  3. Therapy

                                                                    These dreams you have—

    My body is a picture frame- I think.
    My soul - my being, is moving
    within-

                                                                    like you were a painting?

    Starry night- maybe
    I see a million suns -all dying
    at a touch of my thoughts;
    there is no room to find meaning

                                                                    do you dream of autumn?

    I can see the trees praying
    to a helpless sun
    as the Earth takes control
    of its own death
                                                                    and love?

    in dreams- I see it clearly
    a predictable compulsion
    of perfect unity- and I see it
     when
    I awake- a sweat stain on my bed sheets

                                                                    and the future?

    it’s a strange feeling- 
    to see the night die;
    some feelings -depend on the shadows
    and some words
    are better off ‘till tomorrow.

     

  4. I bleed the right colour to be human,
    I’m told.
    Wear the wrong skin to feel pain,
    I’m reminded

     

  5. Jumbledrum

    Burnt toast
    Smells home
    Mumble, thunder
    Fumble, rain
    rooftops, sidewalks:
    Percussions
    Drip, tock, tick, drop,
    Tick, tock, drip, drop

     
  6. Departure: An experimental short film/music video, for The Weeknd’s “Loft Music” single.

     
     

  7. so looks like the French still make better films without even trying #tiff14

     

  8. Love is the presence of everything unknown. Yet, you know.

     

  9. This house is built on a home

    I dream about a house
    Filled with clutter;
    Dust on chairs, pieces of wood
    Knocking over my foot.
    I go there climbing up into its attic
    Often accompanied by old friends
    That I cut out of my life.
    I make small talks with them
    In an enjoyable way;
    Laughing aloud at their mundane
    Anecdotes.

    I’m searching
    for a wooden Buddha statue
    so I can give it to this person.
    They’re eager to get it from me
    Getting agitated as the time
    Flickers on.

    The other thing that adds to the
    Clutter of the house are
    these ghosts that come up to me
    asking for directions and whereabouts of
    People-
    People I have no idea of, people
    I’ve never heard of.
    and I’m constantly reminding these ghosts that they’re dead and they should go back

    The house has a soundtrack-
    It’s the sound of wood clacking
    Over boards, sometimes over knuckles
    Or some person’s bones.

    I’m still
    searching for this Buddha statue-
    amidst all this interruptions
    And among all the noise.
    Thoughts come to me-
    Why am I searching for something
    That I already gave away?

     

  10. The moon lay blistered
    I swing my arm to create wind
    Some thoughts come to me
    And others disconnect
    Who am I?
    A question not to be answered
    In sentences-
    I form flings with my being
    Equate noises with ecstasy
    Sometimes soft things aren’t
    Comforting
    I look for textures and rough edges
    Patches to be sewn
    The moon lay blistered
    Clouds scab the night in
    Faded highlights
    The soil has my soul
    I’ll join it in a lifetime
    However long that’ll be
    And that gives me time
    Perhaps it’ll be enough.