The earth shakes, mimicking my weary bones,
And the ground is wet with tears left behind.
The cage of whiteness, locked tightly inside,
Upholds the heavy weight of every day's design.
Secrets and memories are ghosts we keep,
Bound tightly within the walls of the chest—
Forgiven, forgotten, or just cast aside,
The architecture of a heart aching for rest.
My steps falter on the unpaved ground,
Stumbling under the weight of a calcified spine.
Yet all this physical aching scarcely compares
To the quiet, structural cage of skeletal frame—
That has, until today,
Only answered to the marrow of your name.
Forgive me, but I have wanted to be a quiet ruin
not the kind you sweep away,
but the kind that makes you pause at the doorway,
hands heavy, wondering where the light went.
I know the cost of such a prayer.
To be missed like a lost limb
is to ask someone else to walk with a limp.
It is a humiliating thing, this hunger:
wishing a cold, immovable stone onto a chest I love,
just to know I was heavy enough to feel.
And oh, I burn with the shame of it.
The secret, selfish urge to linger
to sit like salt in the back of their throat
when they try to name something sweet.
I want them to reach for me against all reason,
to fight the slow, merciful erosion of time,
and to fear, even for a moment,
that they will never again be who they were
when my hands were still holding theirs.
It is a terrible grace to ask for:
to want your name to sit on a tongue
like an open wound that refuses to close.
Call it a sin, if you must.
I know the grief I am asking them to bear.
I only know that just once, before the noise stops,
before the dust claims my name,
I want to have mattered so completely
that forgetting me feels like pulling thread from skin.
It's quite obvious now:
"The they" are preparing for life deep underground.
Placing final ribbons around subterranean cities.
Stockpiling sustenance
Water being siphoned to top off cisterns and privies.
The Amazon, Tigris, and Euphrates.
Superior, Michigan, and Erie are all being drained.
The surface people will be left scrambling for crumbs
in the phlegm of nuclear holocaust.
They'll devolve into hunter-gatherer clans.
To become a twisted reality show for subterraneans.
"The They" who trafficked us and ate our babies
will make a game of it, placing bets at our expense...
on who will perish -who'll be left.
Then, when the earth is somewhat cleansed.
"The They" will emerge to barter with metal from our teeth
pin our cross/bones to their puffy pigeon chests
The rest will serve as sex slaves, servants, and jesters
in the post-apocalyptic bed, "the they" have knowingly made.
This poem is written in the Parallegram de Crystalline form:
cedar breath
rising like spirit-wind
wakens names sleeping beneath the grain
softly-latched
quiet as moon-shadow
closing veil between now and before
amber glow
floating like olden prayers
circling the chest in a soft halo
memories
wait in antiquity
ancestral murmurs drift through soft light
Great Achievements: Minor
Unique Experiences: Modest
Possessions gained: Minuscule
Places Travelled: Few
People met: Many
The people I've met
From north, east, south, and west
Are most precious and priceless.
They are sealed in my treasure chest.
They are the jewels that I treasure most.
We may choose our friends
even pick our pals
tho' it won't make no never mind
if they're guys or gals
but just to get it off my chest
while keeping you abreast
and not go bust or waters muddy
for me Dolly Parton would have been
my best bosom buddy
autumn
autumn leaves drift slow
crimson carpets quiet paths
wind whispers old goodbyes
in my chest — a quiet ache
Seasons changed,
Tears, they rained.
Hibernation to flourishing, it's time.
Inevitable light,
Tunnel finishes, again.
Clearing on the other side.
Ending felt like never,
Confused to comprehend,
Blessings here and unexpected.
Home inside,
Location range wide,
Travelling and reflecting.
Structure breaking,
Routines shaking,
Evolution at its best.
Changes confronting,
Spirit is lusting,
To heal this wound in my chest.
7:58pm 19/1/26
"My soul is the peaceful spiritual gem inside me, needing peace from time to time from this crazy world." By Poet
My soul is the peaceful spiritual gem inside me,
lack of peace comes sounding like a huge buzzing bee.
These rumbling sounds makes my body want to flee,
flee to a peaceful life and not for all the glee.
I know when my soul is in need of rest,
as I put it gently back into my chest.
This crazy world has me all stressed,
now my soul needs to pass the peace test.
Even when body and soul are dressed,
quietness and prayer will fill me with new zest.
Family Visit
Highway destination
Christmas presentation
Roll out smile
Reflecting back while
Baltimore being my arrival
Thinking on a Christmas novel
Connection in togetherness
Christmas Day almost upon
Snow falls starting the holiday right
Momentum spirit
Inspirating merit
Journey on Journey on
Christmas has officially begun
Embracing love among
Merry Christmas in the Greyhound way
Peace, Joy and Blessings every step of the getaway
Happy Prosperous New Year 2026
Through the mind and enter the heart
Love surrounds and spread it in warmth
The friendly Greyhound Driver with handshake extended
Go Greyhound and let memories carry their own holiday stories for many years to come.
The King’s chest of treasure lay bare
Devasted by the cruel jealousies
Of the madness of commoner’s warfare
For dominance in power heresies.
But, finally God’s glory was restored
And all the former graces and strength came in
On fluttering wings the Holy Ghost bestowed
The wealth and riches of heaven carried back within
In an afternoon of providence’s reconstruction
In the perfumed mist of apple blossoms
And Italian boxwood topiary structures.
The angels were its witness with tearing eyes
They started singing Glorias and Hallelujahs
can i please you?
my heart yearns to be chosen,
to be your sense of direction on the path you choose to walk.
is it selfish of me to want to have your pride
without asking for it?
do i have to be selfish
in order to have love?
open your heart to me
i feel the love i’ve been searching for
in your chest.
why can’t you give it to me?
i promise that i’ll give you the same,
your words aren’t what i want
they won’t be enough,
i am much too selfish to be satisfied.
i need to read between the lines
what you give me will never be enough,
i always resort to stealing from those i love.
do you still love me?
my ears can hear the cries of your past
i am much too selfish
i want to know more than you.
i see the roots under your dirt
the truth i have made from your past that is real,
will you still love me
when my truth becomes too truthful?
when my heart beats, yours should too.
i have told you my selfish ways,
as i become one with you.
your heart is mine
your words aren’t what i need any longer
i already feel you in my chest.
do you still love me?
your heart has corrupted mine,
do you love me enough
to help to draw the line?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cedar fragrance floats softly in the air
like old ghosts awakening after sleep.
Inside, yellowed envelopes carry
the silent burden of hands
that never delivered their confessions.
A brittle map traces borders
that dissolved with the century's breath.
In the probing moonlight,
tarnished brass hinges moan.
Beneath folded sweaters,
apologies fossilize,
and grief settles like dust
on unworn wedding lace.
A sapphire brooch recalls
the heartbeat under a collarbone
where it pinned courage tight
until surrendering.
Trapped light holds
what daylight wouldn't understand.
Within attic walls
the lid groans echoing
how memory bends
under its own weight.
Secrets don't suffocate here~
they become the wood's grain.
Beautiful chest of prophets is you dear messenger
Full moon at the closest sky is you dear messenger
Mirror of The Merciful, pure light of The Purest
Secret of seven coupled Opening is you dear messenger
Your light is bright candle, universes are to you dependent
Owner of sky ascension's crown is you dear messenger
Opener of the way of testament, founder of secret of prayer
Hope of Hudayi at the judgement day is you dear messenger
Allah oh Allah There is no god but Allah
Allah oh Allah Muhammed is messenger of Allah
Written By Aziz Mahmud Hudayi
Translation Onur Ünlü
I've been browbeaten
by better than you
and turning a deaf ear
ignored them too
then again
it's easier for some
to follow the herd
than think for themselves
and take my word
standing on the shoulders
of giants is not the way
especially if they
have feet of clay
and as to date
I don't know
a song by someone else
I can chase or pursue
there's only
one right thing to do
allow me please
to get it off my chest
in simple terms
may I suggest...
you won't step out of line
(it's true for all not just some)
when marching to the beat
of your own drum
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