On Love

It is I who perceive it. And he who denies it. Is this yin and yang? I did not know that harmony was supposed to be hurtful. What I know is that he is beautiful.

He is a man on his own. Solitary and complete, seductive and untouchable.

I am ready to go home now.

The Cruelty of Songs

is sensed

only

in the nights

and afternoons

of February, sojourning.

The purest of songs

that beats like a heart

in meditation

does it most aptly.

Predictable, yet deceiving,

for they stab at moments

least guarded.

Their beauty

is the fiercest aspect

of all.

A Simple Request

Smear crushed cherries on my lips, my love.

The sweet sting, let me taste it and savor.

Let this be mine. Please.

--By Nelden Djakababa