a restless mass of waters
although it is that marvelous lot of soil to him that matters,  
in all things liquid lies his familiar senses.
like the fluids of the body, like poetry, like a mother’s belly
i gradually see how his soul is trapped in the surrounding (western) coldness,
in pursuit of false saviors
and yet he has nothing to save himself from
for all that he does flows and glows and nuances  

let me tell you something,
all our saviors are mere illusions
(you, me, any company, however right or beautiful it may be)
all moving to a no land forward,
only to make sense of the fucking present moment
so come from the east and fuck the west up
create belongings in places you do not belong

it’s funny i find,
finding a sense of security in a cold land full of strangers
all who came together, pragmatically gathered,
to move somewhere, forward ?
and to meet hands to what one might wish to be
and the stranger is no longer
a stranger with a soul i buried mine under.  

believe it or not, nothing we did was wrong
only if you listen to time you’ll find some doubt
and if you take time out of any equation for as i know,  
that is when you reach what you have been looking
all along.

he is warm, he was warm, always have been and always will be
despite the weather, as you can imagine by now, is always cold,
our multiplicities kept us awake all night long
i am sorry boi for the sun is no longer a reminder
of childhood, of laughter, of your creations for ceaseless hours
but i hope with my eyes to sparkle, sparkle, and sparkle

he carries the sun and the restless waters within, i know
of the waves who all his life whispered to his ears, his heart, his soul
sacred people, sacred moments, sacred details
only to pass on his wisdom
to mere mortals,
to fellow earthlings,
and to star crossed lovers.

what remains is, a restless mass of waters