Please reply

DSCF0112I never used the phrase, “Please reply”

It sounds too bossy, demanding, improper, impolite

Please reply once you get this message
Please reply as soon as possible

For every request, for every note, for every missed call
there’s a sense of urgency
that even if the chances are slim
you want a reply
even if a reply means closure
even if a reply means death
even if a reply means “no more”

When you slip a message in the bottle and send it to the sea
you still want a reply

When you write to a rock star
and say ” I’m your greatest fan”
There’s this parenthesis of please reply

Of course we look forward for a reply of victory
reply from the stars
sweet replies
like when the shore finally meets the coastline

Sometimes when I end my prayer
I have that tiny voice inside saying, “Lord please reply”

I wish no one invented the word “reply”
It drives expectation to waste
and you never seem to understand why your phone gives you an option to reply
when the messages you sent never received replies

When you check your mail box and no new mails
spam mails are so thoughtful
but they are never replies

I am obsessed with replies more than I am obsessed with ambitions
reply is so synonymous with waiting
It is the stamina of hope
and measurement of faith

When you say “You don’t have to reply”
you mean I prefer a reply

When you say “I love you”
there’s always a parenthesis of please reply

Even if you are not asking or inviting
you want a reply
reply is efficient
reply is sufficient

Replies are better than silent smiles, qualifiers, intensifiers
Replies save time, kill wishful thinking

Sometimes replies fall like rain
You never know when rain will pour


magicI experience magic a thousand times
when I  close my eyes and
let myself fall into a deep sleep
I find myself trapped in a music of sirens
when every chord hits me
pulls me to another land
brings me memories I have auctioned
to the stars
when the violin strings are veins
inside of me
I use my keyboard
like piano keys
I type letters like
rhythm flowing in my fingers
I have a disco ball inside my ear
and I turn it on when the possible sound outside
is the humming of the air-conditioner
when window blinds blocked not only sun rays
but air waves

I experience magic a thousand times
when I watch a film and let the screen capture me
when I embrace the man with open wounds
after a gunshot, after saving his wife, after saving the world
I laugh as I see a snowman longing for summer
a sister, a friend, a lost girl finding her way to New York
I am one of them
And when the movie ends
maybe with a castle or an open sky
I cry and sigh, “It could have been my life.”

I sing ”Got to believe in magic”
I believe there is magic in love
It is beautiful as it unfolds before you
You believe it is real.
It happened
but you know it was a trick

I experience magic a thousand times
not in carnivals, clowns,or Ferris wheel
When a music fades and the clock ticks for work
I know fairy tales expire too
When a movie ends and there is no Part Two
I know it happened within an hour of lenses
And I know there is a camera trick and a script
to make me believe it was my life
The trick of magic or the trick of the trick
is to believe on it
to never let go of the thought
to let butterflies live in your brain
to find yourself in fictional characters
to believe in a future you created
Magic does not deceive
You choose to believe

Happiness is fleeting
Happiness is make-believe


Edmond, when the water swallowed the earth, you were there
You swam when the water was chasing your death
The wind pulled trees like strands of thick hair
The cars were flying.. the trees were swaying
No lock could stop for a thief like this
whose hands were huge enough to push walls
to steal lives, to take everything, to toss trucks like small pieces
to slice trunks, to slice bodies, to open homes, to kill infants
You tried to hide your children and wife from a foe never known
They were safe. You thought so…
Then you heard cries from your neighbors drowning screaming for help
The storm might have taken your sight but it never let your ears fall deaf.
You went out and made yourself a prey to the sea
You gave them second life but the sea did not give up on you
You came back to the place you kept your family
You saw your children, saw them with so much love
they replied you innocence because there, you could not find–
your wife

She was nowhere
The wind could have hit her very hard with a roof, with fragments
of things we never thought would be known for their parts but by the piece
they built
The water could have pushed her down and she sank with mud and debris
or the water could have brought her back to the sea
“Where is she?”
“Where else can I find her?”
You asked these questions a thousand times.
Maybe she fled to another island
Maybe she lost her mind, lost her way back
You were searching on coastlines that were far from home.
You smelled stench of death like a woman’s aroma
Finding her in black body bags, unmasking bloated faces
But none resembled her. No corpse would ever look like her.
You saw your children, saw them with so much pain
that you did not return home with their mother
Tears would fall and hoped tears would travel from your face to the sea
and maybe water would reach her
You punished yourself for saving others
when your wife was the sacrifice for the lives of others.

edmondMaybe she is there
but not a woman whose eyes smile
when you tell her you love her
she may not have arms to wrap you.
Or she may not have a hand to hold a ladle
Maybe she is the first green leaf that grew after typhoon
Maybe she is the rainfall crying with you
Maybe she is the cold wind surrounding you at night
when all your thoughts dwell on her
Maybe she is the rainbow
that you try to seek its end but you cannot find.
Maybe she is not underneath a ship
but she lies beneath the skies
Maybe she is the firework
what ashes made her
Maybe she never left you.
You never left her.

Maybe she lives with you

You choose to let her live

What is in a heart? is in a heart?
That poets use “heart” all the time
in metaphors, songs and rhymes.

What is a heart?

Yes, I know why it is love
For a curve is a line
that gives delight
how much more if two curves
meet at two points
that resemble pouting lips
waiting to be kissed

What is a heart?
What does it mean?
For when you give your heart again and again,
How many hearts do you have?

And when you ask your friend what to do
He will say: “ Follow your heart”
But when you read another book
It will say: “Use you head not your heart”

But if you study and understand
There is no battle between heart and mind
for when you giggle, lost in someone’s eyes
it’s the hypoth’lamus, not the heart

What is a heart?
What is in it?
It can look like an apple
Red and attractive
It can look like a mango
for whoever eats the fruit,
identifies it
So when I say “heart”
it is not what you know
for when I tell you, “Go
and follow you heart”
Do not believe me
because my heart is not
shaped like yours

If a heart speaks of feelings
synonyms of passion or fiction
Then it must be right to say
I follow my heart
For emotions give meaning
Life without meaning
is not a life worth living

Hence, I am not brainless
when I follow my heart
For I dance with the beat of life
when it’s strong,
it’s something
when it’s weak
it’s nothing

So what is a heart then?
A shape representing fondness?
Two lines with twice delight?

A beat, an impulse
It is not
For when I say, “ I love you with all my heart”
Trust me, my brain is working
It is not a play of words
or a trick of neurons
For when I speak of “heart”
I speak of unknown wisdom
For the heart has reasons
Too many reasons
like why I ask
why we love “heart?”
and not just any other part

Split Second

What do you remember?

If my name pops in your head
What do you remember?

Is it my silly laugh
When I told you ‘I’m fat’?

Is it my face that glitters
When you offer me sweets

Is it my voice
And at some point my noise?

Is it the way I cried
and the way I tried it to hide

Will you smile
when you remember?
Will you sigh
if you remember?

And if nothing comes out
nothing is remembered
Then what am I?
A split second memory.

I wrote a lot of love letters

I wrote a lot of love letters
Some with coffee stain
Some were insane
Some handwritten
Some heart-written

I wrote a lot of love letters
Borrowed lines from poets
Condensed into a novel
Closed them with “Hugs and kisses”
Sealed them with lipstick

I wrote a lot of love letters
I pricked my finger
Signed them with blood
Perhaps pain might seduce
As vampire’s thirst for blood

I wrote a lot of love letters,
Sprinkled with perfume
Folded with my lightest touch
Caressed all pages
From a lover with no match

I wrote a lot of love letters
I stabbed one by one with pen
I burnt them with tears
I threw them in air
But found them again

I wrote a lot of love letters
But none came out
None had address
None had sense


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