Dark Days

He walks during dark days. Upon glancing up, falls one feather. And then two. Six. Twenty. A hundred. These dark days are never ending. There is no sky as densely grey as the one above his head. Dead horses. Broken carriages. At the corner he turns. And there they are.

One day, the mad and the powerful meet. They both smile and share a laugh. A joyful, burdenless laugh. At exactly the same time, a man in exile is contemplating. What has he done wrong?

The woman in her sixties picks up a crying baby from inside a cardboard box. She smiles at him and gives him a gentle look. The baby stops crying. The woman then brings him home.

One card, a tap. The gate opens. She waits for the next arrival. Leaning on the dirty wall, she’s humming a folk song. Her home is not where she is going. Her home is too far away. Right now she’s just going to her shelter.

Some strange occurances have been taking place around the city of safety for the past few months. These occurances, some have reported, seem to be quite hostile. Three people were heavily affected by one incident that happened in an apartment where they live.

He keeps walking despite of what he’s seeing in front of him. A little boy, his body unmoving. He was pulled out of the rubble and is being carried by two men. An old woman in a distance is sobbing, her eyes deprived of light. All he can see is surrender. One photographer is taking pictures. She talks with a strong accent.

The strange occurances have stopped. Not because they want to, but because there is nothing left they can touch.

He looks up again. The falling feathers are gone. There is no sky as bright and soft as the one above him. The man in exile is now free. He left the world that has rejected him so many times. He left the world trying to fix itself, with the little help it has remaining. He left the world hanging.


Our Nation, Our History, Our Stories

We realize
that with our mouths sealed
eyes shut and no belief
we wouldn’t stand a chance
so we grew braver
whisper comfort to the frightened
hold the hands of those who are fallen
We are shaped by many stories
colored by pain and grief
but the universe sing to us
when we rise

This is a story of a young dreamer
a lost seeker
a curious believer
a mourning father
a lonely sister

from a dream
into a word
from the bottom of the pit
to the dome that shields a better world

the doctors
soldiers who weep
the builders
preachers who pray in tears
the writers
teachers who never sleep
the leaders
children who laugh lightly

With our weary feet
we create history
From the land of poverty
to the nation of prosperity

I write letters in black
Ink from my heart
I create stories that last
Forever in places dark
Losing my grip and slide down
Like a waterfall
Making my words said out loud
Like a lion’s roar

And you’ll finally glance at me
Just when I’m about to sing
My voice will not be shaking
The world will be the audience cheering

Rivers flow through the cracks in my heart
Volcanoes erupt whenever i’ve had enough
My hands are holding a dying bird
That will rise again as my thoughts are finally heard

I’ll free myself away
I’ll break the wall to embrace the day


I’ll run fast, as fast as the rotation of the world
Into the glimmering shining reflection of the sun
Making real of what once used to be dreams unheard
I’ll reach the places that I’ve always pictured in my thoughts

Everytime I go to bed
Before my eyes finally tire
I would shed tears just visioning the aurora above my head
Inside a warm hotel room in a land covered in snow and ice

Imagining myself being there
Imagining myself missing home
I could almost hear the cracking from the fireplace
And feel the cold when I open the window

Logically speaking that would be impossible
But I’ve heard stories of the impossible made possible
By another human being who was once lost just like me
I still shed tears just hearing about their journeys

He Who Hears the Past

Your lips are blue
The trees become silhouettes
Like giants devouring you
The road is narrow in this forest

From behind you hear whispers
Everywhere you go they follow
Your feet travel
But they cloud you like shadows

It’s a long road ahead of you
Your small body is growing fast
Your smile is supposed to grow too
But the ghosts make sure it doesn’t

Body of a twelve year old
Memories of an old soul

They tell you stories
Haunt you when you sleep
In every place you visit
You can hear their screams

This forest only has one road
And it sure is long
But for you, courageous boy
Their roads are yours
The things you know
You carry on your own