Sickly sizzling warmth 

Shivering-to-the-bone bizarre storms

So sick that the crops stop growing 

Life, the born-to-be-loved 

Life 

Stops 

Being

And become

Sickly seeking

To seek is the state of sicking

This endless seeking — 

There’s a sickness going around 

Smallpox, chickenpox, polio.

COVID. 

But not just those

Sickness going around 

Seekness 

Sicken the minds

Sicken the hearts

Sicken humanness

Here is it again 

Poverty. Inequality. Inadequate Access to Education.

NGOs. Money. 

People speaking.

Voicing. 

Shouting. 

Seeking — 

For solutions

The sickness is yet to be gone. 

The serpent rests

And tangles around the nerves

Grasps onto the core of the stem

Swiggles into the root 

Slowly releasing poison into the root

The seekness continues 

Nourished by the poison

Fed by all the sickness

A doctor comes 

Astonished by the weeds in the garden

Awed by the accelerating growth

And prescribes some pesticides to spray daily 

“Every morning at 6am, then again at 6 pm”

Though for the rest of the day,

The weeds are watered

Watered by the thorny thoughts

In the garden without roses 

One day 

A lotus grows from the weeds

From the mud 

Standing 

Remaining in their purest form 

The quiet lotus 

Slowly releasing gentle streams of 

Stillness 

Into the soil 

The stillness

yet to heal the sickness

But it blooms

Hope

The hope that sprouts

And can spread 

As powerful as the sickness

Still,

There’s a sickness going around

Day and Night 

when only the birds chirp

and

i feel safe in the nest

No Paranoia

No Fear

Only the still Courage

that ride the waves

and freedom

the tree dances

I am beginning to find my sacred, safe space.

Here.

no noises are heard.

when my brain stops over predicting

Things get hectic, but I learn to become.

lost by David Wagner is one of a kind of poem - it exists to inspire the meaning I aspire to be:

simple and authentic

The idea that here is a powerful stranger. Indeed I have yet to grasp fully the idea of here. Here is maintaining focus in what I am doing.

The chronicles of the modern world cease to be - cease to become - cease to foster the idea of here.

Everything becomes unknown in the wake of dawn, over-pouring of noises,

so does the idea of Here.

an empty circle

there seems to be nothing but emptiness

there are so many dancing

holding strength while filling the circle inside

but when I look outside,

I look inside

the face she made when she saw the sausage on the counter

when I suggested brunch-at-home menu: bread, scrambled eggs with sausage

she kindly rejected sausages - those veggies sausages that she was unfamiliar with

"you wouldn't know if you don't try"

I left to get the bread

when I came back, she picked up the glasses and was reading the labeling of the package.

She accepted the sausage on the menu.

Eventually, she ate the sausage, and shared with me that she's not a big fan of sausages anyways.

He got this sausage bun from the bakery on Stockton. It became one of his favorite bakeries, and his favorite sausage bun.

He asked me to help him get the bun. There wasn't any sausage buns left. Those were super subordinary buns.

I have always seen the bun in different bakeries growing up. Never been a big fan of sausages.

Later he shared with a friend that the bun tastes like old school lunches. To him, it's the taste of home.

Their voices are gifts of heaven

Happiness is pizza and sausages

My heart fills with joy

Still not a big fan of sausages

But now sausage

carry lessons of open-mindedness, compassion, and memories of joy

slave of beliefs

fragile, defeated, and powerless

crumbled and crunched into the corner

The goddess shakes her head

Even the child trembles out of fear

The mother cries

altruism blinded her

she surrenders with the greatest unspeakable and in-shareable pain

she looks to the mirror

everyone stands behind her

the goddess, mother, and child come to embrace her

she molds into their presence

a radiant energy flows through her

she untangles herself and breaks the cage

the wind of beliefs come again

trying to sweep her

but she is rooted in courageous courtesy

to bless and shower herself with the greatest love

the past and future

strangled

bleed into the present

where flowers bloom

the birds chirp

the fan churning

the feet grounded

the canvas we paint

start intertwining into

Multifaceted dimensions

I cease to feel

to see

what is right here.

petal

raindrop

raindrop

raindrop

petal

petal

petal

petal

petal

raindrop

raindrop

raindrop

petal

raindrop

petal

petal

raindrop

raindrop

raindrop

petal

raindrop

raindrop

raindrop

raindrop

raindrop

water and flowers are different beings

one liquid, the other solid

one flows away, the other decomposes

one colorless, the other the gentle romantic pink

yet they fall

intertwine

dance

and

harmonize together

in the right time

at the right place

The wind spurs by the hair strings

they go

They come in great force, winging my body

in my heart

leave traces of frigidness

melodies of excitement

songs of livelihood

harmonies of restlessness

the birds choir started

rhythm of time

invisibly impactful

leaving traces

kisses on the skins

prints on the hearts

moving dynamic souls

compose ungraspable textures

hearing the wind singing with the birds

when the water rolls over the rock

when the rock gently stands still

movement

stillness

seekingrealanswertotheabstractquestionsaresohard

inexpressiblesolitude

whyisthisgettingtome

whyamistillyetdriftingallthetime

whatisthisfeelingthatihave

itreallygetssohardwhenistaystatuaryandstationary

that keep me awake

fluid

resilient

empowered

I forget when I stop being like water and the wind

the seaweed remains tangled

like thoughts

blank canvas with endless possibilities

they say it wipes it all

yet

carbon

the nano and the macro macro

all encompass the magic of color of black

exfinity

infinity

unknowns

uncertainties

fear me

not

the

urban jungle

steps

eye contacts

become

interactions

feel

lost

in

I

head

in

cloud

yet

the

physical

experience

make

me feel

stuck

in between

are

we

all

an

illusion

Is everyone

putting

on

this

facade

Chaos. 

a thin door with two thin panels of glass, painted in my favorite color teal blue. 

Peace. 

fresh cilantro, housemade mushroom sauce, jalapeños

Freshly baked Bánh mì

Freshly baked Bánh mì

Chaos. 

a thin door with two thin panels of glass, painted in my favorite color teal blue. 

Peace. 

I saw him sitting down after the walk

in unspeakable pain

his voice rings over my head

When there's so much pain in the world

especially those who sacrifice their lives for us

our pain seem so small

SO small

Yet we have this internal greed

that kills our compassion for people

people become the victim of such

endless killing ------

endless wanting

Can i still call them feelings

in my thoughts

here

there

now

where

nowhere

fear

tingles

when I get stuck

and stop feeling

the freckles

of my soul

so small

yet

BOASTING FOR BIGNESS

stare out the sun

shook

sinking

into

ongoing

thoughts

threads

don't

stop

deepened into

our

innately

lonely

existence.

the most beautiful place on earth

is

peace with myself.

bouncing

am I floating

light oxygen and nitrogen

I can't seem to reach the ground

now

Atoms in the universe

uniformly existing

Such disruptive force

de-equalizing

missing

forming solo winds striking to reach the star

the harmonious cherishing

in Georgia, the country,

the rock becomes the well

how little we know about the world

the paper covers the well

the scissor fall into the well

oh well,

paper

scissors

between compacted spaces and faces,

between beginnings and endings,

between assurance and doubts,

time becomes more abstract

and I hold onto

the comfortable piece of

self

they come and go

the sun-kissed skin sings

memories of the past

imaginary stories

passing the present

🌊

waves, craves, and faves

🌊

There's something about feeling and touching the ground that makes it incredibly human.

systems within systems

roots cry to one another, forming a complex infrastructure, that we step upon

yet crying castles, show the way out.

they stem from such reliability.

yet we look down upon the system that supports us.

mud = dirty

yet we not used to seek answers to questions

that we know it all

sounds of inner voices

the invisible suffocation

mud = connectivity

embracing uncertainty

we don't know it all.

sweat exposed

She wore a long sleeve shirt and cargo pants, the same outfit she wore during the breezy spring

wetness

restlessness

thirst

I asked if she was too hot

she told me that if the sweat sticks to her shirt, when the sweat evaporates, she feels cooler

perhaps, fluctuations, might just be mostly changes in our limited perceptions