November rain.

My candles are still unlit
sitting in the windowsill
a summer gone by
half a life gone by
reckless smiles painted on the walls
of every room in this room
and your hair is still on my floor
your hand still on my door
pulling it closed behind your tiny frame
hiding a world of heartbreak
obstructed from view
all I see is you


Infinity cheeze.

There’s no shape,
no color, no texture,
to describe infinity.
There’s no warmth
or cold. No end and
no beginning. Even
ideas of time running
out run aground in
the face of infinity.
There’s no telling
what infinity is like
and what it is un-
like. There’s no
telling how it came
into existence. Yet
I never doubt,
staring infinity
right into the eyes,
when I catch you
looking back.

Even lines break unevenly.

Searching a soul is no easy feat
and besides, I’m altogether too
hot in all these clothes, these
shirts and pants, and pants and
shirts are overheating body,
mind and beyond so it all eva-
porates, turns into air or some-
thing less dense, less visible to
the naked eye, stripped off what-
ever clothes it was once wrap-
ped in. And I’m trying to keep a
straight line, but the line breaks
unevenly even when I try my
best. Often the best we’ve got is
not good enough for what we
strive to do. Striving: a human
endeavour to which outlook is

Jean Labyrinthine.

The world is spinning round

It’s been spinning for quite some time

But I’ve only just felt it now

How my feet were unsteady and

My head all dizzy

And everything was a blur

And all I saw was her

Sharp eyes through a screen

Windows to a mind labyrinthine

Always her thoughts unseen

Boy doing dishes.

Silence. Dimly lit room and
silence. Boy is standing

there in silence. In Boy’s
own part of the world.

When you move in close,
you realize Boy’s insistent

scrubbing the dishes. Slow
and meticulous. Boy does not

leave leftovers to rot. Boy
makes sure there is nothing

left unscrubbed. Most of the
light is cleanliness reflecting

Boy’s handiwork to the room.
If only the world could be kept

this clean, is what Boy would
think. But thoughts have a weight

and a humming about them. There
is only silence in this room. No

thoughts to weigh down on Boy.
There is only water and soap and

instruments. And Boy to create
symphony in silence.