Photo on 4-4-15 at 10.46 AM


One day I went hunting,

for something I couldn’t name.

I looked within the gardens

of palaces and dreams.


One day I went looking,

in places I shouldn’t go.

I looked within the catacombs

of empires and thrones.


One day I went searching

in villages and mosques.

I looked inside the hopelessness

of people who were lost.


Once I would go hunting,

inside people’s hearts.

I looked within their fears,

and studied all their faults.


One day I discovered,

like Franklin and his bulb,

that what I was hunting for

was deep within my soul.


April, 2015
Los Angeles, CA.

A-level grades_0

The Schoolroom 

We blame the plight of poverty

to build the bastion of mediocrity.

We take the broken wills of carelessness

and stamp it with Accomplishment.

Winners and losers there are no more,

there are simply beggars at the door.


Overachievers and do-gooders no longer

earn the accolades of effort

for gold stars and straight As are now

given to the lazy and the mediocre.


Watch our leviathan of education

reap the plenty of the next generation.

Stupid children feel stupid exaltation

and fall easy for stupider indoctrination.


Why work hard if we all can fail

and watch the teacher fill the pail

with extra credit and grade inflation

so that no child feels the sting of


March, 2015
New York, NY


Set aside the photo album

that love song of yesterday.

Put away your beating heart

and wipe your tears away.


Let the wistful smile pass

along your fading memory.

Clutch the future in your grasp

and let Amnesia set you free.


Graze the cheek of yesteryear

on lonely days and nights.

Stroke the heart of what was dear

under sweet moonlight.


Blush at youth’s naive forays

into wild, fresh woodlands.

Watch the recollections fray

into ancient, arid lands.


Love me tender, love me not

the answer’s not important.

For the one that you forgot

faces fiery torment.


Past has deserted thee

and rosy vision you now lack.

For Present has made you see

what you once couldn’t when you looked back.

March, 2015
New York, NY

Gypsy Heart  

Oh darling,

You’ve got fair skin

and a gypsy heart.


It flutters

on the wings of

airplanes in the sky.


Traversing battlegrounds,

and shopping malls,

and loving passerby.


Home to you

is an abstract thing,



once it feels caught,

slipping to another place

succumbing to the dark.

January, 2015
Los Angeles, CA


A deadly violence grows,

deep inside the soul,

tearing life asunder,

kicking in a hole

where a heartbeat used to tap,

quick, quick… then slow

January, 2015
New York, NY


Ever been to the wild lands,

those places in the dark,

where the gypsies roam,

and the drunkards cry

their love songs?


Ever been to the wild lands,

where angry ghosts screech,

vindications and declarations

to a homeland

that is no more?


Ever been a wild thing,

searching for a home,

lost within the shadows

of this earth’s

many folds?


Ever been a wild thing,

breaking from the mold,

tearing through the borders,

to which nativists

grip hold?

January, 2015
Brooklyn, NY

When Your Home Betrays You

When your home betrays you,

comes to get you in the silent night,

leaves you on the precipice

without a rescuer slow your flight,


pretending to have your back,

only to wait until you’ve turned around

to throw a Molotov cocktail in your path,

and not blink once at its deadly sound.


When your home betrays you,

flies your innocence in the face

of strangers looking to tear through

the walls you’ve built to guard your space,


taking your precious allegiance and

blindfolding it with ignorance,

assuming that you’ll take a stand

to defend defiant homeland.


When your home betrays you,

then parents become mere mortals,

and the soul that used to dance with the Gods

drinks with devils instead.

January, 2015
New York, NY


Lethal cynicism,

that deadly smoke,

clogging up the window

frames of our pleasant



Twisted lenses,

warped mental state,

trying to see through eyes

clouded with the heat

of angst.


How to see the budding

blossom or the rainbow

that cuts across the sky,

when all turns black once

it meets your eye?


Sucked into that enthralling

night, casting out the day’s

sweet light, a happy heart

bends to meet the



only to be spun away

like a blighted ricochet.

For black holes do suck

all that’s left of life, of love

and all the rest.

February, 2015
New York MTA, NY


Do you ever speak to shadows,

whisper sweet nothings to a memory?


Have you ever felt a phantom,

kissed the lips of a heady recollection?


Could you ever hug stupidity,

embrace the heartbeat of naiveté?


Would you ever dance with vanity,

curtsy and spin to the beat of Ego?


Everyone does it once.

January, 2015
New York, NY


Sometimes you’re addicted to a feeling,

frenzied for a shot of desperation,

making hurried calculations to taste

the juice of sweet libation.


Searching for the source of that next sorrow,

grasping for the straws of

devastating tomorrow.


Sometimes when you’re addicted to a feeling,

the neurons fail to grasp the beauty

in the life we know…


Instead hunting for the death

of tumultuous tomorrow.

November, 2015
London, UK


It is easier to watch him go,

then turn to the mirror

and mutter into darkness,

“See? I told you so.”

July, 2014
Columbus Circle, NY


Clean lines,

perfect squares,

the vanguard of modernity.



chugging things,

the principles of industry.


Bottled up,

neat boxes,

meet covert depravity.

January, 2015
Guggenheim Museum, NY


Metallic fear,

scours the tongue,

searching for a landing place.


Beasts of devils

roam the earth

looking for a land to maim.


How to bring a nation

to its knees,

to make great power groan?


Quivering lips speak

of ancient history,

the fire that brought down Rome.

February, 2015
New York, NY

An Impatient Wind

Time passes like an impatient wind,

And as it does, the memories wane,

Like the smoke of a shisha,

the scents hold strong but the vision

slowly disappears.


Torrential feelings, icy gusts,

cut through bone marrow and skin

leaving in its anxious haste a

hardened shell, frozen.


Time passes like an impatient wind,

And the figurines that used to

play in the mind’s eye so oft

trip and slip and slowly dissolve.

Features dissipate


 like formations made in the sand,

altered by the eager gale.

Cling to images as you might

but the forms escape.


Time is a capricious lover,

Flirting with the innocent with

pledges to stay forever

and heady incantations of

fantasies fulfilled.


Then, in the dead of night or in

subtle moments in between

time slips from beneath the sheets and

wrinkled are they left.



The image that was once the form

that you could just about touch

in silent moments in the dark

chases nimble time.


And then one day when you awake

and realize that it’s gone

you’ll spend your whole life searching for

what you can’t recall.



Keen to capture the scents and sounds

To trap Image in your mind

You sprint, too hasty through your life

And never beat time.

Tectonic Plates

How do you communicate

across the void?


How do you say ‘I love you’

from across the world?


How do you hold a hand

across the chasm?


How do you glue together,

a separation?


How do you begin to mend



And when tectonic plates shift,

slicing through the delicate

threads of desire and attachment,


How do you bring back two halves

that no longer fit?

December, 2014
Los Angeles, CA





no matter how hard you try,

the heart clings to a soul once touched

deliberately refusing to release.



no matter how hard the eyes

draw the mind to a handsome face,

the soul turns its back on a new beginning.


Most of the time,

the brain admonishes the heart,

hunting for the absent logic

of a Spring which continues to lay fallow.



people mistake forgiveness as

weakness and a battered organ

to be beyond reach, a hapless appendage.


But rarely,

Is it understood that if the

wave refused to return when the

sand sent it away then we would lack a seashore.

December, 2014
Los Angeles, CA


The subway car approaches, light

growing brighter in the tunnel.

Blackness is dismissed to unveil dirty,

industrial bars and the stench of Yankee waste.


Like dogs in a kennel, figures crowd doors,

man cuts off woman to ensure his

primary exit from the miserly tin can

of robotic figurines and unsettling silence.


Somewhere there is a bird singing over the

bodies of spirits taken for a nostalgic cause,

some mission of ghosts and violent desperation,

and the leader smiles from a distance


as small worlds crumple, bit by bit-

like ice caps do from gaseous fire.

As the melted drops turn to thunderous torrents,

so too will the world be engulfed by the


tsunami of yesterday- only uglier.

And the fat figures in the tin can won’t notice.

The only reality plays in earbuds. Mourning

sparrows are trumped by Beleibers.

 January, 2014
New York, NY


Shades of Rage

Molten alloy chars endless veins,

fire coursing along retinal arteries.

Trembling tendons burden cellulite and sinew.


The man by the bin hollers at me

“Hola negra- How you doin’ beautiful?”

A discarded Dunkin Donuts cup blows past my feet.


Intestines twist to choke the lungs,

grasping at the vital organs, severing existence.

The Will fighting for a say in the inferno.


Dewy vision, scalding cheeks

reflected in a subway car window.

“Dominicana?” she asks me.


“No” I say, “Mexicana.”

but I taste the lie on my swollen tongue

as memories I cannot remember complete my break with reality

January, 2014
New York, NY


The Liberated Polyglot

2 thoughts on “Midpoints

  1. Pingback: The Schoolroom | The Liberated Polyglot

  2. Pingback: Hunting | The Liberated Polyglot

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