He entered that desired chamber of old sculptures

Ancient paintings holding mysterious stories

It gave him a rush, a natural adrenaline injection

To feast his eyes on the historical beauties

that have been preserved through time
that hold a certain connection between their creator
and the viewer
Fucking hell, what a link!

He marveled at each painting
trying to fabricate a story for each one
satisfying his own little fantasy
in his mind

He paused at each one
he looked at the voluptuous women
he squinted to see their eyes, where they were looking
“was she the artist’s lover?”
“look at how detailed her features are?”
“was it due to countless hours of love making
pondering, that the artist has beautifully portrayed it as such?”
“was she his fantasy, a lover that he never found, but would have loved to create?”

He glided on that smooth floor,
time travelling from one era to the other
from one painting to another sculpture
He has found his haven, he felt liberated
from that social strains that have killed
every sense of creativity he had left

but hey!! He has found the flame
that sparked the powder line, leading to his brain
exploding with hibernating thoughts, stories
ideas that he has never had the chance to discover, to awaken
FUCK never had the chance to even share

What a deadly thing, this society!

As he was sewing his own story of each art piece
he saw her
standing there, engulfed by Van Gough’s starry night (image 1)
She was part of it, camouflaged by the swirly brush strokes
She was the night, beautiful serene, and yet so mysterious

As she moved to the next art piece,
his vision followed her, her motion created music
BUT WAIT.. she’s changing she’s no longer dark colored
with brush strokes
Her hue is altering, her serenity is fading
Her scent even changed, he could smell the humid salty
beach, she stood in front of the “Great wave off Kanagawa(image 2)

She is now in that wave, curving with energy
dancing with the wind, crashing with gravity

He sensed her wild side, he could imagine her
waking up from that starry slumber and dancing
into nature’s most vicious yet gorgeous features
she is the sea…

After she soaked in that masterpiece
she took moved to the next with his vision attached
to her presence, he doesn’t know her
but this attraction.. that my dear friends
is a true form of art that no brush can recreate

Moving from that untamed wave
she kissed the shores of the next sculpture
Auguste Rodin’s “the kiss”  (image 3)
he felt the flaming aura
radiate from her to the statue, all the way to him

Her blue colors, morphed to the only imaginable
colors of passion in that statue, she’s wild, oh he saw it
and he saw how she has changed from that spontaneous
natural state to love, loving that statue, living the love
seeing the love and of course FEELING IT

His heart is beating, he felt that nostalgic feeling
of actually finding her, it is her
the setting was perfect, she’s a beautiful masterpiece
changing from one painting to the other
and he found himself, sewing her presence
into his own fabricated artistic fantasy

He walked towards her,
heart beating
adrenaline infused
realizing that this isn’t his fantasy
it’s reality
but as got closer
he lost her
in the chaos of Pablo Picasso’s “Guernica” (image 4)
he lost her in the dull colors
of instability
“she dove back into the turmoil within,” he thought
He went to the painting,
he wanted to find her pull her out
and place her
with him in Gustav’s Klimt’s “the kiss” (image 5)
a colorful masterpiece
where he found his lips on hers

Yet he wondered
what artful piece would she be
if she were
to be
a compilation of all the classics?

(Starry Night) 

(image 2)

the great wave

(image 3)


(image 4)


(image 5)

the flowery kiss



I see her from time to time
walking on those streets
either morning or night

We live in the same vicinity
So visual bumping is bound to occur
She’s covered in colors
a reflection of her thoughts or
a result of a hungover morning?
I wonder

I have walked back and forth
with the mornings and sunsets
I have replayed the same songs in my head
I have counted my steps
and yes I have seen her 
from the corner of my eye
the jumble of colors 
walking to the rhythms of the beats
in my ears
She smiles, I am curious and 
clueless as to the reason 
but it suits her

Mornings and sunsets,

Suddenly you find yourself
having drinks during the week
with your comfort group

the table was covered
with filled ashtrays. colorful
drinks, to each his own 

I was there, with my drink in front of me
I saw her come in, making her way

She had her own group
But I as intoxicated as I was
I let down my guard 
to my thoughts that is
I unchained them, 
and let them loose
since my body was catatonic

However at the end
I abdicated to my mind,
I gathered my limbs and walked towards her

She looked messy but it’s beautiful
she portrayed a mosaic of pulchritude
different pieces of different colors

“I see you pass by everyday
She giggled, “you do?” As she took a drag
from her cigarette
I felt she was examining me
Her eyes scanned my face,
stripped me to the bone
but the beauty of it is that she did it
so innocently

She raped me innocently
Fuck who can say that!

Then I found myself at a loss for words
Her vision scan has erased my vocabulary
my mental capacity to engage in small talk
“wtf is small talk anyways”
As I tried to articulate something worthwhile
to give value to my presence next to her
I found myself frozen

“What do you do?”
I used those four words as an excuse
for her to look at me and talk,
giving me the chance to feast
my eyes at her, I do know her

Her hand gestures
her giggles
Her candy wrapping truly does hide
a lot,
hard candy with a soft chewy core
I just figured
that this confident person
with no care in the world
shields herself from the bullshit
She has fortified her being
by ingesting every bullshit factor
and morphing it into something beautiful
no matter what

Every time she took a drag from her cigarette
Her eyes would divert from me and into the crowd
She would just look at them
I could see the gears in her head twisting
I could see what her eyes were doing
she didn’t say much, she listened
but she also listened with her eyes
she watched every woman and every man
It gave a her rush, they seemed to be the strings
to which she would weave stories about
they seemed to be characters and her joy
was to read, strip, create, generate, replace,

I could see that,
As she exhaled her smoke
She smirked
For smiling to her
was too precious to give away
so easily she diverted her

minute attention to me
She grabbed my hand
got closer to me
My heart…

Got closer to my ear
she whispered

“I see you too”

Those 4 words sent
ripples of
it’s like I’ve been stripped
of the last tiny bit
of sober confidence I had

I have
and infected
with her colors

flower boy

She passed me

She passed me, her perfume slowly hazed its way through my nostrils
Up to my mind
It flirted with my thoughts, my innocent ones hid in shyness
My other ones, walked up to that aroma and tango-ed with it

She passed me, she carelessly let her eyes meet mine
But not so carelessly, she knew it,
She knew her eyes would divert my attention
and she loved it,
My eyes established a line of  site with hers

She passed me, her curly locks, tangled flew aimlessly
But they flew, her curls against her hair
contouring her nose, her cheeks

She passed me, she teased me and she loved it!
She loved the fact that my movement was paralyzed
She loved the fact that she can toy with me a mile away
She loved the fact that she felt like a precious piece of art, touched by no one
She loved the fact that she was just strolling by a stranger
Whose attention was caught by hers,

As she faded into the walking crowd,
I pondered, “should I follow? should I dig deeper in those none verbals signs?
was she messing with my innocence?”

Should I?
Would YOU?

As she passed me by!

As she passed me by!