You let go of my hand

under the komorebi.

Please explain how’d you make that decision.

Because I don’t know if I should do the same or hold on.

However I asked,

you’re gone.

Under the komorebi,

that’s how life i supposed.

Some parts dark, some bright.

I looked at my hand that stayed

after you left

a little redness there, from your last grip

of frozen touch, of goodbye.

It doesn’t matter,

my heart’s in worse manner.

I’m squeezed and tied.


Under the komorebi,

it’s almost forever but

the wind cried wicked heartache,

I wet my eyes, the sky imitated with rain.

I thought it’d be forever

but the future had failed my present.

And my past seemed so foolish.

As the sweetness died.


Under the komorebi,

I tried to hold your hand

forever, but

is now…









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The Journey of Filkardiershcar


My name is Filkardiershcar,

don’t bother with the pronounciation.

This is never about my name. Will never.

I’m born in shell, congested barrier to the world.

With too many rules, to many rulers.


Pondering what endings I could achieve, well enough, if I’m not there yet?

But days died like leaves. As I watch trains came and went.

While my lungs kept welcoming black smoke from the chimney.

No matter, it’s never darker than the road. Will never.


I woke up, I strolled to the station, I waited, but I never got on the train.

What if I took the red one? Where will it lead?

Or the blue one? Or that feverish yellow one?

How should I know? If I don’t get on any of it.


So one more day,

one more train,

one more pinch of black breath,

will never…

know my ending?

Or this is it?

The end is actually… I’m not knowing.

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Poem Of Tamed Tantrum

Of schadenfreude,
Of chastity,
Of blasphemy,
. . . . . Of triple taboos.

There, born all of us
hiding between grinding tooth & tounge
falsify our wedding
to the beautiful sin!

Of mirth,
Of grandiose,
Of opulence,
. . . . . Of dot dot dot?

Wake up, basilisk!
Stone the mind
as it’s too fluid
with thoughts of
hell, heaven and between
it forgets
that we’re no god
no capitalization
to anyone

Of poem,
Of opera,
Of paintings,
. . . . . Of which can ellaborate life.

In ways that
won’t fade it.

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Aria of Tragique Despair

* * *

Five… first allies.
Before you can count to three.
Gone. As many maniacs.
As those obsessed with righteous.
Of their own.

Was it so angerful, lustful, monsterful…
Yet faithful,

Has it such wishful chances for victory.

My, my…
How silly the concept.
Our commander to a mere lost cause in obvious war?
Before, each one fails to lose proudly.

Are we there yet?
Where we don’t compete…
for things which aren’t ours?

So why are we dancing, darling?
Under the gravity of the pink…
While locking lips with
the roses of the strong hearted queen.

So tenderly sharp and brutal.
Like sleeping wolves on a flowery field.

And why are we crying, morning?
Fever. Gravy. Blink… of each of the swear.

I admit.
It’s so horrible it becomes pretty, full.
Like demon playing innocent.
Ah, the drudgery.
Like saying “suffers” in snake’s tounge.

Where the blue soul people went to, after all?
The edge of young & white horizon?
Or below what is red and boiled?

Sometimes, to repeat all life’s misery.
Somewhere, we are going to be in one peace.

Who’ll lead the way?
Who knows?

* * *

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No One Is Sane

could you cover the sky?
As it was born too beyond.
Would you drink the sea till it’s dried dead?
Dare you…? Even to imagine?
And, ought you leave the earth, 
how far could you begone? While alive?

I want…
to put you simply as what they are.
Oh, my heartful universe.
You’re always more, 
and I’m most insatiable, 
About you, everything is vicious gravity.

my forevermore desire.
When you look at me,
Please never bother to question
if I am sane enough to love.


Cause from the sunful start,
to the most lunatic end…
No one is. No one will.


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