Solvy's Nest

A nocturnal animal who evades light,
suffers from insomnia until the night.
The rays of dawn transgress the cave,
and, evanescently, call his name.

But the bat ambles lacking equanimity,
as he slowly dies in atrocity.
The "rules of life" tell daunting lies;
that is this world's most snidey vice.

All day he hangs on vacant dreams,
as he remembers what they sing:
"He's just a rat with bumptious wings,
A rodent called The Night's King."

I see how the butter rapidly melts,
over the hot potato on the plate.
And I find it fascinating!
Though, you say it's a hierarchy.

Your thoughts are like a cage
of rusty useless keys!
Your attitude is a hopeless prison--
Is this an epidemic of pessimism?

We were born in front of a wall;
pure as gold and white as fog.
We had paint brushes in our bag,
but no paint to make some art.

We played cars and dolls in that same place,
and never overstepped the perimeter.
We grew up glancing at the dull wall,
and we hardly knew there were more roads.

Now we've grown sick of all this white,
and we wonder what's our purpose in life.
To turn around and see what we find?
To love the small things and the bad?

To stroll around and make some memories...
To find the colors of ambiguity!
To go back and paint the lonely wall,
and make this life worth all the while.

The tree fell down during the hurricane,
and it blew down the sugar canes.
The broken leaves rolled on the tar,
and the waves abused the golden sand.

Misery looked over with care,
as if it's job wasn't done by then.
Then the sun swallowed the flood,
and someone said, "that was beautiful."

There's nail enamel on her fingers,
And all over her clothes;
She is feral and she's strong,
Not a Barbie for your show.

She plays dumb and she plays coy,
When circumstances tell her so.
And she is beautiful, you know,
Because she is practical.

If her weight is little or too much,
bad intentions shouldn't care.
If she says she isn't gorgeous,
It's because you blinded her.

A scale can never determine,
If she does or does not shine.
Society and its superficiality...
like a vicious cycle of indignity.

I stole his brown boots from the tar
to contemplate their stereotype.
I saw their laces tied up tight,
and all the stories that they hide.

He followed me and called me a rascal,
as I seek for shadow under a pine.
And I stole a shovel from his yard,
just to fill his boots with sand.

I planted orange tulip seeds inside,
and watched them bloom right before dawn.
I stole some white rays from the light,
and saved rain in a water can.

They were now souvenirs brought to life;
souvenirs that smelled so nice.
The warrior, in his camouflage, smiled..
and all he did was ask me "Why?"

The boots will always remind me of him,
and the tulips of our relationships.
I didn't steal to do mischief;
I simply stole a memory.

I've straightened my bangs so many times,
their natural beauty has died.
I haven't walked barefoot for so long,
my feet are sensible to Styrofoam.

My nails look like flawless porcelain,
and my skin has gotten pale.
But now you can tell I am civilized.
How many things do we have to hide?

Shall I never lie to you,
frozen squalls of the night!
Shall my lips never let you know,
there's a boy who holds my heart.

His name kisses my lips,
every time my pupils hide.
And his fingers always seek
for the gaps between mine.

Shall I never lie to you,
shameless spotlight on the night-sky!
Shall I never say aloud
there's a boy who stole my heart.

He is humble and he's sweet,
yet, he knows security.
He writes poetry on the ceiling,
and he quotes philosophy.

Shall I never clarify,
rascal rays of the light,
that this poem is a lie,
for it is about no one.

Little house kneels at the feet of the dock,
like the eraser of a pen or the hands of the clock;
Diminutive, candid, and unperceived...
Yet, so head-tilting and wrapped in warm breeze.

Little boy sits there with his fishing rod,
With his feet flavored with salt and shore;
He waits in pending, by his little house,
For a fish to catch the hook or for a shooting star.

Perhaps he's more accompanied than lonesome is;
perhaps he can't see what lies under the sea.
"Jump in," the waves hula dance and tease.
"See the beauty I hide under my risks?"

"I'm a new dimension of things you haven't seen:
I'm where the fire drowns and Pangaea splits,
I am the shelter of passion and the buster of boats;
I am dangerous rage, but also the passion of love.

I went to the square one day with my Ma,
and we stopped by a bench near a hot dog cart.
The sun was heating fiercely over our heads...
Yet, the aroma of the place was undoubtedly great.

We tamed the haste that clutched to our backs,
and to eat and drink we took our sweet time.
Suddenly, we were surrounded by lots of them;
hungry black pigeons, surviving the day.

The potato sticks weren't defying gravity,
and the birds swept the floor desperately.
And right there, in that so common moment,
Ma noticed something that was under cover.

"The brown pigeon is blind," she hollered.
"You feed that one, while I distract the others."
And our hot dogs were now potato-stick-less;
a worth-making ketchup mess, I say.

At that very moment, I realized,
we live to help where we can~
Like when God offered his hand,
when we were going to drown.

I can't dance to save my life,
but I can dance to save my soul.
Sometimes life isn't a dance floor,
just time for yourself with a song.

In times of cheeses and champagne,
life kneels at your feet with a bouquet.
It kisses your dreams and sways you in its arms,
and walks you to heaven to fly a kite.

But life is a doses of Cyclothymia (like the tide...
that lifts up its seas under the moonlight).
Sometimes you'll find yourself alone in the mist,
biting the rid of a bitter tangerine.

If ever did I strolled by a garden,
and pulled out the petals of a rose
(just to make it miserable,
and delight in its sorrow),
I've paid with stabbing thorns,
and with the sword of the incredulous.

If ever did I assault the slumber
of a butterfly during spring
(just to pluck out its wings,
and dwelt in my own vanity),
I've paid with a cataclysm
and the imposture of your kisses.