a robot

I became an accidental character
in the world I created.

it exists by itself
like a classic wind-up Japanese robot
from the nineteen forties.

with a loud mechanical noise
it walks changing its directions unpredictable;
it makes random stops
or suddenly runs amok.

I can’t stop him,
because I have slight limp in my right leg
and can’t run fast enough.

I yell at him “Hey you, dummy!
Stop. You don’t have eyes or ears.
You may trip and fall,
and break something
or someone.

Your heart is just a spring,
that will eventually rust
because of this humidity
in New York City.”

but the robot doesn’t listen to me,
it keeps walking,
bumping into the walls of the labyrinth
that we call life.

one day, I’ll catch it
and turn it off.

memento #6 / paranoid thoughts

I was on my way to Brooklyn, the other day.
the subway car wasn’t packed,
but there were any available seats left.

I was reading a book about meditation,
and leaning against the subway car door.

on the other side of the car, there was that guy,
sweating, greasy hair, thick lips.
he was squeezing some silicone blonde with his
sausage like fingers.

he was squeezing her, like a toothpaste tube.

and I got anxious, you know, because she may burst
and the silicone will ooze from the walls
and everybody in the car will be covered with it.

and this guy will look at his hands
with frightened eyes, then at me
and will lose his conscience.

and everybody will scream, but me,
yet the thought of becoming a vegetarian,
nevertheless penetrated my mind.

and the train will stop
and it will happen right in the middle of Brooklyn bridge.

then the police will come
and the EMT too,
they’ll put that girl into the plastic bag
and then into glass tube filled formalin
and display it in the Ripley’s Believe it or not.

later I will bring my kids and show them this tube,
and tell them this story about the train.

then the train stopped at DeCalb Avenue
and they left the train.

I got back to my meditation book,
thinking about the steak, that I had
for lunch.

memento #5

it took a few thousand years
to this pebble end up on the shore,
today, underneath my foot.

I was walking along the shore of Northern Long Island.

my son was following me, collecting some broken seashells,
and throwing rocks back to oblivion
of another couple of thousands years.

they were washed to the shore,
by the musing ocean.
I was musing too, about that small pebble,
that I nonchalantly shook off my shoe.

the plastic container in my hand, was almost
filled up to the top, with the treasure,
that my son collected on the shore.

ocean didn’t care much, about us.
we were similar to the
clams, oysters, horseshoe crabs and other dead creatures,
that my son found on the beach.

just specs.

the lifeguards left at five, but people were still

a girl with the pink hair

a girl with the pink hair
what are you doing this hour forlorn?
while you’re filling the void
in this air with a smell of a pee.

we’re riding same train,
sitting across.
whereas I am not Hungry Wolf
hence you’re not Red Riding Hood.

clanging wheels, ticking breaths,
flickering lights;
counting cravings that we could have
while musing on numerous nights.

the trending intentions we flourish,
the attempts to redefine our past.
the misunderstandings we cherish,
imploded anticipations we lust.

I saw all these reflecting
in the rainbow sunglasses you wear,
protecting your eyes from the throw backs
that you’re so afraid to bear.

the imaginary Pan Piper
is calling you out.
you will get out and I’ll stay confined,
facing the void you made.