Note 1

The first night was hard
empty, white and gloomy bed sheets
staring at me
with eyes wide-open
no voices or laughs
no hugs or cries
the small house
towering buildings
mocking your
slim figure
for being lonely

The night after
around me
teamed up
to make me
feel home again



Reminder 1

Yes, I bleed
And my blood often comes
With colours
Red, black and white
When I do, I breed
Men with kind hearts
I breed
Women giving birth
To nations, prospering
To counties, demolishing
Do not degrade my worth
Yes, I bleed
And my blood
is a river washing away its sins
renewing its waves
stronger and


The China I Know

December 8th 2017 was the exact date I left my thirsty homeland to visit a rainy one. China, to me, was trees lining up on streets, lakes and parks welcoming tourists and wearing bright green and blue, restaurants hosting hungry mouths in search for food. No one would ever talk about China in my home country unless using their products is involved, because let us face it: Everything is made in China!
The China I visited often wore dusty yellow as a result of its brimful streets with people and dogs. YES, dogs also occupy some space in China- at least in the part where I lived. I remember strolling around when I first arrived in Guiyang. I did not like the city very much as my expectations were confounded with unappetising noodles, lack of water in restrooms and the language barrier when speaking with locals.
But as Disraeli once said “The expected always happens”, so after days of squabbling with my mind over my decision to come here, I decided to come to terms with my new China. I went lake canoeing with locals, fought with a shop seller over the price of five boiled eggs, spoke in broken Chinese and enjoyed listening to street musicians- although sometimes I was their only fan.

Gods and Lovers

I often wonder
if my imagination will hate my existence;
will sob when it sees how my fellow humans have become;
will swallow me whole
and throw me out on Sorrow Land

I imagine that fathers are born with bigger hearts:
big enough to hold the World Cup
and make us all have a good time
with no winners or losers

I see roadsides decorated with free love signs
leading you to someone
looking for love, just like your desperate heart
with people lining up to buy love bags
instead of bread or clothes
where love begins to manifest out of the
next door butcher’s heart
and everyone kisses and hugs and talks
for hours without checking their time
or thinking of how long
they will star at the window shield
in hopes they will be racing with the passing cars

In my dreams, I see my mother beautiful and young
railing against my father
saying he’s nothing like a good man

I see my father
washing his black hands
after a long working day
full of cement, plaster and concrete
and I wonder if he, one day, would be part
of the people’s houses he builds
if he enjoys his job
as much as he despises being a father
if he ever thinks of vomiting
his hatred on the toilet’s floor
before he speaks to his children

I wonder if his feelings are as conspicuous
as his boney face
that I will no longer see the wounds through his heart
like the hollow on his cheeks when he looks down

I see people
bearing no malice toward their creator
for making them heartless or loveless
I see them standing up
no longer kneeling down
to ask for His forgiveness
I see myself, standing with them


On Writing

To write is to hold on to yourself
is to accept what it is
because words can
build castles upon ruins
because people can be more loving
and flowers can blossom again
because you believe
that hearts are red
because they pump blood;
give life;
and are capable of love.