What makes the world go round:
"Money moves"- "Bodak Yellow" by, Cardi B

Could it be that Cardi B knows where the moneys at
where the world of wealth revolves all within ones hat
the world is all broken up from space to space
where people are starving and yet we eat happily
maybe with a quick a prayer of grace

Could it be that the world revolves around money
like wealth is perceived in a jar of golden honey
most songs contain the theme of love
but whats love when its within a song
love becomes different than its told in songs-- always up on a level above

Could it be that people only do things with selfish motives all the time

looking for something that will satiate more than nickel on the dime
we enjoy pleasure but some enjoy others happiness too
whats a world with just one person trying to survive
when a world can be shared in two

Could it be that money is what life is all about
where we live to eat without having any doubt
we eat to live to make the world a better place
where some don't get the chance to eat
They steal out of starvation and make money moves with grace

Could it be that money is trap; the ultimate enemy
creating a society of complete autonomy
money gets us things indeed- like our comfort zones we need
where some people get what they want
while others crave to be freed

Prose Poem, "Build a House"

 Cold feet sweep the floors beneath, a taste of just the right amount; it is bittersweet. When taking a step back into a retreat, a heartbeat beats to the rhythm of sleep. The stairs can't be walked upon, because the cement crumbles each time a step is taken. They build their houses out of clay, like houses are just a show; just a play. Fragile things tend to break, like sand castles. And tree houses shake, the wood tends break, the latter too. Straw houses are just what the cows come to chew. Everything tends to break. Hearts break so easily, it's hard to know what's at stake. Like hearts so red shattered into specks that bled like red paint splattered on a canvas. And those piles of leaves need a rake, the pile of fresh white snow needs a shovel, the long green grass splitting its ends in the spring craves for a trim. A nights shower calling to cleanse off the day, the rain outside, thunder and lightning slipping through the window shades. A dark room can help to end off the day, lack of sleep is too awake, because their minds are busy dreaming of cherry trees. Natural doesn't seem to work, when hard work calls for some effort. Everything only leading to a break, a collapse. Forget it all, forget the haunting past of money here, money there, money thrown everywhere. Look at the futures light, build a house like a tree is built. Build a house from a seed. Take a bite of the red apple, and spit out its seeds, always wanting more. But keeps the seeds, be patient while they grow from the floor.

 Haiku-- Passage to the Soul



Round like a marble;
color surrounding blackness,
reaching deep inside.

Pathway to a soul,
absorbing timeless moments,
giving one an eye.

Say, "I'm all in."
Intimate as life can get;
deep moment. Rich fluid.

Unanswered questions,
sought deep within its window.
Deeper than reflection

Family Ties


Why does it not feel dark,
while busy trying to light a spark.
A room filled with nothingness.
The match wont light,
always containing its source in might.

The match leaves in absence,
no color but black, gray, white sense.
A room filled with empty shadows, footless footprints,
the room being extremely dark,
no space, leaving no mark.

Finding the match while no longer a possibility,
as its shadows can no longer be seen.
Not wanting to share,
trying to break down walls,
finding empty spaces with no visuals.

Not even a brush of wind capable of touching,
not even that of a ghosts appearance coming,
or footsteps near—heard from ear to ear.
The next room over is lit,
but still remaining absent; not found standing in it.

Learning to know a life without thee,
creating more sanity.
A new sensation, blatant while mysteriously waiting— too patient.
The match not capable of bringing light,
when present, only bringing a minuscule light in an ugly fight.

But oh, where did thee go?
A light that is unable of leaving behind a shadow.
Now asking for help, to learn to forgive a light that would never give.
Family isn’t supposed to leave; come and go.
Only friends should have the right to do so?

All the others gave up,
refusing to wait for a hopeful arrival.
Not interested to find anything left behind.
Giving up is not an option here,
still waiting for the match to light, appear.

Family always stays,
even during those who suffer their darkest days.
One day the match will bring light.
Its not for others to judge—
there is simply not enough time to hold a grudge.

Snow colored Crystals; a Poem on Nayyirah Waheed's Novel "Salt."

Pay Attention to your actions when
beautiful snow colored sugar crystals;
sparkling glass- like structure crumbs
meet before your eyes: Distraction.
Distraction.
bitter sweet moment in time.
hot apple pie crisp
All that is thought-- the taste

That apple pie
lay sinking in your teeth.
cavities form-- hide low beneath
You succumb to your pain.
If only you would know what real pain is
but your feeling is felt; nothing but numb
because salt looks just like sugar to you.

His salty tears all these years
His starvation less acknowledged
compared to all his fears.

There comes your repetitive footsteps
walking down that old path
into that dark alley 
times don't seem change
the sun comes up, sets again.

Sugar Salt looking the same
both work for different foods
Playing a colored visual game
giving you a tasteful life.
thinking only about YOU, Not he.

Because you don't think he belongs.
Because you never think you are wrong.

Tick- Tock

I strain my brain, start thinking as ideas grow.
Tick, tock I don’t like wasting time.

I try to interpret my thoughts as they flow.

The detours take the best of me, I know I need to go.

Getting distracted while trying to find my way, I smell thyme.

I strain my brain, start thinking as ideas grow.

Lost in thought, a Horologist can try to set back my clock.

I look behind me, I cannot go backwards to a previous sign. 

I try to interpret my thoughts as they flow.

I need to keep going, the sun starts to go.

They need my help from wasted time.

I strain my brain, start thinking as ideas grow. 

I remind myself every individual needs to contribute, they know.

Through times silence we sing, a tuneless song.

You need more than an attempt to interpret thoughts as they flow.

Millions of scenarios circle at the same time.
Nightfall comes by too fast, a flashlight would help.

I strain my brain, start thinking as ideas grow.

I try to interpret my thoughts as they flow.

Limerick, "A stroll"

A man went on a cold winter stroll.

not knowing it would take a toll.

As he walked outside into the crisp fresh air,

he slipped on some ice, there went his hair!

That man never went on another winter stroll.