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I would like to be a valuable queen

not a limited pawn

moving inch by inch

across the board of life

black for the tears

white for the many

years and years to come

my knight will be in the back row

awaiting my graceful trots

checkmate is my dream

checkmate is my future

to knock down the king

is only to supply the suture

As I look around in dismay

at things that are

and what once were

I realize

I have not changed

but it is “they”

that have

to be ridden

is to be me

to be free

of this philosophy

called “living”

smooth sailing

is my future

far from the rocky abyss

that I have tip toed on

for years on end

hands turned to claws

smile turned to frown

I am me now

I hope I don’t drown

away from the abyss

to my dearest father,

scraps of your drawings

haunt me tonight

the garb of a heroine

from a world of the future

Am I her?

I think I found my calling

on this Earth

I’m ready

let the drums beat

to the sound of my fierce steps

strutting through the tedious streets

with eyes of envy left in the dust

the unfortunate are leading the fortunate

the minority is now the superiority

let them pierce my body

until no flesh can be seen

for I will bleed for you

always

-my father came home from work one day and showed me a drawing he sketched of star war’s princess padma’s wardrobe. this stuck with me. the poem is deeper than it appears…basically be true to your identity…

a Jewish child is born today

his ecstatic family surrounds him

love blooms from all four corners of the room

despite all this the baby is crying a heartfelt and piercing cry

some say the world shocks the infant

or maybe he is simply famished

a frightening nightmare inside the whom perhaps

is he already longing for attention?

i like to broaden my mind a bit

see it from another perspective

a more gruesome

yet fairytale like angle

you see there is mass of hungry beasts out there

just waiting to rip apart the innocent  flesh of a Jew

they live off our blood

they long for our termination

does their hatred stem from jealousy?

or are they envious of

our morals?

our depth?

i see a baby of Israel crying

and then i see a land of tears

tears so thick of grief

too impenetrable for the blade of the enemy

to slice through its salty core

can this little Israelite possibly know

what is yet to come for his people?

when the infants pitch is to much to bear

it is then handed over to its nurturing mother

she hushes the baby

the child bearer speaks to him in his own dialect

soothing words calm the new joy in her life

he doses of into a deep slumber

he forgets about the dark future ahead

about the madness of what is yet to come

the baby forgets

but the mother remembers her child’s lament

perhaps it is for that reason

that the final redemption of our people

will be in the merit of the righteous women of Israel

because we remember

understand

feel

and pray

for all Semites.

the hush will come

we just have to wake up in order to live the dream

of a life without the masochistic enemy

a life with only Him

An illusion am I not?

An exterior of complacency

Naivety

And conservativeness

Two sided coins

Flip them and dumbfounded you will be

Saints on the outside

Sinners faced down

Righteous in appearance

Yet secretly takes pleasure in his harlot

He helps the less fortunate with their struggles

While smiling on the inside at what awaits him

At the corner inn

Words of prayer uttered by her dry lips

Out of love for Him they most certainly are not

Good deeds she partakes in everyday

Yet inside secretly plans to meet with

Her forbidden lover

A façade am I not?

An interior of discontent

Knowledge as vast as the sandy deserts

And as Gothic as any punk on Melrose Ave.

This poem was written out of pure discontent at what I observe of some people’s behavior and their lack of honesty.

*Melrose Avenue is a strip in L.A. that is known for Gothic/Emo/punk hangouts..it kinda brushed off on me…

A Questionable Appearance         

What is it about fame

the never ending need to be heard

or seen

to be examined under a thick lens

I envy the humble

for they make little sound

they have no requisite for a salute

or even a slight compliment

as for myself

I feel as though my life is being reported

the angels in Heaven are taking heed to my every breath

they direct  my tale of woe to the Creator

my deceased ancestors are gazing down at me

my life is a fascinating performance in their eyes

they converse with the celestial beings regarding my destiny

they stare in excitement and anticipation of my upcoming decisions

as to the strangers who walk beside me everyday

i am simply a brush of the shoulder

an equal

unfamiliar flesh and blood

I have the best of both worlds

in the literal sense

for on Earth I can be inconspicuous

while somewhere in His kingdom

I am in fact famous

Time Standing Still

Slow in appearance

Yet deep Thinkers

The cause for time

Standing still

Sharp minds

hasten the grandfather clock

The sounds of the hands

Provokes more ideas

Unlike acumen minds

These beings are locked in hours

As They stare  into space

Freezing mille seconds

Gratitude is owed

To the flawed cognitions

the minority

the outcasts of this universe

The world depends on thoughts

Substance in the hourglass

Is bound by gravity

Precious moments seeping through

At a conditional pace