Poetry

August 1, 2025

Where the Sentence Breaks, I Begin

You describe the poet not as a custodian of nation or nostalgia but as a cartographer of fracture. A maker of forms that fail beautifully. A being that crosses over the thresholds of grammar, time, and self. You say, “A poem is nothing but an attempt to transcend the boundaries...

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May 30, 2025

where there is no map

i haven’t written a haibun in a while. I step into the weekend like a question. No itinerary. No certainty. Just the hush of morning and the feel of earth beneath my feet. I remember Antonio Machado’s words—“Traveler, there is no path. The path is made by walking.” And something...

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May 10, 2025

Sunrise and Elephant Grass

Here’s a short reflection I had sipping coffee watching the sun rise through the elephant grass… We come from the Unknown,and we carry its dust in our bones.Born of stars and silence,we arrive trailing the breath of the void,a question wrapped in skin.No map. No manual. Only a pulse.And still—we...

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January 12, 2025

a layered meditation on creativity, improvisation, and interconnection

this ongoing remix practice (of mine)is the heartbeat of evolution itself,a rhythmic, recursive dance of becoming (what am i becoming?). it feels like an innate biological imperativewoven deep into my DNA, a pulse, a vibration, a call-and-response echoe across ec(h)osystems. here, my cut-and-paste as-you-go ethosspills into my life’s messy edges....

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