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the pole outside my dorm
houses an interesting bird.

the last day of last week, six days before yesterday,
there was no rain.
the sun was smiling shyly at us
and the pigeon
sat on her nest
on top the ùdará tree,
across the road.

the day i had scheduled a coffee date for yesterday,
i was reading a book
that i didn't find interesting.
but i read on, all of it.
and the pigeon was on my roof
shuffling harmlessly all night.

on the day, long before yesterday
all we wanted to do was
scream our lungs out
and pretend we were grownups.
the pigeon,
was nowhere in sight.
no, i'm mistaken:
i did see the pigeon and
she was staring
at me. blankly.

today began forever ago
and we've been patient.

today the rain forgot to pour
after i felt a drop on my nose

today there are no clouds
and we were unaware

today the sun is indifferent
but she blushed at sunset

today i have found no interesting books
and i gave up looking

today i didn't want to scream
i only whispered 

today I didn't look at the calendar
so don't bother me about the date.

today I waited,
i waited for the pigeon.
she did not show up
not on the tree, the pole
the roof, or the window still

today the what's and why's
hid in a shadow
of absolute fatigue

today, i didn't feel a thing
  even for once.



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my eyes are
brilliant: a firework of events.
my thoughts are
weakened; how come it took
this long to realize?
my screams are
crippled: hence the irony,
suiting this madness.
my heart is
consumed: inclined to a seul,
the imperfect affair.
my life was
still is: when will it fully blossom?
some lies are
a sign: love's very true own
my eyes are
not for seeing,
but feeling,
all these other lives
i dare not intrude
or touch,
for the better part of
this dreadful