Imagine the space between us filled with unspoken things,
a shared language of longing, a quiet understanding.
The moon, our solitary witness, casts a pale glow,
the same silver light kissing your window, I know.

In the quietude, I’ll hear your heartbeat echo in mine,
a silent promise that whispers across the miles.
Maybe silence isn’t absence, but a different way to say,
“I’m here, thinking of you, until we meet again someday.”

para Isa

In the city, the streets gleam with neon.
You, a name in my mind, a flame that burns for no reason.
I wait for you somewhere, maybe today, maybe tomorrow,
In this story waiting for our next scene.

para Isa

The barkeep wipes the counter, sighs slow,
Another night shift, another round to pour.
Same faces, same stories, same afterglow,
Drinking away the emptiness, hour by hour.
A fly buzzes, fat and indifferent,
Circling the chipped glass, a shared despair.
Neon bleeds a lonely redolent,
Painting shadows on weary faces there.
Laughter cracks, brittle and forced, a joke’s sting,
The bartender slams a shot, eyes cold and flat.
Piano groans a bluesy, discordant thing,
A symphony of regrets where dreams went splat.
Each gulp a surrender, a bitter defeat,
Drowning the ghosts that never truly die.
Barstool lament, a bittersweet retreat,
Where the living dead drink until they cry.

para Isa

Morning cigarette burns like yesterday’s mistakes.
Coffee, black as my mood, assaults the emptiness.
The city outside throbs with a headache’s rhythm.

Another day, another dollar, they said.
Feels more like another day, another inch of dust.

Words spill like cheap ganja, raw and honest.
Bruised truths about love and its scars.
The beauty in the broken, the fight in the fallen.

Maybe there’s a flicker of hope in the pix.
A shared laugh between strangers in the gutter.
A moment of connection in the neon blur.

para Isa