We started at the tip, at the tuning pegs
As you rested on, rested on my legs
If I could pluck your strings, oh I’d tug it daily
I said you were my, you were my ukulele


I slithered my hands from your neck to your shoulder
Clutched and latched on as we got older
The tune, symphonic, no longer flaily
Finally mine, you were my ukulele


One noise remained, remained unforeseen
Our strings lost tempo, lost rhythm it seemed
You pulsed with a sound, oh it sounded greyly
Were you still the same, the same ukulele?


As I seek the blare, the roar of your opus
I decrypt sounds, wicked sounds of your modus
Inside, you were hollow, a hollow wooden lady
And you played with me
I was your ukulele



Here, make a wish in all its resplendence
Where the lost and forgotten have passed
A wishbone for you, for them, and for essence
Let this pivotal memory last

We, humans, falter, fall, and disappear
We leave each other wishbones
Just to know that we’re always here

And whichever half the one has
An equal fragment’s bestowed to the other



Here, make a wish in all its resplendence
Where the buoyant beginnings arise
One snapped bone rests under no luminescence
As the other awaits in sunrise

You are miles away from each other’s existence
But bonds like yours could never be broken
Not by sticks, or by stones, or by bones

You’ve spent lifetimes bruised, healed, and misshapen
By habits that you haven’t outgrown



Here, make a wish in all its resplendence
Where deterioration is your next enemy
We thought bones have a lasting presence
But they never last for an eternity

Once were they deficient of any decay
Now, tarnished, rusted, waiting to corrode
As you run out of questions to ask and things to say

You would think back to that one door that’ll close
Another one will open but that, too, will decompose

You’ve Got a Message!

It seems quite weird how “hello’s” become “I love you’s”
How my soft bellows became a short fuse
For this instant, cosmic feeling
I just know that, beyond the screen
I find you so appealing

Our strings of pixelated text
Has got me hooked on and hexed
And I can’t possibly string out
Through keyboard taps and a mouse
The words that need to be expelled from my mouth

Call me crazy for falling
In a way that’s so appalling
But through acronyms and emoticons
Exclamation points and quotations
Then maybe you’ll see that our love is like a black swan’s

And all I want to do now
Is to see who you really are, where you are, how
To feel your face beside mine
And hear your breaths break into intervals
And feel electricity rush up my spine

I am real and so are you
I can’t fathom how that could be true
I seriously have no clue
But all I know is that
I love you, I love you, I love you

Father Time (Seven Deadly Sins Vignette: Wrath)

Time is running out… tick tock tick tock.

A minute had elapsed just after the New Year and the people are welcoming it with complete joy. But for Father Time, this brought out the demon inside of him, a long hidden bile stored deep inside the catacombs of his enigmatic mind. It triggered something like that of a firework – waiting for the flame to trace the fine line between a spark and a detonation; this was the exact moment of that. He deplored Baby New Year for it killed him inside. The people that he once thought valued his time are now just lethargically waiting for a new start. And this fueled his drive to a highway of retaliation. Fine with me if they don’t value the time I give them, I don’t value them anymore either.

With a snap, he reversed time; a groundbreaking ploy that would incessantly alter the face of the Earth.

2013, 2012, 2011… one by one the Baby New Years died over and over again, and by the looks of it Father Time felt fulfillment and elation. He knew he had accomplished something.

An abundance of humans who inhabited his very Earth died and lived and died once again; back to their mother’s wombs again and again and again, to the Renaissance, ancient civilization and prehistory. Now he watched by the bylines as they all suffered for, now, they valued time. Until the very last second of their existence lasted, he watched patiently. And finally, there was nothing anymore.

But Father Time didn’t realize that he also wasn’t there anymore because when time ran out so did he.

The Easter Bunny (Seven Deadly Sins Vignette: Pride)

With a last drop of maroon dye and a smear of periwinkle, he had finished the last Easter egg of the day. As usual, he was astonished by his own work taking time to part with its magnificence, beholding it for one last moment. “These stripes are flawless, a perfect fusion of technique and ingenuity. You’re such a prodigy, I can’t wait to see the look on the children’s faces once they see my finicky designs,” talking to himself as he hides the last egg.

His ears prickled, sensing the oncoming children racing to the shrubbery. Prepare yourself for the heap of compliments, Bunny. He thought to himself again unknowing of the group of children already wandering around the garden. And one by one, as he saw the children spotting the eggs he was dismayed, in fact, he was utterly outraged. No one took the time to appreciate the intricate designs outside, not one single soul. I worked hard on those goddamn designs. They’re amazing, no, perfect. Those are the most bona fide designs you’ll ever find anywhere here on Earth. Don’t you just tear them off. They are perfect. And ‘perfect’ kept imprinting itself on his mind.

They’re perfect, they’re perfect… they are fucking perfect. But in fact that wasn’t what he truly implied, what he meant was, I’m perfect… I am perfect.

Saint Patrick (Seven Deadly Sins Vignette: Greed)

Saint Patrick – he was a con but not a leprechaun, in fact he lived and breathed being one. And with every treacherous act he had committed there came a valuable exchange – money. He kept all the coins he snatched from the day he learned to pilfer in an enormous coal-colored cauldron secreted inside his threadbare basement.

Routinely, he gathers all his coins out on his patio and scrubs them clean; this day wasn’t unlike any other. In the scorching heat, as the sun made his coins glint like diamonds, he had spotted another prey – a plump little girl about wee size. The child’s eyes and his met and he motioned his hands for the child to come near him. I’m sure this kid has at least a few dimes or quarters in her satchel, she seems to be well fed if I’m not mistaken, perhaps even a few dollar bills. The girl pranced towards him and with her bright blue eyes and lollipop smile she asked, “What is it, mister?” and Saint Patrick replied with poise, “Don’t you know me?” trying but failing to hide his devilish smile.

“I’m sorry,” she scoffed, shaking her head and staring at his all green ensemble.

“Don’t worry; a lot of people don’t know me, but I can let you in on my secret.”

“Secret?” she was more eager to learn who he truly was.

“Do you see those clovers over there?” he replied, pointing to a patch of clover leaves a few yards away as she nods, “Well, those are lucky four-leaved clovers and if you get one then you’ll be able to make four wishes.”

“Really? I don’t believe you and you didn’t even tell me who you were anyway.”

“Try it out yourself. I’m Saint Patrick by the way.”

“If this doesn’t work…” her bravado faded as she left her satchel on the patio floor and proceeded to the patch of clovers.

Imbeciles. Now on to my deed. He probed for some coins and found a couple of nickels and pennies. And as he touched the metallic surface of those coins he felt a connection with it but other than that he felt power. All these coins are mine, mine, and only mine! He cradled it like a baby on his sweaty palms. Disgruntled, the child dashes back. “Liar, liar, pants on fire!” failing to see the purloined coins, she fumed away, gripping tightly on her satchel. Hck, just pure imbeciles.

The child comes back, now with her mother just as infuriated as she was. No. Saint Patrick thought about the situation carefully, they have now found his stash of sinful coins and there’s no running away. The sweat dripped from his forehead more rapidly. No! These are my coins, mine! They can’t have it, no, I can’t allow it. And when he thought he ran out of thoughts, he fathomed one that was beyond his own measures. Now, where did I put my gun?