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That was the summer the fireflies invaded our lives, talking in a secret language that only they understood. Puddles of footsteps reigned in the street. Boys wet with rain, drenched with the sharp smell of gasoline and dreams piled on the corner of the street shooting marbles.

With summer came the expectation of change. Girls arrayed in delicate dresses paraded in our street, going nowhere in particular. They were simply testing the fit of their new virtue.

There were secrets too that died in the sealed lips of the culprits framed inside the black and white photograph that sat on the table in my living room.

A jigsaw puzzle bitten to pieces caused my room to ignite. Before going to bed, I would gaze at the exquisite night sky and watch as thousands of tiny dark spots formed in the shape of a woman sitting on the moon. Wide awake with the suspicion that things would always be too big for me to grasp. I found my sadness that night. Whenever I tried to speak, untrained syllables flapped like a dead fish in my mouth.

The fireflies left the following week. One kid in my neighborhood spotted them going East. We hadn’t packed our bags yet, hadn’t bought our tickets. Their betrayal left a fire inside of my belly that burned a hole on the map of my childhood.

We still played in the vacant parking lots, in our plain clothes. Without the possibilities of getting out, we embraced our new freedom and the wilderness of our local colors; we exchanged heartaches with just one glance. The kaleidoscope of sounds we uttered which sounded foreign to an untrained ear became our advantage.

I still think of that one afternoon; the yellow sun glistening on our skin, the feeling of confetti in the air like we had been chosen to do something great, silently been given a confirmation that we were secretly special.

But I guess they changed their minds. If only I had caught one.
I blame it on the fireflies.

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mushr Released ago
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He first saw the flyer on the pavement on the train station just as he was about to board the train. It was a strewn piece of paper that kept following him, given that it got stuck on the bottom of his shoe. He picked it up as the sliding door closed. “Free Your Mind With DreamShare" - We can make your dreams into a reality.

Back in the days, DreamShare was still operating in a small, back office, fronted by a flower shop. They needed to test the efficacy of the product on living subjects. So they put out these advertisements....

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It was the first week of September,

we mapped our childhood by the sunburnsthat peeled off of our skin.

A pair of Dr Martens & tattered jeans

anointed the cool kids.While we sat in the backand pretended that we didn't care.At the back of our minds,still wondering whyour parents didn't give us better lives.

I couldn't quite look at you,

as you fought back tears.I swallowed the lump in my throatand the mishap of being born.

Your friend misspelled

my name on the back of my shirt.All year long, I had to cover it with tape.

I wish somebody had...

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Cherry blossom

dressed in white,my beautiful warrior child,enchant me with your April dance.

My heart is dark and heavy

with sullen things.May I request for you to singme hymns?

May I invite you for a picnic?

My little one, my faithful friendI will be true to you till the end.

I know you have to go soon.

Cherry blossom of my dreams,I will never forget you.Your song will outlast,our strange meeting.

Fallen cherry blossom,

You cover the world with kisses.
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The ink from his fingernails stained her dress,

warning her that one day their story will end.But she could not stay away, she could not catch her breath,though the funeral march played in her head.

He caressed her lips in her sleep.

He wounded her mind with his exquisite lines.Hi verses, she reversed. She killed his lies, when she spoke them out loud.

His deepest secrets, she betrayed.

She scaled the peak of his disgrace;one hand becomes the knife, the other touched his lipsas she delivered him to the stake.

She looked at him with pain in...

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Jim Puffyblooms was a former seafarer, a now vagabond, semi bona fide petty thief; an everyday collector of found things others might call trash, but a little tweak here and there, a little polish on top, and some glue on that spot, and they are now as good as new salesman.

On his way home from his shady business, Jim decided to take a detour to go perusing, on the account of him being new in this town, after having to make a quick getaway from a jam that he created after an exposed scam. He figured he would explore this new place of...

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The Magician’s box arrived at precisely 10 a.m. The UPS guys, didn’t even blink twice when you signed for it. Then together we struggled to drag that thing into your garage. Your motorcycle didn’t seem to mind the company. I on the other hand, had my first bouts of doubts now that our plans were becoming real. But I couldn’t let my cowardice, spoil your excitement. So I kept my nervousness to myself, and smiled at you when you said, ‘Let’s have breakfast first and take a bath, and then we’ll get down to business of changing our...

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You walk like a wounded cliché

an unprecedented commaseparates you from the others.

You’re in love with the games

that you play in your mind.In your head you play these scenesso desperately. An imitation ofa Gondry or a Polanski.

You bathe yourself in red wine,

and transform into an Opheliaand wonder why there is nolaughter in this room.

You heard irony is back in fashion,

so you practiced these steps,but failed to deliver perfectly.

You smile like you are the first man

on earth to solve the apocryphalmysteries of love,While the light goes on...
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This is how it happened.

Yesterday on my way to work.

I stepped on a dead toad….

Your face came/ in a flash

Unbidden memory.

An electric shock/ of sorts…

Buckley, I will never hear

your voice again. So please play

this one last. Soft, so we can hear

the men cry. You become so small.

A stamp or a xerox copy.

You/I never know when to heal.

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I love the chime of imperfect things, together they pipe the symphonyof broken dreams.

Desires expressed in solitude

become tomes & zeppelinsin our mind's play.

& those hopes that never yielded feathers;

became mothers and fathers instead.They sang secret lullabies of goodbyes;never knowing that their children could fly.

& that teary-eyed expression on your face;

glistening like a bowl of fruits.It tells me where you have been, & what it took for you to get here.

So hold that look just a little bit longer,

and never be...
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Peter packed his photographs post permission from persnickity Albert- the fabulous, pontificating, palaverous, bossman. Peter was pleasantly surprised with the precipitous reaction of the ants once placed on the qualified quail.

Peter a former philematologist preferred to parade in a poncho when foolproofing the failsafe of his performance. Peter's picture palimpsest was picked to be proudly presented in a pageantry prepicked by Albert; to be passed accompanied with his precious, petricolous ants. Despite the personificationless...

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There was a man Sorrow named his friend. Together they walked side by side.One wore a bowler’s hat; the other a lost man’s coat.

They traveled to every town,

passed by every hill and seaside.

From a far,

the pair almost looked complete.Their silence almostsounded like music.

One night, a stranger came

& took away Sorrow.

In the morning the man woke up,

& found that Sorrow had left.He cracked his first burst of laughter.He had meant to cry;but laughter came instead,and shamed him.

This made him sad.

But sadly, he couldn’t rememberthe...
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by mushr ago