The Light Within Us feat. COVID-19

Even in the Spring as the birds sing

and more sunlight floods through the air that we breathe in,

there is a light within that has gone a bit dim.

The Smiths may sing to you about it never going out,

but, lately my doubt and loneliness is like a cloud

that shrouds the wick of our souls as we’re all locked in the house.

Social, loving beings we are,

that’s why the word ‘namaste’ has made it so far,

but as I miss those who I love, I remember their light

and hope that mine shines through to them, and we still make each other bright. -RSM

Along The Crescent Moon

As my physical body rests I find a dope lunar crater, as my astral self walks along the sun drenched moon.

I manifest my favorite skateboard, and do a nose grind in a goofy stance along the outer rim.

I feel a sense of clarity as the sun’s rays bounce off and shine through me, a warmth so rich;

The moon looks like a crescent shape from Earth tonight, so it makes sense,

that i look back at a certain spot on Earth, reflect on the very recent past and begin to reminisce…

I’ll remember gazing along the gold crescent moon and finding the hanging star.

I’ll remember the nerves that possessed me, until I realized I wasn’t the only one with butterflies, not by a long shot.

I’ll remember the way I felt when I saw them all, family, old and new, emerging in their Sunday best.

I’ll remember how love lit up the room, a warmth like the sun-a chamber of collective radiance across the river from my mother-metropolis.

I’ll remember having the best view in the room, as the master of ceremonies often does, and before I knew it, my job was done.

I enjoyed it so much, the one thing I forgot was where I put my nerves-they seemed to get lost in the rain and clouds as the bridal party, groom, and the bride walked out.

I’ll remember when the dance floor swelled, and food and wine surfed along as every tune on the soundtrack was somebody’s favorite song,

A certain kind of magic was created as we celebrated, the kind that compels the crowd to just know that this night would be truly special.

Only magical nights like these stay true, as we look back in the years to come.

I won’t remember this dream I describe, nor most others when I arise,

But as I slip further into a deep sleep state, kickflipping on the moon, doing a lil’ sleep-skate,

I look back at that spot on Earth and rewind, to the 1st of December, 2019, to one of my most loved memories; one of my life’s best keepsakes.- RSM

Controlled Chaos OR Hysterical Laughter is My Love Language

A taste for thrill seeking, generally freaky,

a space for the heart rate to race and always raising the stakes,

a 6 cylinder, YOLO-powered engine, skydiving in my head, since I was like, 10,

wondering Why So many Serious moments I’ve found hilarious,

and tried REAL HARD to not bust out laughing in these Moments, Precarious.

Nothing wrong with a little anarchy contained between one’s ears,

or sprinkling a little ‘confetti di crázy’ upwards into our fine stratosphere-

Some controlled chaos to brighten up your life’s days (daze), and years.

There are mad synonyms, yo, for what I mean:

‘having fun,’ ‘just playin’/messin’/dickin’/fuckin’ around,’

‘good times,’ ‘tomfoolery,’ ‘wildin’ out,’ ‘actin’ a fool, ‘being a ‘clown.”

True disorder is what’s really frightening- like a slight miss from getting hit by lightning,

or getting stopped by the cops with contraband in your socks.

A little microdose daily of something ridiculous is what gets me through;

so that stupid smile I have on next time we meet, just might mean I’m in my own head, already making fun of YOU. – RSM

Little Signs of Love.

Post-It notes, reminding me to eat leftovers in the fridge.

Helping me become a 1000% better cook.

Not letting me stay mad; figuring things out and making peace instead.

Being inseparable on the weekends.

Making plans to travel the world.

When I can make you laugh really hard, about anything, anything at all. – RSM

 

What song will play after the final scene of your life’s movie? 

after the last line is spoken by the up-and-coming young star that was cast to play you, and re-enact the highlights of all you ever did and what you’re about to do,

it’s important to specify these things, you know, maybe in a notarized will or some legally binding shit like that,

so that when your legacy is even further cemented by the highest medium available in cinema, long after you’re onto the next life,

you have your life shaped the way you wanted, before it’s recreated, broadcasted, flaunted, even, as a cinematic masterpiece, the best biopic since Ray (2004). 

That’s kinda how I look at it, the actions in life that I do, at least, I guess, whatever a ‘legacy’ means in the 21st century, be it called our ‘life story,’ or just a series of ridiculous snaps,

we shape our life’s trajectory every day with our impulses, actions and hesitations.

Am I gonna get up at 4 am today? I meann I could just hop a plane to New Zealand, change my name, and have a 2 and 3/4 year vacation,

but that’s not what I wanna do; run away from obstacles, I mean.

The best karma is demonstrated.

Cultivated, by your own hands, your own doings, the hard work you put into this life during hard times will eventually turn tides (like the moon).

Pulling through the rough patches – patient, poised, with a soda on the side,

is like when you have Onyx in a Pokemon battle and you’re about to unleash like, 3 turns worth of ‘Bide.’

Jussayin’, when the credits roll in the last scene of this biopic that so far only exists in my imagination, I don’t want it to be a cliche-catchy-radio-bs-whatever thing,

nor would I be so inclined to have only a song from my time, either, but no matter what era it ends up being from, I want it to get people thinking, smiling, loving, singing, and quickly blinking,

while looking into their soul’s mirror, contemplating, asking themselves just as a what-if:

What song will play after the final scene of your life’s movie? – RSM

 

P.S. My Choice is One Life by The Pillows:

(Lyrics in English)

Tightrope Walking

So close, yet so far once again, he was on the roof of the wrong building. He tried to open the door leading back downstairs; locked.

His back lay on the gravel and grit of the pebbles spread across the roof. Hands behind his head, the grey sky creeped along. Feet crossed, jacket unzipped and jeans ripped, he closed his eyes as the rain fell.

He awoke after what felt like an eternity. His surroundings hadn’t changed except for the sky, a smug grey now a cloudy black, save for the streetlights near and the skyline from afar. He turned his gaze from Manhattan’s lights to a solitary window, directly across from his rooftop sanctuary.

Window closed, lights on, white curtains parted, he began to regain hope. He knew those picture perfect curtains, just as if he had seen them yesterday.

The temperature was dropping. The cool Autumn wind was now a stinging gust, sure to be below freezing. His socks had some holes; his shoes had more. Underdressed, malnourished, and down to his last few cents, his long journey had come to a halt right at the end.

They had made arrangements before he left. Every night at 11:11pm, she would look out of her living room window, onto the street, waiting for him. Before he made the jump. Before he turned all his pesos into dollars, stuffed whatever he could into a tattered backpack and took off.

He said he would be there by September. Before he got beaten and robbed in Alabama. Before he narrowly escaped ICE in North Carolina. Before traveling from house to house, doing odd jobs for next to nothing. Before begging in broken English for 5 weeks in DC. He scraped money together for a Chinatown bus and a few calls to her on payphones.

As the November winds frosted his young face, she prayed and prayed, prayed and prayed again for him to get to her safely. A love she may have lost, but hopes to God she didn’t. She worked at the daycare in the morning and at the hotel in the evening. She said a prayer whenever she could for her love to come, but hadn’t heard from him since his troubled lips whispered “Te quiero tanto” on the phone two weeks ago.

Stuck on the roof, there he was, beginning to shiver from the frigid Northeast winds. He looked across to the white-curtained windows. He knew. He knew it had to be where she lived. He memorized her address, for the most part; he knew she was in apartment 5C. One street off makes a big difference when it’s below 30 degrees and are stuck on a roof.

He saw the roof doorway of the building across slightly ajar, light peaking through the cracks. A solitary cable ran from his roof to hers. He hoped with all his heart and soul it was hers; deep down, he knew.

He approached the barrier surrounding the rooftop. The cable connected the two buildings over their wide, adjacent alleyways, about forty feet apart. Looking down, he saw a 5 storey difference between the roof and the concrete floor.

Slowly, timidly, he placed both hands on the freezing cement ledge, brought both legs over, now sitting on it. He tapped one foot lightly on the cable; a thick cable, no shock, not slippery. He planted his right foot as firmly as he could. He felt his weight depress the cable. Adrenaline and fear consumed him unlike ever before. He knew the cable would bend, but not break under his weight.

He remembered the one time he went to the circus as a child, and cautiously lifted his left arm while holding onto the ledge with his right. As the sky decorated his filthy hair and clothes with light snowflakes, he knew that he had to find shelter. The shivering young man planted his left foot in front of his right, and let go of the ledge.

Before he knew it, one foot had stepped in front of the other; right over left, left over right, right over left, left over right. Small, balanced steps, he took, each leading him closer to the roof ahead. Arms spread, legs moving, he found an unexpected rhythm in his footwork. He focused on the cable ahead, not on the concrete floor below, and recited prayers to himself over and over. Right over left, left over right, right over left, left over right. A gust picked up over the alleyways, but he was not deterred. He had come too far to fail.

He reached the opposite ledge. He climbed over, arms chilled to the bone, and fell onto the opposite roof. He hurried into toward the door, not looking back at the aerial gap he had just conquered.

He ripped the door open to the warm, well-lit building. Down the stairs one flight, his stiff, wet legs descended, and he was on the 5th floor. He slowly approached the door marked ‘5C’, with tears already falling, warming his frozen cheeks. He rang the bell several times and yelled her name, a faint cry at best. He heard frantic footsteps and many locks unlocking.

The door opened. There she was.

They embraced like never before, with more passion then they ever would again. She had a rosary in one hand, cell phone in the other, with the time on the screen reading 11:11pm.

Rain Hails And Love Reigns

The rain hails in figurative and literal terms,

a kamikaze attack in the billions, as the streets get cloud bombed

and all the birds take a break from singing their love songs,

Lovers-no-more wonder where they went wrong,

Seeing only through their rear view mirror,

and their most recent turn, instead of the road ahead.

 

As the rain falls, so do the lights,

and lovers find themselves in each other’s arms

while getting lost in each other’s eyes.

The rain only hails to lovers on its way to the stage,

playing a consistent, smooth tone during its performance.

 

No matter how deep, how wondrous, how intense,

the rain gently caresses the ears of listeners,

sending emotion through the air with every drop.

All who hear and see the sky so grey and unclear

perceive the feelings of raindrops as they do:

 

The stillness of peace, a gentle sadness,

a melancholy holiday, ruined by a dark cloud’s madness.

Emotional wifi, these raindrops are.

 

With each seemingly insignificant stream of precipiation,

we are connected to nature, and feel our moods accented

as goosebumps rise on our skin, and a feeling of cool wetness settles

the water from above refracts our feelings

not unlike a glass of water, or a pond below refracts light.

 

Lovers can’t be starcrossed with dark clouds in the sky.

Real love has the patience to see the storm through. – RSM