Tell me, my love.

Why between lies and fear we need to decide?
Why not face that question, which lures our love to the light of our future?

Why not sing and dream, but also fight and hope, 
and fight.
If we're bounded by love and love is iron and fire, 
is all man want but don't seem to be able to keep forever, 
or for long.

What's wrong with fighting, what's wrong with crying, 
what's wrong with hustle if we thrive together?

What is it about money that pulls people together with the strength of a bull 
but pulls them apart with the strength of a hurricane?
Tell me, my love, why does it have to be this way?

Mi niño, a spanglish poem

Nobody knows what lies ahead,
perhaps aromas and many days?
nobody knows whats after the estrellas,
that every night gently sing you to stay.

Tal vez my prince
one day youll understand,
that stars arent meant for canto sino,
their purpuse yet lies well, well behond.

Understand this, mi niño
mas otro dia seras tu
the man behind many cantos,
the man behind many songs.


Colour blind pages flood my judment 
and birds sing early at dusk.
The muse of the Aurora has come
to brush my curls and sing me a song.

My body is naked across the miror, 
but I can still feel the warmth of the bed

I tip my toes gently in the shower
and no one can see me make a slow-daring step.

I run my hands through my body
and sing songs I never sing
I shower the night off and welcome the Sun and wind

I dance through dusk inside my head and step out 
to welcome my friend Aurora.