The Room

Four corners of hollow white wood

a chair, a table fill the empty space within.

He stands there waiting.

Floating on thin air,

his body displaced in another universe.

He sees a clock with no hands.

An eternal sunshine filled the room.

He sees a door, opens it and tries to leave.

He walks into the darkness.

He was back to where he was—

the table, the chair, the four white corners

and the clock with no hands.

Tattooed on his being.

He sits on the chair resigned to his fate.

He looks up once again

sees the ceiling with its white paint

smooth surface and impenetrable hollowness.

Its light enters into the white in his eyes

sparking life back into him.

He wakes up with dreams of eternity.

He opens his eyes

the bright colors and paintings of beasts, fishes

and birds burn brightly in his eyes.

He sees a warm smile

something he feels he has known before.

The hands of the face wrapping its arms around him

carrying him gently.

The ceiling remains silent basking in its infinite glory.

They leave the nursery of white sheets.

A piece of paper falls on the floor

Name: Jose Antonio

Weight: 7.7 lbs.

Time of delivery: 12:00 A.M.

Date of birth: October 12, 1949.

Golden Acres

The sweet air of solitude stings his lungs.

His skin hangs loosely on his bones.

Emaciated, dying on a bed of decrepitude.

The ceiling white as ever looms over him.

Staring down…mocking his frailty.

It’s white paint and silky smooth surface—never faded.

“Why do you look down on me?” a raspy voice murmured.

Swallowed words filled his empty stomach.

A fleeting satisfaction of hunger revived his ragged bones.

“You’ve never faded, you’re always there with your white surface.

Looking on silently.”

He heard the words echo into his wax-filled ears.

Assurance of sanity, a grasp of something real.

As the sun sets the ephemeral whispers of the grave fills the room

he melts into his bed.

His hands, his skin, his face

lies indistinguishable under the pale folds of the cold sheets.

He glances around the room, sees nothing.

He floats on to nothingness.

He sees an old man lying on a bed…lifeless.

Cringing with pain, overflowing with tears of suffering.

Lifeless—nobody’s body.

The ceiling stares on

silently.

Retirement Fund

Looking up through the telescope of the night sky staring blankly.

His blank eyes are filtered with a dark glare of sadness.

Enveloped in a whirlpool of monotonous sights and sounds.

Caught in the middle.

The luminescent white paint of the ceiling looms over him.

Over his whole being its radiance touched his soul.

The light gleaned over his face

he saw a glimpse of a face,

indiscriminate through the thick undertone of whiteness.

Slowly but surely he feels his head getting heavy like a drunken stupor.

His eyes form a double vision

he sees the reflection of an old man and a child again.

Blackness.

The darkness peered its ugly head covering everything in sight.

He struggles to catch his breath.

Heaving forwards and backwards.

He felt two hands grabbing his neck.

Pulling the blackness from his mouth.

Choking him slowly.

He feels the life being drained from him.

The ceiling stares down silently.

Above the swivel chair, the table with the nameplate.

The letters on the plate corroding into nothingness

the rust clings like a helpless child on the nameplate.

He opens his eyes, awakening to a piece of paper

looking at him intently.

The paper is almost filled with mindless scribbles

of black blotches of ink…erratic and meaningless.

He sets his right hand at the end of the paper and places a period.

Nursery

The bold faced letters emblazoned outside

the violet-green dinosaur waving its hands to and fro.

The child stares at the walls painted with rainbow colors,

butterflies, lions, houses and what not.

He averts his gaze and looks at the toys

he has in his hands

the toy car and the toy soldier.

He wears baby Gap on top of his brown skin,

his big brown eyes stares at the expanse

of darkness covered in the dust.

He looks around and sees blotches of paint

white, yellow, red, brown

wearing clothes splashed splashed onto an empty canvas

surrounded by a mixture of perfumed fragments of glass.

He stares at one of the empty faces.

He sees a face with eyes, ears, nose, and a mouth.

He reaches out for it and tries to touch it with its small hands.

The face stares at him blankly.

He sees a voice overhead.

He turns his head and sees nothing.

He looks up at the ceiling, the light momentarily blinds him.

He sees the white paint silent with all its splendor.

He hears the voice again.

He feels two hands clasping him at the sides whisking him away.

He wails and throws a fit, he claws and scratches

towards the direction of the voice.

he rips his clothes out of frustration

not being able to inflict pain on the voice.

The voice sings a song—a lullaby.

The song danced on his mind easing him to dream.

He is sound asleep, dreaming of eternity.

Business as Usual

The nameplate stood proudly in the middle of the table.

The computer is on.

The business cards stock-piled on top of each other.

The leather suitcase is sitting right next to the varnished table.

The swivel chair is tilted back,

it shows the two leather Italian shoes on top of the table.

Jose Antonio looks at the mirror and gives a blank stare.

He fixes his gaze into the dark corner of an empty space

between his nameplate and mug.

Time wastes away eating at the dust and creases of his garments.

His eyes were covered by darkness.

The image of his wife and unborn baby dances on his mind.

Then his Boss from another country appeared

the blank face with no eyes glared at him

the booming voice of the empty face

shattered the silence in his ears.

He woke up, the darkness filled his mouth, eyes, nose and ears.

The nagging pain struck his chest.

He gasps for breath. Runs into the bathroom.

Looks in the mirror and looks at his face.

The dead air and stench of urine filled his lungs.

He sees an empty burlap.

One eye saw an old man with leathery skin,

stick thin wrists, an emaciated face.

The other eye saw a child with bright brown eyes,

full dark hair and ruddy cheeks.

Jose Antonio was stuck in the middle

lost between two worlds.

He wakes up from his dream-like state

sitting on his chair reading Wall Street Journal.

The Office

Jose Antonio stares blankly outside the window.

The darkness peering steadily into the sky.

He muffles out empty words into the silence.

Engulfed by emptiness.

He writes on a blotched piece of paper

countless and many times over.

Busy but does nothing.

he looks up at the white ceiling

mocking him with every word.

it’s white radiant paint

and smooth surface, not a stain on it.

He lets out a sigh of boredom.

Jose looks at the paper and sees nothing

just invisible ink.

He writes and writes again

scrawling, scribbling, slashing in a mad rush

but nothing appears on the paper.

He looks around, a multitude of blank faces

as clean as a white canvases appear

its hands moving mechanically

in tune with the tick of the clock

at the end of the room he sees a figurehead

staring right at him

he moves towards it

with every step getting heavier and heavier

as if he were carrying two blocks of stone.

He moves closer, the ceiling slowly collapses towards him,

the empty faces disappear, the blank paper reveals ink-blotches

and writings as black as the sea.

For a moment he blinks,

the figurehead is right in front of him.

He stares into it and sees a faint reflection

he looks closely and inetnly

he sees a face…his face.

He searches out for it,

he touches it and feels the sensation of his fingers on his face.

He moves his hands around the image

he feels his nose, his lips, and his eyes.

The room shrunk to the size of a tin box.

The silence fluttered in his ears like the rustling of the wind.

He feels light headed his being dissipated into the darkness.

He tried to open his eyes but all was black.

He ran as fast as he could to nowhere.

He woke up holding a pen in his hand

writing on a blank piece of paper

that never seems to run out of white space,

while the Boss was bickering at him.

August Semester Rain

Juan wakes up in his dorm room

next to some girl he met in class.

He gets up, puts on his clothes

and rushes for his 11 o’clock class

with no regard to the molecules in his way.

The pangs of yesterday’s party knocks on his head

swelling, eating at his mind as he walks to Bio 101.

He walks into class and falls into a dream like state.

Juan glances to the side and sees nothing

but an empty room with white walls.

No chairs, no people, no sound,

no darkness and light.

An apparition of a child appeared

with its shadow missing

reaching out its frail hand.

Juan reached out…

The child disappeared swallowed by the night of day.

The bell rings and he wakes up

it was time for the next class.

walking, walking, walking to Chem 102.

The pain in his chest screams at the top of its lungs.

He excuses himself from class and goes to the bathroom.

He stares into the mirror.

He sees his face,

his dark eyes looking through him.

He stares even more,

the darkness in his eyes swallows him…

The roll call starts the instructor strolls down the list of students

as proof of their presence

and calls Jose Antonio

he was not there.

Rainy Days in June

Juan wakes up at 6 A.M.

and gets ready for school

half-alive and half-dead

waking from an eternal dream.

He puts on a used shirt,

wears faded pants,

and puts on his Chuck Taylor’s.

Leaves the house at 7 A.M.

Rides his bike,

rushing head on

back to the monotony of school life

without a care in the world.

What do I got to do with you?

It’s what I need that matters

he whispers into the sound of silence

as he thinks about his mother.

He stares blankly at the blackboard,

thinking tick tock ticking

“why is a blackboard when it’s not even black but green?”

memorized verses saunter across his tongue

dancing to the rhythmic beats of the teacher

swallowed by the echo of darkness

disappearing into the memory of the abyss.

He goes home.

He synchronizes with his iPod

and enters reality.

The iMac projects videos on Youtube

telling Juan what to watch

creating online shops telling him to buy

game consoles, visit porn sites, buy books

and get a life on Multiply.

Endless realities dancing on his mind

the rapture of an eternal life.

“I’m bored, damn what am I going to do?”

an exasperated Juan says to the wall.

Juan stares outside the window

sees a young woman being held up, sexually harassed

“She’s cute, I’d do her”

the sky shining brightly like there’s no tomorrow,

he lets out a sigh.

He felt a piercing pain on his right leg

pulls his pants up and sees a wound.

red water spewing slowly but surely

from the black hole.

“Oh great!” he says, “these were my best pants.”

He wiped the blood clean and shrugged the pain off.

Bored as hell he stares into the mirror

synchs with his iPod and closes his eyes.

The darkness swallows him.

“Juan! Juan!,” his mother calls out to him.

The sound molecules bounce off the walls.

Juan was not there.

School Days in the Morning

Mommy and daddy carefully raise their child to be a good adult.

Mommy prepares the lunch and recess for little Jose Antonio AKA Juan.

Juan pets the dog as he awaits for the bus.

He feels the dog with both hands as he stares into the ephemeral sunshine.

The dew drops sublimate into a surreal reality as time drips in the backdrop of the moon.

“What a wonderful day!” Juan says.

He feels the dog’s tail its smooth golden brown fur.

Its big blue cast eyes staring right into his.

The reflection of the little boy’s eyes showed a glint of hope,

the dawn of the rising sun.

The boy breathes deeply

takes the air into his lungs and gives a huge sigh

that mixes with the endless

whisper of whistling leaves.

He jumps excitedly up and down as the bus pulls over

and takes him into its world.

The endless laughter of children clings onto their skin as the humid sun scorches on.

The bus approaches the school with its overcast

shadow gleaning over the incandescent sun.

The children ran sporadically towards their classrooms

with youthful exuberance.

Little Juan trips over and gets a gash on his right knee.

The blood flowing relentlessly like a river into the sea,

the drops of red water shimmer in the brown of his eyes.

It sends a sharp pang into Juan’s being.

He felt it creep up from his knee to his belly to his chest

and to his brain like pricking red ants.

The bell rings, the moment of laughter ends.

Jose Antonio’s name was called, he wasn’t there.

Nursery Rhymes

The white pasted rooms absorb the echoes of ceaseless wailing.

One family waits eagerly for their baby to be born

as time dances in their minds.

The blood breaks into the silence,

the crying starts as the darkness melts into tomorrow.

A child was born, a piece of paper as proof of its existence.

Name: Jose Antonio.

Weight: 7.7 lbs.

Time of delivery: 12:00 A.M.

Date of birth: October 12, 1949.

A healthy baby boy with turquoise eyes and supple skin.

The baby awakes to the tune of twinkle twinkle.

Hello little Jose Antonio.

We’ll call you Juan.