A Pariah I am

A Pariah I was born,
A Pariah I might die,
A Pariah by Birth
A Pariah By Choice.

A Pariah I was born
Beyond others' comprehensions,
living in my own world
long beyond the rules.

A scarlet letter I carried,
A Pariah I was seen,
and they told me to stay away from them.

A Pariah I am now,
because I chose not to be
the ambassador of my species,
and because I went to be
with others whose voice,
I could never have.

A Pariah I am,
because I only speak from myself,
because living how I live
is loved by ones, but to others offends.

A Pariah I will be,
threatened to be kicked out,
because I betray
for my own cause.

A Pariah I will be,
considering to give up
the norms of my species.

A Pariah I survive,
A Pariah I cope,
Trying to cope and look for solutions
for how others perceive me.

A Pariah I survive,
getting my own reaches
while I see fingers like flowers
pointing at me.

A Pariah I might die
With Riches in My life,
But the Punishments of misunderstanding
because of my own betrayals.

(c) Pekky Marquez 2007

Snuffed Out

The spark that your eyes had
whenever you used to see me
is no longer there.

The voice that used to allude me
is no longer singing,
have the flowers in your garden dried?
Have the fire in your veins snuffed?

Where is that spark of your stars?
and the warmth of your fire?
That used to be my comfort,
in the middle of my emptiness.

But soon, perhaps,
was the dark water of my emptiness
that snuffed your passion off?

Little by little, your voice stopped singing,
little by little, the clouds of your storm dissipated,
but now I understand
that nature is indifferent;
which is why I don't cling
like I used to do.

But realizing this indifference
does not make the pain of it all go away,
it lessens the torture but the thorns are still there.

(c) Pekky Marquez, 2007

Nebulla

Holding your hand until you say a prayer,
I look for you among a thousand faces
Longing for you from a Distant Galaxy
I look at the Stars, but your soul is not there.

The sky is high, the cold chills my bones,
your eyes are dead mirrors in which my face reflects,
holding your absence, while I try to fire matches against it
makes my body bruise, and feel a deadly pain.

Loving you is like being the mistress of death,
And I try to take comfort in the delusions surrounding me.
Love is a flower that spills honey for some,
but for me, it is a poisonous pen with a heavy iron hand.

Perhaps I don't know how to enjoy the chains,
while I am not sure if this longing is mine,
I just know you are in a far away galaxy
and the only language you know is that of delusions.

I prefer to float in the dark,
making love to the thick velvet waters,
because that is the only peace I can have
without stopping being alive.

(c) Pekky Marquez 2007

The Harp and the Abyss

The naked harp keeps sounding,

With echoes and darkness

As I keep looking down

the dark abyss.

It is an alien silence,

of a death that touches me

and ghostly I am

looking at its depth.

All I do is shout,

melodies with no memories

while the harp keeps harping

in my loneliness.

All I hear is echoes,

but I don't see a hand,

Only a dim light coming from me,

but the rest is dark.

I look at that dark abyss

which is like death and birth,

if there is light at the end of the tunnel

this tunnel does not have it.

All I see is a dark abyss

of depth untold,

feeling afraid to fly on it,

because I don't know

whether this is a cage,

or a tunnel with light at its end.

And the harp keeps sounding,

its strings are made of my nerves,

every string this harp has

gives me pain.

And all I can do is shout

unsure of scape or end,

usure of whether this is

birth of death.

And the alien silence,

gets in my skin,

I feel its sensation

penetrating me,

like a cool feeling of mint

that crawls on it,

it is the alien silence,

part of the darkness that surrounds me.

(c) Pekky Marquez, 2007

The Half Dead Infant Angel

In the middle of a white cloud
with blue-green bells singing an austere song
there is an attic empty and cold as death
and there, a little infant angel lies half dead,
with his eyes half closed, the infant angel lies there
and his eyes project the disturbing light of death.

The infant angel choose to be half dead,
confined in a prisson
of others who needed him.

The half dead infant angel sees the roof
hoping that it opens, and he can see the sky so blue,
little he ignores that there is only a white cloud,
and this is why the attic is half dark.

The half-dead infant angel in the middle of his death
hears the austere bells singing the beauties of loneliness,
as he sees in front of him the uncertainty of an unseen future.

His pain is so obvious in his face,
that others who have passed there have seen him,
and they have ran away scared,
because the half dead infant angel,
with his eyes half closed and empty,
his bleeding mouth,
his unmovable body,
and the surrounding half darkness
that dances with the darkly beautiful melodies
that the bells keep singing,
reminds all who see him of their own death.

(c) Pekky Marquez, 2005

The Missing Hell

The Sun is coming up
The sky is blue and clear
The Birds are singing,
but there is melancholy.

Where has happiness gone? all that I see
is nostalgic faces that refuse to wash away their melancholy.

I see the vegetation greener that green,
but the faces of those surrounding me seem not to care,
their minds are into something else;
as if they would want the hell they just missed.

(C) Pekky Marquez, 2001

Destructive Passion

Fire,
Flames,
lava
the lava destroys the valley.

The lava of the passion
causes reaction
you my love,
you are devastating.

You are poisonous
But I don't know
why I love you so much.

You are no more than lava
that came to destroys my valley,
condemnation from the hell.

I have to please you,
I have no identity,
but you want
to take
mine away.

(c) Pekky Marquez 2001