My nutcracker

With beautiful curls of gold

A stubble that moulds you into an old mountain man

Or the lack of which turns you into a boy of innocent days

Where you hid among the bushes for hours

Then tried so hard, to still be found,

By being the perfect A, the non rebel, the good one.

No drugs. No tattoos.

But you still carry demons and scars

That you won’t let heal

That with 2 golden gramaphones

And a magical smile

You ignore and conceal.


So dense

Like the forests you wrote of, in the midst of a monsoon

As clear as the ice cold streams

That flow between surfaces of seemingly frigid-white.

You’ve fooled the world

What a great job you’ve done

You’ve even convinced yourself

That you can live without the sun.

I don’t need glasses

For I see you with what can’t be seen

And you know this can’t go on much longer

You’ll be back home soon, to what you know deep within is real.

-Ramona Arena 2016.




We’re Alive

Nevermind what you said

Nevermind what you did

Honey, I choose love.


Nevermind what happened

Nevermind what we had to go through

My love, I choose us.


Here and now

I stand with faith.

For You and I,

A path illuminates.


All is forgiven

For there is only love.

All is forgotten

For we are intoxicated with love.


We’ll get through all the moments

Of nail biting anxiety,

As the action movie of our lives

Will bring more challenges, I guarantee.


So flow into me, my darling

Together life has begun

We’re alright, we’re alive

We’ve survived, we’re eternal love.


-Ramona Arena 2015.


27th December.


Why is it so hard for me
To break through these walls of denial.
Why can’t I see they are only made of paper,
Not steel.

Why does it seem impossible for me
To allow myself just a tear?
Must I always resort to intoxication
To let loose or a find a momentary escape?

Why do I have to hide behind words
And filters that conceal my lines,
The story hasn’t even begun to be told,
But the end is clearly in sight.

If only I could shake the truth I know, out of me
Like the falling leaves of October.
Would it be so thoroughly shattering
To accept that I still miss you?

Could the vulnerability reveal a comforting shadow?
Could the weakness reduce me to a baggage tag that reads ‘fragile’?
Either way, this debate of submission,
Is a sweet pain I’ve grown to love.

It’s the oxygen in my lungs
That keeps me alive,
In the same way,
That it allows me to disintegrate until mortality claims my soul.

-Ramona Arena 2014.