Musings After Midnight
When did your eyes learn how to transform
and capture the light and reflect them into glances of lies?
Why did you make midnight promises
And carve letter on blowing sand?
why call me in so many names
only to leave me with the only one I chose for myself?
Why did you abandon the one you love
And lost what you sought ages to find?
Why coat in sugar and honey the words
that was rotten and bitter in the core?
Why do we trust, is it only to be betrayed?
Why do we live again, is it only to be murdered all over?
Why do memories remain without traces?
Why is holding on so difficult and letting go
As soft and automatic as breathing?
These throng of questions have walked over me
And I have scraps of their passage;
Broken twigs, dried leaves, dried petals falling
all without moisture that a small flicker
can turn them into a bonfire
fit for the cremation of one’s soul.
and yet these questions
whose answers I have long possessed
still haunt me
they bloom each day
like flowers
whose leaves and petals
carry along its surface
the teardrops born
out
of my lonely nights.
DisConnectIng
What is it, bravery
Or the aftertaste
From the kiss of desperation
Suicidal madness
For one to gouge one’s eyes
Slice off one ear, then the other
Sew the mouth
After the chopped tongue
Cauterized,
Legs crashing
To the call of
“timber!”
Arms and fingers
Crushed, broken
Like twigs to set the flame
Burning that knows no flame or warmth
But only mist
Crawling
Like oil.
To choose
To be suspended in midair
Never knowing how high heaven
Or how hard but fertile
The earth could be even
Amidst giant heaps of stones
And pebbles.
Like clouds I become
Like clouds
Drifting from one landscape
Driven by the currents of your desire
To be left all alone.
How like a cloud,
Transformed and molded
Into named and unnamed shapes
Absorbing moisture
Everything, tears and dirty water
Until everything is heavy
Is dark and gray
And from the weight
Sometimes my labored sighs arrives
After the lightning,
Tears are shed
That people run away from
Hide from,
With no one to wipe them dry.
How like clouds
Whose shape
Is raked into strips, thin and thin
Like stardust that is never quite seen
And all that remains
Is the sky
Blue, like the ocean
Whose surface
Froths and waves
While underneath lies
The stories and treasures
Never to be revealed or told.
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