Sunday, 19 July 2015

My First Thought On the Eve of Aid Was You

She lies enclosed in wood
Wrapped in warm brown earth
As the chants resound from every wall
And happiness melts into hearts
Lugubrious silence melts into me
In this house that is not my home
Grains of dirt embrace her bones
and mine.

Under hot suns
Cold moons
Shadowless skies
Wind-swept and crusty stonework
It is not she who lies there
Only her collagen and calcium
Soaked in grief and nostalgia
that I've been pouring over the epitaph
for years.

Is she holding hands with the stars?
Does she float through nothingness?
Is her home of never explored materia?
Feet anchored, oscillating gaze
I sense her presence.

Oleanders and pine
Paint that has gone grey
and withering grass
are your company

Would that I could be the poison of the Oleander
The bucket of white paint
The drops of dew dripping from the pines
The sap of their trunks
Or leaves of grass sprouting over you

Would that my soul could leap to you
Just to see your smile and kiss your forehead
Like I did on that last day
Except your forehead would be warm again
And not hard and stone cold
Would that I could know where you are
I hope you're better off than I
Maybe happier
I hope you can see me
In that case, I will try to smile at the sky every day
Even though the cakes I make will never contain your touch again.

"I am stretched on your grave and will lie there forever
With your hands held in mine I'll be sure we'd not sever."
Dead Can Dance

From Tumblr.

Friday, 15 May 2015

I cannot/can.

"I feel the urge to write poetry about you
      Yet, I cannot and it pierces me.
I cannot because I haven't inhaled your scent yet
     Nor traced your blue veins popping out here and there
Nor have I felt the pores of your skin emit something
     I can't quite recall
I cannot because I haven't seen your 3 am frowns
      nor your laughter as it breaks through my grim mornings
Nor have I listened to your fingers enchant the air
      to make the dust cry in the evening hours
Just before you'd put me to sleep.
Just before you'd put us to sleep.

I feel the urge to write a few lines to you
       Writing. Which I haven't been able to do in a while
The words are fleeting
       Just like you
One moment you're an eternity
       and then again, you're but a wing's flutter
I cannot write because I am wary and weary
       I cannot write unless you write me too.

Fuck poetry.
I feel the urge to hold you at 3 am with your frown and your brokenness
to trace your veins up to your chin and hold it up
because I wouldn't want you to shoegaze
but look at the stars above you, a place where you belong
I want to recognize what your pores emit and know it's more than just coincidence
or destiny or whatever people would call this.
This is not just some word in a dictionary. Or in any book.
We're writing each other on a sheet of crumbled paper. And the ink is not smudgy.
And I am not wordless, I am not weary, I am not wary
But consciously awake
While your ink becomes my blood
While you bleed worlds into me
While you inject yourself
Special K.

I want to inhale your scent and know it's the safest place to be
I'll be your laughter through grim mornings
and the melody that plays along to your tunes
a perfect arrangement of instruments.
I'll be the bass to your guitar
Or vice-versa, whatever we want.
And sometimes I'll sing you lullabies
Just before you put me to sleep.
Just before you put us to sleep.

I feel the urge to write poetry about you
      Suddenly I can and it still pierces me."


Monday, 26 January 2015

Carry Your Coffin and I'll Carry Mine.

You're the anti-depressant that depresses me
The Lithium injected to make me mad
I wish I could bleed you out of my system
But there is no cure to this curse
You're the hearse that I willingly chose
to lead me to the altar
which was but a gloomy forest.

And at the altar
which was dark green pines and obscure oaks 
You put a crown of dead forget-me-nots
on my trembling head
And at the altar
I held out my pumping blue veins
Cut my veins to mix our blood
under the sight of the Gods
as I saw you step back in horror
My blood dripped down on the moss-covered stones
Scarlet rivers
Pastel blue tears
Monochromatic silence.

A few steps ahead of me I watch you walk away
Only to turn around and cheer me on
The moment I seem to catch up, 
A few steps ahead of me I watch you walk away

I carry a coffin behind me, following you down to the stream
Take my hand and drown me, I would not care
As long as you take my frozen hand, frostbitten and bleeding
From the ropes of the weight I am carrying
Sir, would you please help me carry this burden?
my voice cracks 
My lady, follow me you say
and fool that I am, I do.

A few steps ahead of me I watch you walk away
and fool that I am, I am still dragging on and on.
and fool that I am, I still think we'll reach the hollow of an oak
Where we'd spend the night of the Winter solstice
Wrapped up in each other
Where you'd hold me in your arms and say
and tell me how much you wanted me to carry your coffin too.

(The title is inspired from Tiamat's song title "Carry Your Cross and I'll Carry Mine")