Tag Archives: behind

87. my two plus two

we change. why do we do that? tell me truthfully and without needless words.
i spoke to you in a language you did not understand, in hope that your eyes would tell me what your lips couldn’t. in the end, your hands spoke, holding my flesh as if it were a vessel brimming with the very water of life.

i wonder how and why we have come to this river where the past merges with the future and washes over the present. more importantly, how did i leave Y behind with all his unread letters; and how did you find me amongst all the other grains of sand?

i’ve listened to too many sad songs, heard too many excuses and i spoke to Y on friday. 
completion.
he came out with a gem when i told him that really, i had never lied to him, never told him i’ll be yours forever. he told me that he never lied either. a lie is something that is said with the intention of deceit. clever boy. pah!
i stick to my two plus two: all my past hurt equals you. and i’m thankful.

and between the lapses in translation i’m convinced that nothing matters but me and you and your hands. they will find me all over again.

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the blind spot

interminable
as an endless circle
of coiled nucleic acid strand
without a protein coat
to hide in

so here you are:
i’m naked
like the moon,
causing the tides of your moods,
falling behind
the thick mesh of clouds
and reappearing
as a sliver
after total destruction
of another menstrual lifecycle

and i’ve noticed
you don’t see the moon unless you’re looking for it
or sleeping with your face under the open sky

its coming and going
passes the world silently by

that’s why my whole life
has been about finding
the blind spot
in the lover’s eyes.

continue to simmer

I glisten like humidity on windows
of brazen memories of not so long ago
and you look through that glass into the night,
presence of my ghost lingering behind
as moonlight shines and stars above you shimmer

I continue to simmer.

——————————————————-

this is a poem from so long i don’t care to remember. it was a scribble on a notepad some solitary evening. about Y, of course. i dedicated few poems to X. it was Y that i loved.

and now, here we are: Y has just gotten engaged. the status flashed up as the first notification on my facebook homepage. c’est la vie and i don’t regret it. so long the finger isn’t mine, he can put all the rings on it he wants.

i don’t need a cage, just love, like nectar, flowing freely.
so give me love!

trace of us

we’ll stop tonight
where lights carry a trace of us
and moon shines loftily on bare skin

if only to say goodbye 

we’ll lay in the long grass
just like you wanted
no questions asked
no answers given
and put the cork into the essence of us

although,
it may still feel unfinished somehow
still raw
still paling
in the sunshine of your blackest sun, 

maybe then, under the searching light,
i’ll stop hearing your goodbyes
knowing
you’re listening for my hellos 

a year too late

———————————————–

and there are moments in our lives that lay imprinted behind our eyelids, fluttering with every heartbeat, waiting to escape.
this is one. 
of stars was another.

but…
different people. different lives.

i know. 
circles never end.

47. claiming the world

what does it feel like to claim and not be claimed?
i used to know.
i remember knowing, living for the memories. and recollections come and go, but it’s been close to never since that was me, claiming the world without giving anything back. and the gold thread of freedom trailed behind me, uscathed, untouched.
now, that thread, ulcerous tail, no longer golden, only appears when there’s a total eclipse of the heart.
it’s my firestarter, the shot signalling a race, a way of loving myself more by loving you less. 

and it’s nothing more than a joke – a special effect amidst an action movie; an actress screaming as ketchup flows from her imaginary wounds.
for you have become my all, mi vida, mi corazon.
you have claimed me, like france claims you again.

tonight, tomorrow, for days on end, you leave me here alone. no X, no Y, no admirers, no other loves. i cut those golden threads leaving only one.
my tarnished freedom. my back-up plan.

and i leave myslef vulnerable to you. to claim.

and maybe all i ever wanted was to be claimed, my rebellions just a show so that when the curtain call was done and i was in my dressing room, all alone, taking the make-up off my face, someone, anyone, would walk in and force me to my knees, making me love them without loving me back. 
and then, i would know what it was like to love a spy in the house of love. 
then, whatever i thought of them would be what the world thought of me and i would feel whatever the world felt after i claimed it.

and none of it would matter, because the world would still be mine.

38. it’s the little things that get us most

you made history yesterday.
you may never be mentioned in history books for it, but you did. the first boy to give me flowers for no reason at all whatsoever.
just because
you said, as i shushed you with kisses of passion i never knew resided in me. and i know now that it wasnt the flowers, though they were beautiful – hot pink carnations excusitely wrapped in light-blue paper the colour of the aquamarine sky i saw behind you as I opened the door, subdued, expecting nothing but your hot gaze to land upon my pale body clad in jeans and a t-shirt, casual style – it was the beauty of the gesture.

it’s the little things that get us most, some say. they must be right.

in our Father’s grace

Blunt metal zip opening a whole new world
With
Sounds of three letter words shining through exclamations
As if to beckon God our Father closer
With
A mantra of his name 

The organ’s nothing but a guitar strumming somewhere
Behind the pew
The first three chords of Ave Maria
Or the last three;

Were I to ask, you would agree
That it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard
Though it’s not played all that well. 

That music carries nothing but the breathing of your prayers
That I should never stop.
Composed, I stumble into your Holy place
Still humming hollow melodies in our Father’s grace.