Tag Archives: x

76. i liked yellow as a child

what we are in the womb is everything we’ll ever be.
take you, take me, take S or X or Y, letters galore. take them all, take some more.
we can never change so long the warmth and darkness implores us. and if we can remember the dreams we had, they’ll be all we ever know.
i’m a girl tying pieces of the puzzles together. they still fit and i still am an involuntary virus to a willing host.

i liked yellow as a child.

and i told you, if you ever lied, i’d cheat on you.
well, that’s not true.
i wish i were that simple. i wish you knew that the river of you runs through my veins, pushed up against all gravity.

and that’s all the physics i know.

72. on a carousel of heights

one more year nearly over but this time i won’t attribute it to anyone. no, not to you or X or Y. it wasn’t mine either for it took me on a ride, spinning me around on a carousel of heights. and i can’t see the lows, looking back into all that time through my rose-tinted glasses. i can’t.
lets leave them lurking in the shadows, where past has teeth and broken dreams, like glitter, pave the floor.
i’ll visit them again. i have before.

i’m supersticious.
and i believe.
i believe that one must welcome a year in with the colours of its chinese animal; that one must drink a glass of champagne as the clock stikes midnight; that the way one spends new year’s eve will be the way one spends the year.
my supersticions supersede any norm of rationality, but darling, you said so yourself, i’m the luckiest person you know.

lets believe.
believe that there’s some truth to supersticion after all and drink champagne tonight.
and it’ll be the night when i will set the sky alight, our paper lantern flying up above. i’ve found love.

66. as we stand there

what moved me yesterday was not the explosion after explosion in the sky, nor the coldness enveloping us in a tightly huddled mass of warm bodies. it was the way you looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time. or the last time. and i don’t know how much truth there is in the world, but so long you keep looking at me like that, my heart will long for yours.

yesterday was an annivesary in ways. 7 months, but more than that. 
i was with X then, and with Y to an extent, but that night, a year ago, you held my hand in yours, warming it, holding me gently under the fireworks and the stars. a friend and no more, keeping me warm placidly yet wanting me wholly.
now i’m yours solely.
please burn for me still.

this was the poem i wrote for you a year ago. and now you know.

a drizzle of rain warms me up
like your hands on mine, polishing the silver
the ground not yet ready to settle, the sky – to erupt
and we are languishing in the middle
of the broken
reverie
I conceived with someone else

smiling in knowing
you’d carry my life on your shoulders if I let you
bequeathing me your last breath as a parting present
but how could I ever justify your love or lust
as we stand there under the unremitting gaze of stars
almost like an audience awaiting the typical finale
my heart so suddenly awake

wanting to take
all that you offer, grab it in handfuls
frigid hands clasping yours with the ferocity
that would make you bleed and leave crescent shapes
as a memory of my need
living signature of my greed
instead I leave you with a seed

of hope.

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!

55. and you wasn’t here and he was

once this was my safe haven.
that changed, like everything changes, life swirling us all about in a glass of rosé or champagne, or cheap white wine, if you’d rather.
and i notice that i’ve become agreeable, but no more than that. i’m still all here, all me.

and then on tuesday the rainbow of my life seemed to have been broken up into the component colours and merged together, forming black.
is black a colour? i don’t know. all i know is, i couldn’t possibly write on tuesday or wednesday. or yesterday even. but with time comes acceptance. so here i am now, accepting my failed anonymity.

Y has read my diary, this. every word, or most, violated with his eyes.
and i asked him not to.
i asked everyone close to me not to read it. everyone complied. but him.

i didn’t send a link. i didn’t tell him the name i assumed or the posts i’ve written. i merely read him a poem.
the last poem i had written here, trace of us.
i didn’t read it so he would find me. i never thought he would.
i read it because i felt like i needed to read it to someone and you wasn’t here. i read it because it was about him.

next thing i know, or rather remember, someone, and it could have been anyone but something tells me it was him, typed trace and put the cork essence of us blog into google.

he found me. 

he was the only person i read that poem to. the only one. and it can’t have possibly been anyone else. 
the search was done less than an hour after i read him the poem.

and though i didn’t start the blog for him or X or you even, i thought of deleting it or not writing any more.
but in the end, i haven’t started this blog for him so what if he reads it?

i haven’t started this blog for him and he won’t be the reason i end it.

53. arterial spray

i only stop when i know i’ve had enough.
i guess i haven’t had my fill just yet.

you’ve gone to france, as you always do. your second life, i call it, but i dont blame you: that’s what a lifetime of living with parents who are teachers does to you. four weeks this time; it’ll be five the next or six, or whatever. but i’ve stopped counting the days. i learnt to live without salting my wounds.

Y went camping with his blonde, though she’s not blonde now but rather a seductive red. they’ve been together months now. it’ll be a year soon. october, i think.
he was meant to come back yesterday, but his phone was off. i called him twice. twice is always my limit.
i know i’ll call him again.

X is just an ex. we speak sporadically on msn and i’ve not been on the computer for days. i just couldn’t face the lonely screen staring in my face. i wanted physical contact, the sound of someone’s, anyone’s voice reverbrating in my eardrums.
and i read books. sartre, “streetcar named desire” and anais nin with her erotica. that put me down, but then, i wanted to be put down. sometimes there comes a point in our lives when we can no longer continue to believe in what we are believing until we see what else there is to see.

then there was Z. another reunion. he called me just now. for no reason. he didn’t say so, but then he rarely says a lot. he’s coming back from wales today. he was away for a week, but what more is there to it? it was another failed lesson in love for him, but i know i’m not the one to teach him.
in the end of all ends, i love you.

and i met your ex too on the days. that was fun. hurt me like crazy but it had to be done.
somewhere in between “the spy in the house of love” and “the age of reason”, i’d lost my wits. literature has a way of doing that to you.
i needed to see her. 
i needed to feel the arterial spray of your past on my face. 

let her do her worst i thought and damn, she tried her best.

52. the wedding confetti of childhood

what forgiveness is there for fear, the unnecessary fear of sorts? the one we get when a balloon we’re blowing up explodes in our face, its thin rubber, suddenly in pieces, falling in slow motion to the floor. the wedding confetti of childhood.

what forgiveness is there?

and as i pick up the tatters of my spheres of untainted colour, once so full of air, now – stickenly empty, i wonder if we learn to forgive just like we learn to stop at the crossroads of life and choose the path well-trodden. for, sunshine, we are pack creatures, us humans, going through life like cattle entering the slaughterhouse.
we scent fear in others, just like we scent fear in solitude, but we always follow the leader.
that’s what makes us human.

it makes me wonder if growing up is something to be scared of or something one must learn to forgive themselves. for fear and forgiveness are never far from each other really. what we fear, we learn to forgive. what we forgive, we often fear.

but tell me, darling, why do i fear tomorrow, its powerful wings knocking me off the pedestal you, T, X, Y, you all, put me on?
why do i tremble with the thought of entering the world a year older, learning its ways anew, clutching the straws of past like a shield?

and i know there’s no means to contain time. it trickles by, running like sand through the fingers, never pausing for breath.
but we all try. 
and you must fogive me just this trying, this ever-present fear of fying without wings, for a year older, i still won’t be letting go of the marred ribbons of my life that kept me up thus far.

i want to see this confetti fly up into the sky.