every year, a rebirth. that’s how we should be. no realism, only rose tinted glasses and steely determination: next year will be the year!
and since tomorrow never comes, those will be the fireworks, those will be the days!
every morning, neurons collide and i surface with a new approach to life. that’s how i am. and non, mon amour, i don’t wanna help it, ‘cos sometimes i’ll wake up forgetting and sometimes i’ll wake up regretting, imploding with memories in black and white. i like the uncertainty of it all. how little of the world really matters and how much a little thing can mean.
sometimes i can’t find the words to fill my mouth. that’s where you come in.
met Y today. what had we left to say to each other? so much it seems. and i remember nothing. well, almost. we spoke for hours, walking. and he hasn’t really changed much. i’m still that girl inside a split cell in my brain. every hug with him is like the last hug and i think that’s what made me sad. but why? nothing matters when i’m in your arms, i know that much.
hold me tight and let me kiss you.
you are life.
for how many lives i’ve pushed myself into to leave a mark somewhere, to scrape a line in the sand? and it’ll be gone tomorrow, but all that matters is today. so all i say is, let the wind blow: tomorrow never comes, it’s but a distant friend.
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.
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.
Posted in chapters of my life
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to know fear is to have never tasted it, that bitter acrid taste of rotting apples mixed with strong perfume. there is no knowing, only inhalation and dizziness before the lights go on. then, fear subsides.
the aftertaste remains. cologne is rotting. rotting all the same.
and swallowing the cider bile i stop. and start. i stop and start. and i remember that this was rhythm beaten out for me and Y. aeons ago, i would have told him this was our rhythm, that it was made for us. really, the rhythm is mine alone.
it is the heartbeat of a rabbit caught running in circles, breaking out of a different hole every time. only i have no space of time and who knows if i’m late?
there is no knowing here, only white roses being painted red. but i need no paint, truth always comes out in the end.
and this fear reigns over love. it transcends the borders of us and reproduces in our creations. why is that, will you tell me?
it must be us, the charcoal darkening the paper.
it must be orange juice spilt on a linen cloth. or coffee. coffee on those tiles.
still, it’s so nice to be able taste fear once in a million words, wouldn’t you say?
Posted in chapters of my life
Tagged able, acrid, aeons, aftertaste, ago, all, alone, always, apples, be, beaten, before, being, bile, bitter, borders, breaking, but, caught, charcoal, cider, circles, cloth, coffee, cologne, comes, creations, darkening, different, dizziness, end, every, fear, for, go, have, heartbeat, here, him, hole, inhalation, it, juice, know, knowing, knows, late, lights, linen, love, made, me, million, mine, mix, mixed, must, need, never, nice, no, on, once, only, orange, our, out, over, paint, painted, paper, perfume, prose, rabbit, really, red, reigns, remains, remember, reproduces, rhythm, roses, rotting, running, same, say, space, spilt, start, still, stop, strong, subsides, swallow, taste, tell, that, the, then, this, those, tiles, time, to, told, transcend, truth, us, was, white, why, will, words, would, y, you
my span of wings in trepidation,
resembles the beat of African drums
heard from below
on a warm afternoon:
mid-may or mid-summer, among a circle of people
whose very lives to mine,
no more than tangents to the exponent of y.
and beating wildly with the rhythm of life,
i long to keep on rising,
rinsing out of water like venom rinses out of blood
because, whatever the reason to this life,
within these veins runs music,
slipping gently in and out of life.
Posted in excerpts
Tagged african, afternoon, among, beat, beating, because, below, blood, circle, drum, drums, exponent, gently, heard, in, keep, life, like, lives, living, long, may, mid, more, music, my, of, out, people, poem, poems, poetry, reason, resemble, rhythm, rinse, rinsing, run, slip, slipping, span, summer, tangent, this, thse, to, trepidation, veins, venom, very, warm, water, whatever, who, whose, wild, wildly, wing, wings, within, y
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.
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.
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.
Posted in chapters of my life
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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
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
Posted in chapters of my life
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