Is it your glances or their absence?
Your words or the silences in-between?
Knowing their potential
Or knowing my own?
That keeps my hand on the doorknob
In case the latch catches me off guard
Tag: reflection
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The glass blower
Like a glass blower with a cold
Unable to stifle his sneeze
I’ve sent many chaotic breaths down the blowpipe
Ruining the smooth lines I’d planned
Too late now, to fix those kinks,
Nor return to the burner for another try
No,
Gotta keep blowing now
Accepting the imperfections as facets
Reflecting my palms,
Foretelling yet uncertain,
Just like the breath that made them.
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Netfliction
In time—
I won’t remember your face,
nor its contours or expressions
Only emotions will remain
Nor will I remember the reasons,
only the pangs of a ‘how could you?’,
the tickling giggle of an ‘oh my god, remember when?’,
not your voice or tone,
nor what was even said back then
The starting credits will read:
‘Based on a true story’,
‘An adaptation of…’
And I’ll impatiently hit ‘skip intro‘—
because I always remember exactly what happened…
or so I keep telling myself.
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Loose leaf
One day
On the final day
On my final day
Some will hear of it, and maybe say
Ashes to ashes
While others say
No way! Dig a hole in the ground
That’s the right way
Either way, I can’t stay!
They’ll put me away
Somewhere far,
Far, far away
Where I will lay
Where I’ll remain
Or my remains will remain
My remains?
How?
That remains to be seen
Though definitely not remains to be seen!
That would be rather obscene
Imagine the scenes…
Sorry, I digress
Where was I?
I died, yes…
And my remains?
Still nowhere to be seen
Buried or blown away — either way
That’s my last day in the sun done
Until my tea leaf-like existence infuses with the next rainfall
Until the waves dissipate from the last time my name’s called
And that will truly be all
An existence steeped in life, steeped back into the earth
One way or another, I am returned
After that final sip,
It’s time to call it a day
Thank you and goodnight 🫖
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Murder mittens
Possessions cost a penny
But emotions are free
Something for nothing
Bursting from inside of me
At least that’s how it was supposed to be
It is and it isn’t
Such a vicious virtue
Purring so gently
Schrödinger’s Catch-22…
Saying hold me—
but don’t tempt me. 🐈⬛
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Beholdher
I’ve yet to get a handle on my self
What hope is there of grasping you?
Sitting there,
Greater than the sum of all my senses
A manifestation,
Born of perception
A version of truth?
Or a manifest deception?
A mirage
A visage
Whatever you may be
Just, continue to be
Do my eyes deceive?
Do I just want to believe?
Honestly,
Irrelevant to me
So I beg you please—
Just, continue to be.
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Out of hand
My heart finally wrenched itself free
It doubts I’ll ever learn to hold it
Played my hand one too many times
Ironic, I didn’t have the heart to fold it
Left retracing the lines in my palm
Seeking absolution?
Seeking alms?
Or simply seeking the line that foretold it?
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Unavoidable
If I were to find myself on the day of judgement
I’d tell God to join the back of the queue
There’s many more innocent hearts I’ve broken
And questions left behind,
within a lifetime’s silence
It is their eyes I fear the most
But I accept…
God?
God can have whatever is left.
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Summiting
Somehow, words tend to fall short.
Clichés of bleeding pens,
Of pouring hearts onto pages—
Nonsense!
They never crossed the writer’s door.
Ring-fenced within words, the heart is mute.
To believe otherwise is vanity—
It’s foolish
One can write and write, yet the words arrive stale,
Pale and cold in the shadow of mountains
They try and fail to describe
I do not know which medium would suffice,
Just not that of the scribe
How many times, in how many ways,
Have I longed to make you see through my eyes?
Make you believe what I believe—
Yet as soon as the word is written,
It is at the mercy of what you perceive
It’s make-believe
And then somehow,
The mountains I peaked become molehills…
Or maybe..
I’m just blaming my pen.
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Ice dance
You live in a little snow globe in my heart
I can shake it up and watch as the snow adorns you anew,
Smile and relive that frozen moment—
That fragile, timeless void where we danced,
Where you were mine,
Where it was too warm for snowflakes to touch
I can still tap on the glass,
Hold that little world within,
Where I always kept you,
Quietly adored you
Though now,
I’ll always remain on this side,
Peering through the snow
I can’t join you anymore
My world cannot be held,
At least not by these hands
But no one can take this you from me—
This you, immortalised,
This you, for me alone
For this, I thank you.
I’ll let the snow settle now…
It could never touch you anyway.Imagery inspired by this scene from the film Edward Scissorhands: https://youtu.be/J6xzL0TrsRY
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Putting it on paper
Am I writing you out of me,
or writing you into existence?
Does the paper take the weight of the words,
or immortalise a fleeting thought?
Oh the irony…
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Silence
For the longest time there was stillness
Unspoilt, uncracked, unbreakable
Until silence awoke and spoke to me
She broke through and spoke to me
She spoke in such a way,
That I heard her voice
Though not a sound was made,
I heard her voice
Though not even a blade of grass did move
At once, I was soothed and scolded
Soothed by her presence in solitude
The companion I could hardly discern
She held me and strengthened my fortitude
Though her touch was not gentle, I learned
If I had known it would burn,
If I had known it would burn so deeply
I would have chosen to keep her at bay
Instead of harbouring her voice
Harbouring her voice so close,
As if to savour the sensations
The sensations of her labouring intonations
Savouring her lamentations
Or did she just echo mine?
Did I pour my heart out willingly?
Or did she decanter this wine?
When did I become her cupbearer?
The cupbearer of silence
Did she have my acquiescence by design?
Or did I seek her counsel?
Perhaps she was always here
Biding her time
Biding her time to thaw the stillness
To breach these walls
Knowing they’d fall
Knowing I’d seek her call
I wonder,
Did I finally choose to listen that night?
Or was I compelled to stay?
The night that silence spoke to me
When she spoke in such a way,
That all I could hear was her voice
As if I even…
As if I even had another choice
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Unravelling I
Why is one never full?
I fear this appetite will be the death of me
Yet, I will still ask why
As my last breath slips through my throat
This insatiable desire to know,
Tell me how,
Tell me why!
And then why and why again
For a moment, I’ll pretend I’m done—
I’m satisfied
Untrue
Deep inside, I’m never satiated
The wise say, “to be is all”;
All else is white noise
Make the wise choice to accept that being is enough
And then diffusing as does ink in an ocean swell
As does the sweet fragrance of jasmine
Stolen from its home by the breeze
As does the sunset kissing the horizon
Yes, yes, yes!
I understand the concept
I’ve read the works and felt the shiver of being
The shiver is evanescent
Yet my thirst, is an unquenchable curse
A famous poet spoke of a thousand desires
Many fulfilled, yet the yearn for more burned inside
In truth, this is all I know
To know
To know I know not enough
To know that knowing is peering through the looking glass;
To be is the other side—
Is peering inside oneself
Finding the source of I
Removing I from within the heart—
As the old Sufi – Bulleh Shah – once pondered
It all sounds so profound yet impossibly simple
I wonder where to begin…
There it is again
I wonder, before I can pretend that I do not exist
I always come first—
Ego before everything else
A prisoner to I
I think…
I think I will wonder why
Until the ink is lost in the swell
Just as it was before I ever wondered
As it will be long after I cease to be
I wonder how long that is
Perhaps it is not for I to know,
Perhaps the question is the folly
I wonder what will unravel first
The thread I’m pulling or I?
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A writer’s conundrum
The beauty I find in disarray
Turns dismay into a hobby, a pastime
Memories of a time past
Felt everlasting once, but couldn’t,
Alas they must remain in disarray,
In shards,
In pieces,
Broken strings not to be threaded
For there was no single story,
No one narrative,
No words to be lost, recalled, revised or omitted
Only the essence,
The sentiment,
The tender sting of nostalgia
Raw emotion in perpetuity
With I, in servitude to it’s beautiful ambiguity
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Duelling
I only have compassion for you
When you’re apart from me
If I could see you sitting there,
Side by side, shoulders slumped,
Heavy,
I’d feel something for you
I could even hug you,
Whether you let me or not
It doesn’t matter—
I’d see you though,
Saying nothing
I’d feel you
When you’re someone else,
It’s easier
They say, be disciplined with yourself,
Be kind to others
My discipline was always the stick
I beat you down and then put you over there
I see you again,
And I care—
Enough to want to hold you
It must be tough to only exist when it hurts,
To be seen only through pain
Why is it easier this way?
Imagine there was no you or I,
Neither together nor apart,
No more dueling with duality,
No victim, no villain
To never see you again—
How beautiful that would be,
To be,
Only to be.
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Inside voice
Why are there so many barriers between me and the tongue?
They blame me for holding secrets, but that is simply not true.
They’re wrong.
I’ve so much to say, but my message never gets beyond the mind—
Who put him in charge anyway?
They must’ve been out of their… nevermind,
It’s fine.
I often dream of having a voice of my own,
So I could make every so-called ‘secret’ known.
I’d blow the cover on every withheld truth,
Oh trust me, I would put my voice to use!
All the silences that the mind chose instead,
I’d drown out with words that were left unsaid.
All the cries for help when he felt broken,
All the ‘I love you’s that were left unspoken.
My doors would be open for all to peer inside,
I’d sing my little self out with nothing left to hide.
It’s not like I don’t try, but my requests are often dismissed,
I rarely follow the rules, but the mind, he has a list!
What to say, how to say it, overthink and then replay it,
At the end, the decision is often the same:
“Say nothing at all.”
This is insane!
He debates with himself and then agrees to disagree—
What is this madness? I wish to be free!
Free to be heard and free to listen,
Free to cry without permission,
Free to beat and free to ache,
Free to love, free to break.
I have so many melodies that remain unsung,
If only I could speak..if only I had a tongue.
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Be
Today our threads weave a tapestry,
Tomorrow, those same threads may fray
We cannot lift the future’s veil,
Nor embrace shadows of yesterday
Today is where we will be,
Where our story will be woven
So dance with me and sing full voice!
For tomorrow will remain unspoken…
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Palmystery
I can’t see the lines in my palms sometimes
Like I scrubbed too hard and washed them off by accident
I’m not sure where they went…
Nor am I now too sure about where I’m going
…It is still me right?
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