They're mine, and yours 'cause our voice got lost somewhere in between. Welcome home…
when we close our eyes at night,
it’s not only the moon that lets out
a sigh of relief but those
those too who stay awake at night,
ensuring our daylight will dance
many dances motivated by the moon,
those too spot a smile on their stagnant faces.
Soon air started to chase me out
my pass time with the moon,
I’d come out holding steaming cup of tea
and it’d keep tea’s breath
while making mine sting, to breathe hurt
like that, I started to only watch the night
from my fireplace eye without the stars lullaby;
watching where my thoughts find rest…
Should I tell you how many pages
my fireplaces have eaten?
because my hand isn’t like time,
misplaces serenity that sky
houses when stars are out and twinkles?
Should I tell you?
the thing is, with you;
no matter how much I try to lie to myself
the lie can never be so beautiful
it captivates me from the truth or
too ugly it drives me away,
never again to find my way back, with you;
I’m always aware that
by your fingertips lie sterling chandeliers
by my feet skeletons trying to hitch a ride,
by your feet clouds prompting you forth
by my fingertips lie presumed fulfillment,
jump, jump so your forehead and the moon could be equals;
that air I breathed became one with nothing
the difference between us.
The girl you’re attempting to see
is left somewhere on the road,
I ran here as fast as I could
and couldn’t bring along all of me.
This thing called love
knows many different languages,
I’ve learned only three
and cannot forget either;
they don’t understand one another
but how to confuse me
with not being related to one another…
I said hello, three times
what did I get?
what has taken form aside my need is longing
how they convey and drag me into their midst,
I can never lie about who I thought I’d be.
Yesterday for instance,
yesterday I schedule my thoughts
far at the mountain top
to see beyond father’s head
without help of a stool
and our cracked floors helping hand
but my longing won, when father came home
only after I went to sleep.
time, like this world’s inhabitants
has more of your attention
than my smile and
“always come back to me”
will ever stop your hand from
tapping restlessly against
our thin walled life.
“but you only just got here…”
tell me how to speak to myself
in a way my heart will understand.
I found myself moving
at a tortoise’s pace,
forgetful of the immortal anchor,
and my days inevitably borrowed
from death’s patient gaze.
In the chase of beauty, esteemed
I lived with my back leading each pinnacle
without knowing, there at the back
was my shadow’s home.
That Gut Wrenching Poetry