I cry, I cry and let myself cry because those tears are words I didn’t get to say.
Father, perhaps my patience like the ocean has tried to simmer, to stir clear any poisonous offers but cannot repel all thrown at it hence my eyes, darker than dirt are compelled to shed more tears and my heart’s soothing song cannot reach my ears. I spend more nights looking up asking for more like how I’ll not get angry at my son asking questions I cannot answer raffle his hair gently instead perhaps like that, like knowing the sun cannot become a home, when I beg insistently while I can still hold on blink an eye at me so I can make a wish. I haven’t slept in days…
I dream of you, the man whose touch I mimic whenever mine runs to hide my eyes, the man whose shadow left me a shade lighter than the sun ever dared to dream, how did we ever meet?
I hold myself to the height I think you might easily spot and have broken a few steps trying to hold that height and silencing the murmurs that drown my thoughts in muddy waters I dream of you,
My stare in a mirror trace where you’d stand and find a wall brought closer by a mirror as though even my house is taking pity and when I extend my hand, I touch nothing, like I’ve become what was never there
There you were…
I dream of you, the man I’ve carved from my longing that I realized, I am faint with my steps and the hand that offered me strength out of kindness embodied the warmth I’ve only received from my bed, how could I not hold on tighter?
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.
I found beauty my greatest weakness a haze one day leading to Easter when the sun was overcome, shut really by a calm rain. It would peek but never get a chance and as much as I hate the cold, living throughout a day that feels a shadow of my kind of day kept my weakness a length away from my grasp. Sunrise, sunset or my bare feet on our lawn away from my favourite scene, a pint of sadness in a cold day and many others to come. There, winter’s near.
the road I was on
was not even a road,
looking down I saw I was
walking on clouds far above the ground,
catch me, someone help! I’m going to fall,
my life’s story of going unheard,
silence, if not simmering of silence
said to me, why else did I think I was forever alone,
and my thoughts took pity on me?
Anybody, I’m going to fall!
There, below it looked a cluster
I saw no one
perhaps they’d gone to the moon or
hiding from the sun,
I saw a sketch similar to what father hid
that time I walked into his study unannounced,
he chased me away and
I’ve been away since,
I’m going to die!Hello...
Till I remembered I’d only just realized
It wasn’t a road I was on,
but had been on since I woke
from childhood amnesia.
I’ve defined my loneliness.
I belong to the state, not known by myself, by the one starring out a window on a rocking chair, to the bean or spark started in mother’s womb long when I could tell is with many faces I’ve come across and forgotten, will not allow me to draw my dreams in my diary.
death brought to my door faces with their masks beautifully put in place the masks, perhaps time better left unsaid
“she could’ve lived her life well.”
I mourn looking at the picture by the window frame, does fragrance of her hot beverage relate to her like colour red to blood?
she with me, she without me. I should’ve walked on not looking what I was stepping on.
“I vow she lived well.”
care to explain where life truly begins? without time and a mirror, how could I have met myself?
I belong to the state, held together by breath asleep and unaware, her hope is false hope kicking in mother’s womb no longer a bean.
the best friend I grew up doing everything with. One time took liking to my favourite doll, thought of it moon’s stay, passed it over. Upon her gleam, held her hand ran along to our tree house. Our sleepovers, and fireflies we caught in a bottle argued about letting them go while I persisted it’d be us opening the door for ghosts after they fly away. Her holding my hand, clarity in the eyes that never minded my insistent looking; saying
“I’m here with you, don’t be scared.”
falling asleep facing one another, our hands clasping like the grip fighting against time. Next morning, waking to an empty side that’s never known coldness; then running to my house faster than my heartbeat could ever carry my small legs with tears streaming down my chubby face.
“Ma, did ghosts take Seer away like they did Papa?” “Nani, you won’t be seeing Seer anymore. She has two houses now and like you, will be living at her mother’s house.”
Perhaps my dreams know, I am a disloyal woman, not to this life nor world since I glance at them but, discord cannot spring as I, I’ve never truly looked at either with obedience due their respect whereas have given me a reflection and I reflect thoughts both don’t know were stolen by my curiosity; but to myself, the woman planting seeds of those very dreams and since, I could never give them what I’ve never had in my possession; made attempts to produce or acquire, intimacy when they guide me further or acceptance of the touch they’ve held with me consistently, hence they felt need to leave my head. Perhaps my dreams, had known from birth; I am neither supportive nor negligent but are rather floating in my conscious would not strengthen my character to pick even the dust this world and life, sheds when accommodating me, alas; I give up…