Your Voice

How is it that a mere thought of you can change my seasons

and the cage of your embrace change my concepts of freedom

your voice floods my veins with gushing blood, thick, sticky and hot

I have so much to say to you, I have nothing to say to you

my useless words shoot aimlessly, noisily in the corners of my

vast unbounded love, and bounce back to me.. defeated.

Words

I prefer silence,

words are inevitable but slippery

words can turn into wounds

words when silenced become nightmares,

words when spoken become tornadoes

become quicksand

erupt into volcanoes

turn into an avalanche

words become caskets.

I am more with you in your absence

I am more with you in your absence,

guessing your moods, your whereabouts, the roads you deliberately take to avoid meeting me.

A naive fantasy of how these violent winds disheveling me have touched you somewhere before, can keep me a live..

As Dandelions shed their feathery coats, knowing they are survived by a thousand seeds,

I've shed you off in poems, prose, sonnets and tears.. and tears.. and tears.








 

Nothing

I wanted so much from life, I remember.

Now it seems wanting so much is so close to wanting nothing..

nothing.

it must be a beautiful place, a profound state of mind, nothingness.

to not need more, to not need at all..

that lightest shade of grey before turning completely white

that illusive magical space between conscious and sleep

the highest point of sexual ecstasy

the burnt out candle

the loss of all chances

the dead end

the courage to laugh at disappointments.

Old Self

The nameless gnawing at my heart weighs me down

it has metamorphosed into an animal much larger than me

it has become more than my questions, more than my desires

I was once bounded by my knowing what I am for.. not anymore

the absence of familiar fences brought me a bewilderingly foreign reality.

Somewhere in my tired memory, my old self  asked me

how many lives have we lived? 

with an indifferent shrug I replied "I only know that we've died before".

with all my words

I walked as if with a purpose.

The sky peered at its own beauty through  yesterday's rain puddles.

Everything around me seemed to know,

the excited yellow Daffodils like happy school children,

the tree bark with its ancient coiling memory

the birds that looked down on me from above

and I,

with all my words,

with all my language,

with all my empty tired theories of when and why,

as if eyes wide open in a dreadful darkness, unable to see what lies before me.

Waiting..

Always waiting..

Waiting for my Sertraline to kick in

Waiting for a total stranger to decide my fate

Waiting for tomorrow to begin, for the past to cease

Waiting for the universe to stop building walls in all my paths

Waiting to be told the right words.. served in the right box.. tied in the right ribbon

Waiting...

When all of your stories are unfinished...How can you close your eyes? How can you rest?