eyes fixate on you
and everything else disappears
(but you and a happiness which wrapped so warmly around my heart)

my gaze which has traveled around the world, which never stays in place,
in those moments were only for you—
you are not just some photographs taken in a rush
of which i have spent time viewing on screens,
you are not a holy icon placed so far up
on stages which someone like me could not possibly dream of reaching
you are not a fabled prince who can only be found in stories—
you are just a boy in love with songs
who speaks in rhythm and rhyme,
you are just a boy to whom movements come so naturally
especially when you are thriving,
you are just a boy with a heart big enough
to be split into thirteen halves,
you are just a boy with a smile so warm
and eyes which speak volumes of words you do not say,
you are just a boy with a soul so grand
that the world found you and just *had to share you
(and i am glad you found me.)

with this i know my heart is safe in your hands,
and with this, i’ll keep loving you for as long as i can.

there is a certain kind of motherhood
only an older sister knows is true
to not have borne a son from womb
but to have a friend of same blood
be a son, a gift and a light too
there must be some divinity in this
to be the one he calls on when
the cupboard is kilimanjaro for this little stranger
who is on some days foe and most days love
to be the santamaria as he climbs
on your own young shoulder blades
searching for ****** shores in worn out rooms
to be stronger than the thunder
that rumbles outside his bedroom window
to be stronger than you usually are
for the little boy whose arms cling onto you for peace
even when you are as pale as the moonlight
he claims to have followed him into our home
there is some strange purpose in this
to be guardian, disciplinarian, caretaker and girl
all at once
when our mother is too drunk to hug her son
when our father says nothing but hello
there is a kind of love
only a sister knows hurts this much
when that little snip of a man grows into boyhood
just as he grew out of your arms
when you are no longer every wonder of the world
you are simply a companion
and on good days: a comrade
always a sister and mostly a friend
there is a strange pull of the heart
at the sight of boyhood in motion
to see him cry and laugh and hurt just as you once did
to bear witness to his ripe exploration of the cosmos
and you think to yourself: were you ever this young?
he looks at you with eyes that mirror your own
yes. yes you were
there is a certain kind of motherhood
only an older sister knows is true
it is the nostalgic repetition of summers that once
seemed to last forever
it is holding your brother tight
when he is brave icarus before the fall
even more so when the time for tragedy comes
and your young, young brother realizes
that he does not bleed ichor like the gods
he bleeds red very much like his sister
there is so much love in this

darling delilah
what a pretty little thing you are
tell me,
when the philistines promised you the world for samson’s heart
did you know this was strength?

anne anne anne boleyn
what a cunning little thing you are
tell me,
when you sliced through rome with the kiss of a king
did you know this was destiny?

cleopatra my love
what a lovely little thing you are,
tell me,
when you drew caesar to your bed for the nile and for yourself
did you know this was power?

holy holy joan of arc
what a mighty little thing you are
tell me,
when you were burned at the stake for hearing god’s voice at fourteen
did you wish it was the devil instead?

golden girl marie antoinette
what a sweet little thing you are
tell me,
when your shiny blonde head rolled down the steps of a revolution
did you finally feel like a girl?

eve mother of eden eve
what a wicked little thing you are
tell me,
when you sunk your teeth into the secrets of the universe
did you feel like a god too?

don't pin the bird's wings
don't keep it in its cage
let it fly as it may
in the light of day.

believe in its wide eyes
don't heighten its fear—
it has seen the world
and loved enough
to know where it wants to be.

set the bird free,
and instead
watch the sun shine
on its lustre glowing wings,
hear it sing the song
of a heart that is finally free,
listen to its story
when it describes the world
in its eyes,
and watch its graceful form
as it flies through blue skies.

don't pin the bird's wings
don't keep it in its cage
let it finally see the light of day,
let it fly as it may.

and i pray for the day
that you could be mine
like how i am wholeheartedly yours.

i've always had a peculiar affair with history
history is a woman draped in red silk
with ***** eyes and sharpened claws
carefully picking out the hearts to break
and stories to keep
one day i'll arrive in her velvet palms
until then i am but another spectator
aligning myself with what has come to pass
i felt so deeply for the lost souls
souls history deemed unworthy to chronicle
i often wonder about the stories of fossils
of what love laid in the bones below me
of the life shared in worn out alleyways
i often remember all the sadness
the war that plagued the world around me
the death of kings the rise of nations
being affiliated with history is one way to come to it
to sympathize with all her victims
to love so much you love even what is done
the fall of rome broke my heart
for if an empire could fall
how much more i
to remember so much even what you never knew
i feared the flood that carried noah
for if all those quiet beings never reached that ark
who was to say i would've as well
i weeped for the library of alexandria
and all the parts of history left astray
for if that much life could burn
i am already ash
i find it hard to let bygones be bygones
when i am forever hanging on history's clavicles
somehow reaching for her and never quite making it
as i am a lost soul ripe and wary of her place
in a muse as big as history's heart