She stands at the door, to a house that was beginning to feel like home.
In her hand, a suitcase.
She packed all the memories and her clothes in there
and her mind seemed made up on walking out of my life.
I couldn't stop her.
The tears in my eyes, only that, spoke what I was feeling.
and the most painful part is that, I didn't see hurt or pain in her eyes.

©The Unspoken

mind locked in fear
repeating the same
mistakes over and over
slamming into the same
dead end walls.

one day a life altering suggestion
is given, "go around the wall."
fear dissipates to make room
for something unknown;
a new regime takes over my mind
based on trust and hope that
dismantles the walls.

I'd rather write poems than do math
I'd rather exercise my soul than my body
I'd rather learn about Plato than the Industrial Revolution
is it too much to ask for an education system that
actually lets me pursue
my own dreams?

Your hypnotic eyes, faceted beguiling jewels
bright as a million stars, entrancing liquid silver pools
and I, just another one of love's dumbfounded fools

Gaze away at the iridescent Cemetery sunrise
While harbouring anger
From previous lifetimes
The seeds of petty discontent  bloomed into a field of sorrow
In it lies a path
That meanders through
Tracing the origins of tragedy
And leading back to the womb

Memories of October
When you were highly favoured
Are etched on your skin
Like old scars
Brought back from war

You dissolve in the shadows
Of the light shines upon them all
Always the forgotten

Struck with two little arrows
Is your heart in your hands
Always in your trembling hands

Your resolve wore thin
Safe as houses no more
No longer will you bury yourself
beneath these sins
The flood of aftereffect
Is corroding what remains
When the time comes
I will stand on the gallows
Beside you.

The purple tracks
running up her arms
were a tell tale sign,
a roadmap of hell
to the death
she was travelling to
& no matter what I said,
her hollow
black-eyes spoke volumes
about the journey
she hated,
but could not stop.

“while resembling you
looking at it with my heart
I’m discomforted
by the weight of tear-like dew
on wild carnation flowers”

“beyond measuring
the thousand fathoms depth
may the sea weeds
keep growing to be so deep
I’ll be merely a caretaker”

“you only dip
into shallow waters
in my morass
my body is totally submerged
in the ways of burning love”

“clouded
by affairs of the heart
I am lost
hello! Why doesn’t someone
ask how I am?”

Murasaki Shikibu

In a room among newspapers from far-away climes
like a tame animal like a marvelous man you love yourself
                                                        ­ and sit on the edge
     of the bed with your palms on your knees
or absolved of birth and death you stroke your pumice-stone
                                                    ­                                              cheek
until the sun crosses the other side
next to the photograph of the happy child who is piddling on
                                                              ­                           a blue shore
Then every thing returns regroups
as though in a boiling fog in which things are mended
among the obscure plantations of chance And alongside
a woman carefully hangs out the clothes of the drowned lover and
                                                             ­                             speaks to them
the one who still seeks you in the black bones of the
                                                             ­                                   butterflies
And while you wander lost through the mists of a powerful
                                                        ­                                         manhood
past the spades left on the fresh molehill
or gaze at the swaying of the two stakes ****** into the shore
or lie down on the ground and the wind covers your face with
                                            thistles brought who knows whence
a great sadness brings back the lunar landscape of her tired
                                                                ­                            shoulders
and there are no more words but her whisper are things which
                                                                ­                                        settle
everywhere filling the ripped silence of the train's screech
her whispers are the water gathered over the prints of her
                                                                ­                  soles after the last rain
but a simple turn of the key is enough for you to be able to hear
the slow flowing of time by your dampened socks
or the heavy breathing of the roots
and again you dream the blue shore  at the end of the river
on which we ruminate our enchanted abandonment

Gellu Naum, Vasco da Gama and other pohems, Humanitas Publishing House, Bucharest, 2007

Please take note:
1. Give your heart to the boy with the crescent moon smile. Make sure it appears whole and perfect.
2. When he breaks it, tell him it's only a scratch. Polish it and hand it back to him with a smile. Do not hand him the magnifying glass. Do not let him see all of the other cracks. He has too many of his own, and you'll spend your time wishing you could fix them.
3. When someone lets you see the rough edges of themselves where the seams have been ripped and re-sewn, give them a hug and a smile and tell them that they are loved, tell them that you will listen. Talk to them like you would talk to yourself. To do this you will need to pretend you are normally honest with yourself. Do not ask them why it happened -- it is over now. Do not try to erase the scars -- they are there for a reason. They are scars for a reason. The body has healed them. Do not try to fix something that has healed. You will say too much and regret it.
4. When the boy asks you if you are upset tell him yes. Your smile is not strong enough for him to believe it. Do not tell him why you are upset. You are too strong to let it leave your lips. Do not let the cracks show.
5. If you are afraid or upset or lonely, write it down. Your words will seem silly in the broad light of day, but the feeling of pen on paper or fingers on keys will put you at ease. Let yourself be at ease. Listen to something beautiful and let yourself get sleepy. Let whatever emotion you are feeling come out as a sigh before you shut your eyes. Let sleep and music and words written be the charms that keep it away. Breathe out. Do not let the cracks show.
6. When you cry at something that should make you smile and your friends look at you like you're crazy do not explain. Tell them that you just can't contain your happiness. Do not tell them the way your heart feels hard and heavy in your chest and that the gift they sent you or compliment they paid you took the burden of hiding your emotions from your face just long enough for your eyes to let a few tears escape. They will not understand. Do not let the cracks show.
7. Finally, when you are alone and the door is closed and every living soul is gone and every emotion is pushing on the cracks from the inside out, let yourself be broken. Pour sadness and anger and hurt on the floor like a broken glass pours out wine. Look at everything you have spilled. Feel the shame from the first time you were broken and then feel nothing more. Grab a mop and clean the floor. Grab a towel and take a bath. When you are empty and naked and still alone, pick up each piece of yourself from the floor. Glue them together and smooth the seams away. Paint them to match your skin and polish them until they can't be seen. Get dressed. Fill yourself with food, music, writing, and smiles. Do not let the cracks show.