As I walked this earth to find you
I also found myself.
On my way to you, I understood that
this path is so long, though,
it could never unflame my heart
for my steps, toward you,
were never bootless;
beneath the act of loving you
I also learned to love myself.
Beyond the search of you, yet I never sought,
I also learned the now of my present
for in you, I am bondless
yet boundless at the time.

I am waiting for you to show up
like the azure ribbons of northern lights
in the end of the velveteen-blue horizon.
I can almost hear your steps
if I hold back my breath
and silence my heart.
Your steps having a caressing sound
of touching the dusty ground.
Your body is the living night -
upon your shoulders, you hold slumbering stars
for the moon is your radiating heart.
I am waiting for you to show up,
I am waiting for the rising
of my midnight sun.

In this my time of need,
I dream about
those Harmattan-breezed stories
you left unsaid on my skin,
for you were so dreaded by the thought
that your light may come alive from its slumber,
that I may reflect and echo you.

And I am whispering now,
repeating the song of your beating heart,
before you could also withdraw your touch,
and say: rather stay blind than to face with these all.

I unbound my hair...

Already accepted that he is the one of his kind;
he is never going to happen again, though,
he has shed and shared too much blood
for keeping himself alive -
always on the still
I am the cosmonaut of his existence;
the explorer of his oneness
for he is the macrocosm of my blooming.

I've seen the stones;
the sphinx's heart,
the tears of the sand,
the touch of the wind,
the taste of the silence,
the plenty of the vastness
- all, though, existed
without rhyme or reason
for as the shimmering firmament itself,
you towered over me.

Only imagined the moving,
dreamed the breathing
for I was walled up alive
beneath the body of life,
its womb was my tomb,
its stasis was my shroud,
yet, my immurement
is come to an end now, though,
for I can witness the rising
of the dark harvest moons
under your eyes.

In this midheaven of demigods.
beneath this semidetached shelter
of semi-manufactured souls.
apart from the half-hearted's dimidiate
the bright-half departs
for dovetailing all of our halves.

I wandered from mirror after mirror
finding no home in any of them,
for my reflection can only have a being
in these eyes of yours.

My wings became the shadow of the past,
yet still echoing their flight
for you are the space
that holds together their mass
and breathes matter again into them.

Entombing the scream
into my body to hide
the banshee
for the sake of guarding
this terra incognita;
the peacetime of ours.

I was blinded by the sky today
it stared at me,
without a blink,
so I did the same,
just to avoid missing
the very moment,
when it would speak about you.
But it fooled me:
it took away my sight
ousted the breath of my soul
far, far away
and uncoupled me
from the hope of the living.
But I still remained,
stayed to listen to the wind,
asked the sun to swallow me
and prayed for you
to recognize me this way.

We are heading toward the unknown morning,
ready to face with the heavy light of the world
only this livid silence embraces us now,
yet still, I do not fear to take one step forward
for I know there's no future forsaken
for I know I am going to happen by you.

How many times should I need to lose you,
before I learn the rules of your equipoise -  I wonder.
And how many times should you need to cast me out,
before you learn to bear my unmasked sight - You may not know.
I have already figured out this discoloration,
and, darling - it is going to **** us soon.
What we need now is to have those blades of ours again,
what we need now is to be delivered by our own Caesarean -
from this womb of pretense-fate
and see the light of our true day.

Someone broke the sun today;
it is raining flowers all over,
creating a liquid silence
by giving life to our constellation
of their falling petals.

Love...
it took away
my sight for life
unheededly,
it rooted into
the eyeholes of mine
till it reached my core of life;
the heart
I already gifted to you.
You see,
I placed it upon
your very hands,
and, for now on, it is ready
to break out into blossom.
It waits for you to deflower it.

Sum this all up: mind
zeroing in on that you
can't be zeroed out.

There must be an algorithm for the Fate
in the A.I. of existence
and I am aware that
you want to encrypt it.
I wish I could have all the answers
you desperately seek.
But I don't.
Yet still, I can be your skeleton key
in this closed space
to open the doors
toward the unbeknown.
Because for learning by doing -
as Aristotle said at once -,
we could read ourselves into
the rules of staying
beneath the wrinkles of Time.

We can be constant variables.

In the chamber of the song,
your voice set the silence afire.
So, let me be there,
sealed by your lips of the blaze
beneath the core of the flames,
standing in the mist
of the sweet breath of yours;
let me be your song.

At times,
I do feel like
those women in history
who were waiting
for their men
to return
from the battle front,
except for the fact,
that I don't need to learn
how to shot with a gun
or struggle with a knife
while you are at war
with yourself.

Estranged from the familiar
you made me by unmaking me
for getting tired too soon
of fostering
like I was
an unwanted child,
yet still you are the one
who have become unparented;
an Orphan King
in a Borrowed Land,
always
halfway to a
hallway of
all ways.

Imprison the blaze
for unlearning
the ghost of our light
to bow down before
an interim simulacrum
of the sham.

You said,
that the colours are so hurting;
that this soundless shapelessness
comforts you.

I cannot extricate you.
Cannot unleash
from the unbreachable
for I learned that
this stasis is your only home.

You find me within
the interim for I will
be recognized as

the final. Though the
distance is my shelter, I
am near at hand;

on my way just to
get in yours. Reflect me; see
what is hiding your beneath.

Your memory is
like an expired polaroid
film - I still keep it

as though it would be
the most precious treasure of
mine, yet I am

aware of the truth:
till I walk this earth I will
never take a look at it.

In this deranged, fertile light -
which makes shadier our sight
-, come and sit with me, right
here to join the passage's rite
of a generous dark to find.
Unlit your cigarette with that sleight
move by offering it to the night
and, from the ashtray of dreams and might,
augur my future; see the fright
for armoring me against its smite.
And say: I bound all these tribes of kite
and bury you under the ashes and blight;
deep inside the hallways of the iron hill to quite.
Burn - you say -, and they all become trite
for they only promised me two-tongued daylight
but, now on, all I can see is the fire of my dark bright.

"Come clean before coming undone" - said the mirror, then melted in the room.
It flowed down from the wall, billowed the room,
and moved across the hallway.
Broken skin like a mildewy smell, disgraced by this voiced-out message,
the iron hill became too twisted and our moments in time,
like debris in the pure water on their way to float to nowhere.

Like splitting the atom I
split myself until nothing
remains but the idea
of me in your head.

It's happened on your last watch.
In a lonesome salvage yard,
she - who was raised by machines - like
an electric shadow on a hopeless, desolate street in Berlin,
was risen by
the taste of your swallowed tears as bitter as gall,
the music of your careless heartbeats singing
its own song of rust,
exhaling radiowaves for picture and thus
bring you into life again
by reshaping the man - from the sounds of wind chimes
and piano accords - who you were
more than half a life ago.

Through the sea of flames
I pursue to fulfill this
shadow quest of mine,

governing my ark
recklessly against the winds
of mauling doubts, toward you.

This heart of stone hides
a dream of a god whose voice
once was lost against

the terrific wind.
It became mutilated
then swallowed by the

cacophony of
silence. So, answerless he
slumbers now, yet still

ajar for long to
speak with a mortal one who
would dare to call thy true name.

With you, I gladly
dance the sleepwalkers' waltz, yet
still, while on my way

to descend, picking
up the thread by following
Ariadne's line,

like vigilant ones,
I would rather desire to
be on the watch by your side.

So, I just sit here,
waiting for you to defeat
the oblivion

and again, at last,
remember where you left me  
like a forgotten

toy from your childhood,
and like every toy I too
need magic to come

alive again; that
kind of magic from the sweet
little human of

mine, the one who, at
once, placed an incandescent
piece from his soul into me.

Embraced by this shape-shifter word,
to relive the birth of sounds,
your voice is the ever anacrusis.

It's a far cry from
those days that'd cry out for a
cry off in full cry.

So, now on I believe that
God created humankind,
according to His likeness;
when I look at you.

Apart from playing a part
in taking me apart; you
just looked the part to depart
by parting my parts.

With arms wide open
and with a mind open wide
I would too open
my body to you; yet you
remain unopened,
thus, for you, nothing more but
my veins are left to open.

...and you came to answer the door like you
did with my prayers; your replies
sought the questions of mine.

Strolling around in
our dear Old Paradise Street
I nearly swooned, my
love, yet, though, rose up into
your deep blue empyrean.

You said at once that
this kind of love poetry
does not resonate
with you yet still, you see, from
a distance, I keep
imaging to kiss upon
your weary eyelids
again, for a moment, it
gives me back my loss:
my sea of tranquility,
my moonbeam of inner peace.

Once my birth was simple:
you made me up unwillingly;
I leaped from your forehead like
Athena did from Zeus'.
You were more than just a father-figure
and back in those days
you found joy in my design.
From a glance of you
I learned the light,
from another the darkness itself.
I craved to know more
but somehow you lost the will teach me;
to finish my making real.
And now
in the embrace of
your torturing abandonment
I became my own midwife:
to learn my own creation,
to be my own design.

On the sky's hummock
she is like a ziggurat;
a gardener of

stars who takes care of
their shining watching over
their sparkling glimpses.

My only hope that
maybe she intend to look
after our little

and unfortunate
star too. The dim one under
whom our love was born to beam.

I wonder where to wander,
alone I am a loner;
once your mate-rover
but now just a harmless pushover
for my path is over
by turning a cold shoulder
to me, you alter into a voiceover
of my kismet, a veiled exposure.

My neon-hearted one,
vibrating throbs shining through
the soul-soaked night. It

is an endless ride
on this forlorn, pebble-skinned
autobahn; I still

can feel you out there.
Your heartstrings are like distant,
radio waves; such

beautiful white noise
attached to the senses of
mine anchoring me

into a godspeed
velocity just to safe
and sound; here and now reach you.

The heart is but a
yawning wound, needs to be burned
out. See? There you go...

And I've become the
victim of my own hybris.
I was ...careless and

proud when I thought you
are harmless to me. Now I
am trying to

bribe Fate itself to
give me back my wasted years;
the years I wasted on you.

As you became out
of control, out of touch,
out of sight, out of

your own depth at last
I learned that altering
for hinky pathways

will impede me from
knowing a higher self; a
journey toward the within.

My heart is about
to leave, ready to ascend
then hover away

on the dusked wings of
her before my woe-hardened
rib cage could shatter

her. An exodus
of the chosen ****** is her
new purpose to find

peace in the embrace,
the horizon's snowy clouds.
I would go after

her, but I'm rooted
here; this mandrake soil does not
let me depart, so

I let her set sail
and ask to be the very
sight of me; just to

watch over you while
you're about to blaze the new
path... From here, her bird's-eye view.

Sometimes I feel like
that you are so far away
from me that only
the cheek of your shadow will
be touched in this life of mine.

Passing through the jade
green understory of yours,
discovering your

forest-like body;
betwixt and between at last
I found my abditory.

Under the vault of snow-white
heaven, beneath the charm of
midwinter I picture the
home of mine in you.