Others promised
to fill your eyes
with stars. Only stars.
But I will populate
your mind with galaxies,
complete the space
with swirling clouds
of asteroids and
black holes to swallow
your sadness. After all,
stars are obviously bright
and beautiful, but alone.
I will help to discover
somewhere within yourself
the need to create
constellations of us,
where our myths
and morals intertwine.
You and I and our
moments, syzygy.
Gravity only exists,
so we can fall together
but still weightless
to see that our mass
doesn’t affect our matter.
How stars collapse
under their own weight,
fading out, is so unlike
the way we expand
amongst the cosmos,
heavenly bodies of ours
joining the rest in the halo,
interstellar where I will
cascade over you, a pulsar
radiating waves of energy.
These shockwaves form
a singularity of us,
with no time or direction
but we know what we are;
a meteor shower for those
still simply Earth bound.
Gazing into the sun, they
promised stars, blinded.
Blinding, our explosion
of formation from nothing.
Let there be planets
where beings flourish
and evolve, and I will
gift you their moons,
the craters filled with
dust of my words hidden
where no winds can
ever disturb them.
They promised you
stars, so you can become
a satellite and orbit
and worship their light.
I will give myself,
a supernova, and you
will learn to craft galaxies
so I can explore them
within you, and revel at
the beauty of the unknown.
Our universe won’t fit
in their telescopes.


**V. K.

When the lamp is shattered
The light in the dust lies dead—
When the cloud is scattered,
The rainbow’s glory is shed.
When the lute is broken,
Sweet tones are remembered not;
When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot.

As music and splendour
Survive not the lamp and the lute,
The heart’s echoes render
No song when the spirit is mute—
No song but sad dirges,
Like the wind through a ruined cell,
Or the mournful surges
That ring the dead ******’s knell.

When hearts have once mingled,
Love first leaves the well-built nest;
The weak one is singled
To endure what it once possessed.
O Love! who bewailest
The frailty of all things here,
Why choose you the frailest
For your cradle, your home, and your bier?

Its passions will rock thee,
As the storms rock the ravens on high;
Bright reason will mock thee,
Like the sun from a wintry sky.
From thy nest every rafter
Will rot, and thine eagle home
Leave thee naked to laughter,
When leaves fall and cold winds come.

A kind of blue lay
thick over her,
swallowing mouthfuls of suffocation
and drowning in nourishment. It's times like these
when the person you are today
doubts if they can reinvent themselves in time
for tomorrow. Blue is everywhere
like your perspective is bruised
and it feels like hell.

The familiar grip of apathy
makes everything foreign
and you're wilting under water like
some kind of mutant...

Observing people talk with an unrestrained
fluidness is enchanting and why doesn't
your erratic behaviour include something useful
in its repertoire? You swallow things that burn
but spit it out again because
all the nerves in your system left you
for a love affair less volatile.

This kind of blue is fickle. Its melancholy
in a heartbeat. It makes you lie awake
in bed until the sheets have lost the warmth
of your empty touch, examine heartbreak like
its a specimen of a scientific experiment. It makes
you hyper aware of nostalgia at 3am. It takes your
breath away and clouds your eyes with an absent minded
look. It's a surge of sorrow and a burst of hope
unceasingly whispering in your ear...

Someone's talking but you're not listening. The world's
troubles are rippling through you, and
this kind of blue makes you silent.
This kind of blue is you.

It was once a hand held out to you
leaking venom and broken promises
he smiled, said "Take it"
I can take care of you

Did you believe it
even when your wrists dripped
the color of your own self-destruction?

When Be Mine
became less edible ink
on Valentine candy
and more invisible shackles
disguised as the bangles
he tightened around you
to hide the scars.

When You are so easy to manipulate
started sounding like,
"You are so easy to love"

and you let the words morph into something beautiful,
because you so badly wanted to believe in the lie.

When you begin to tell yourself
that He never hit me
was the same as He never hurt me

And you start to wonder how
He broke you so gently.