your eyes are the mirror
the sky looks into.
There is no vacancy inside of me;
That’s the space where my words are born.
I think art
is picking yourself up
when you are falling apart
Be kind to your own mind:
When it wakes you in the middle of the night,
(Your thoughts afraid of their own shadows;)
Hold it like you hold a child:
Softly, yet with all your might,
(Turn its terror into a fable;)
Don’t ever be ashamed to love yourself.
The birds are singing in their sleep
And my brain paints its fevered dreams
Amidst the stars; and my heart starts
And asks if ships, seen from above,
With their lights on, form constellations;
Did someone ever tell the moon
Her light is merely a reflection?
No, mother, I am not
The fairy tale girl with vipers sliding from her throat;
But rather, the vipers coil
In the pit of my stomach where my anger would rot;
So I dip my words in their poison
Lest it eats a hole in my skeleton;
Lest the world should see
The viper's nest inside of me.
One sleepless night I heard the lark
Chir-chirruping inside my heart;
Got up to find her in the dark
To capture her and set apart
Her stringless resonating harp
On which she played a note so sharp;
My very soul said: "Hark, oh, hark!
What is this iridescent spark
That set my every thought aflame?
For in its sound I heard my name!
That made my ear and eye so changed
That all the world illuminates?
It will not let me sleep again
Until my every breath is spent!"
I looked and looked and looked in vain
But carried with me the refrain
So every time I turned around
The sound was coming from without;
At lenght I closed my tired lids
And heard the lark sing from within;
And this is how I figured out:
I'm not the kindling. I'm the spark!