The fabric of human life,
An elixir of strife –
Passion is everything and nothing.
Passion
Is the sweat on my palms
Whenever I behold you in my arms,
Passion
Is the breathlessness I feel
Whenever my lips delicately caress yours,
It is the hunger inside
That I can only feed
Not with steak or fries
But, exclusively, with one deed –
The deed
Of opening up
Like a fresh pack of cards,
Exposing everything,
Concealing nothing.

I wish
It could be that easy –
I wish
A thin film of plastic
Was the only thing
Separating the cards I keep close to my chest
From your gentle fingers.
But,
It is not –
Beneath that spark of passion
Lies a great inaction
There is
A layer of cold fog
Swallowing everything up whole
And the only thing I can see
Is you, desperately
Trying to understand
Extending your hand
Into the void.

Sometimes I wonder
Whether I should build a dam
Instead of letting my river of emotions flow –
BUT
Your touch, your presence
Infallibly bring me back to that feeling you get
When watching a pyrotechnical show.
Spending the night with you
And waking up regenerated, anew,
Brings me towards this question:
“Who goes there?
Who
Is bold enough
To venture into this cave
This structurally unsound mess
This tavern of stress
That is my soul?”
The light of my heart intensifies –
Feeling, thought and action
Are easier,
If for just a while.
If you could only understand
How difficult it is to reconcile
All the anxiety
All the pain
With what I experience in your presence…

Imagine
Being in an art gallery
But being unable to see colour
Imagine
Being an unsung, fallen hero
A spent life, ended with no valour
Imagine
Having the mind of a genius
That is trapped in a minefield of anxiety, unable to speak.
All of this –
It is a mirroring of what I feel
Of who I am.

I am an individual
That loves the world and life itself
But walks through it warily
A shadow
Walking in the plains of the living
Aghast at the thought
Of permanently becoming darkness.
Stealthily
I am creeping out of this nebulous underworld
A process that will take time,
A tunnel wherein the light at the end
Is not yet visible –
I yearn
For your tender touch,
For your warm presence
To be there
When I finally crawl out
When I can finally walk
Steadily, on my own two feet
A man made of solid steel
Who will bend his knee to no one.

Despite my misgivings,
Despite all this maddening rage
I have towards the world
I also think of things like old age,
The crumbling temple of our youth –
In truth,
I do not see myself settling
I am investing
Not in a house or a bank loan
But in a better world for all
A sacrifice
That will only lead to immeasurable yet the noblest of hardship.
But,
Until then,
Until push comes to shove
And I am still willing and able to feel and love
I will just content myself
With waiting, and hoping
To see you again.