30 | 31 Poems for August 2017

I need coffee and poetry and music by Solange, Emeli Sandé and Floetry.
I need love and freedom, I need to know that God is in my life even when there’s pain in my eyes.
Our love and chemistry was beautifully overwhelming but I never wanted you to say goodbye.
You left without any warning, you left and I need to know the reason why while I keep listening to Cranes in the Sky.
I tried to drink it away but every time I did, I woke up the next day feeling intensely inebriated.
I have cried myself to sleep on days when the world was dancing to the rhythm of my melancholic heartbeat.
I have fallen in love with my own solitude, but lately loneliness has taken over every single part of me.
You still have my heart beating in rhythms that are foreign to my existence.
I find it useless spending all this time apart while we keep admiring each other from a distance.
I have been waiting for you to help me get rid of this miserable and lonely life of mine.

You are allowed to guffaw at me, considering what came before this.



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXXXI)


Snow.  Likeas if what, eh? mists' fragile veil
Haunts gathring darkness as white caps from hence
That thought of April in the wings, suspense
Put back to sleep with frozen kisses' scale
Of niceness was't?  Rain's tripping through t'avail
Culled naked lawns in yellowed Death, which thence
Are tucked 'neath that chill coverlid, and whence
Straps on its boots 'gainst crunching forth, hope pale?
Nah.  It is Janry still, and violets' tour
Shall not be guaranteed until the dew
Once more rests silver on green carpets fer
Soft light and warmer hours lost under blue
Skies nary iciness skulks in as twere.
Tonight we'll shiver, glad the furnace knew.

14Jan18c

he told me once that my hair
reminded him of the mid-afternoon sun
streaming in through fogged up windows
during the january thaw
he said that my eyes looked like a
blurry sky the day before a summer storm
and that he swore he could hear the
lightning crackle while i slept
we are all idiots blinded by the idea that
love can prevail above all things
and when he talks to be like that
i think i may just be a lunatic

for some reason i always write the most in january. the words seem to flow out of me --- a tsunami, monsoon, typhoon --- of words I've been aching to bleed but never have the time nor patience to set free. words that have festered in the crevices of my mind for who knows how long. words that I've kept close to my heart, like a pendant, a talisman perhaps.

and it's not like I'm complaining. writing, after being away from it for so long, makes me feel like a soldier coming home to his wife. he bears the marks of war on his skin, in his mind, in the hollowness in his eyes. he is glad to be rid of the gunshots that riddle his sleep, glad to be back home in loving arms, but he cannot shake the feeling of being inches away from death, no.

writing again is coming home, but it's not the same. there is a rustiness in my fingers, in the muscles that make this thoughts into coherent strings of symbols. there is an absence i cannot shake off.

but God knows i will try.

I know no home
no more.
Clouds on window panes
are forgotten
at night
through the shutters.

Moutains rest on the calm water
bringing flavours of snow.

Flies,  
unwanted company, dozed and silent
walk on the door frames
and die.

Are you your type of person?
Do you admire the way you see things?
Has pain smudged your brain
and inked blackness
that seeped in the holes of
the remnants of your soul
or are you still able to think?

Is your heart still yours to feel whatever you please?
to love and hate and never cease to see
the light at the end of the tunnel
at the end of a long dreary road
to find color in a black and white world?
or has the severity of it all made it bleed
blinded it and left nothing but a travesty?  

Are you still a person?
After all that you’ve endured
Is your mind still able to find
spots of light to shine
on the darkest depths of you?
or did your fire die long ago
accompanying the innocence that abandoned you with your childhood?

Do you still have your mind?
or did your thoughts become nothing but replications
of what others seem to do?
did the world get to you?
Do you remember who you were before?
when you were yours
or are you too scared to think on your own?