#prosaic
Dear Self
Dear World
I’m so bored
I’m so bored
I’ve done all that I could think of
to feel like my body is a home
And all is well
All is quiet
I am simply bored
I’ve talked to rooms full of people
I’ve talked to walls
I’ve talked to Gods
I’ve talked to the stars
I talk to myself
I walk up and down halls
I think about the possibility
of meeting her one day
I think about buying
a new house
with more walls,
more Gods,
more of her,
and halls.
Without the right her,
I’m still so bored.
Dec 15, 2020
Dec 15, 2020 at 3:51 PM UTC
I have two facts for you,
First, anything and everything you see, is hiding something.
A funeral of shadows lurking behind it mourning the loss of everything that for once made the dark side kiss the light, and not regret it.
Second, you need to hold some things like, a prey gripping onto life before the predator. Softly. It mustn't hurt when it leaves.
1, 2, 3.
1, 2, 3.
Stop.
I am though bound by lightning,
The one that rips liberty right off the statue,
I am though in love with the pyre,
Of your arms, melting me into you.
1, 2, 3.
1, 2, 3.
Stop.
Like, when one with sleep murdered out of eyelids yearns to write poetry, the need to birth something out of emptiness is then the noose, shrinking around one's throat, trying to force out a lullaby instead.
Like, when one with courage ***** out of his consciousness tries to play a violin of frayed frets, freedom is the abuse caged within the paper ***** thrown and made to pass through the performer's shaking hands.
1, 2, 3.
1, 2, 3.
Stop.
I am though caged by swords,
The ones that cut "fly" right out of "butterfly",
I am though set free in the meadow,
Of your eyes, burning into mine.
Nov 28, 2020
Nov 28, 2020 at 12:20 AM UTC
There in the time, were you. Burning like light and moving like darkness. For being complete is nothing less than nothingness.
Maybe the hair strands are meant to cage the breeze. It is after all not an innocent brush of a passer-by. But a gaze, burning through every book employed to cover art, and every scent used as a decoy. A drizzle of steam on a melting face. An enactment of a blatantly romanticized pull, tugging at every vein to stand out in utter disbelief, what on earth befell the first hand that touched another?
There is a breeze stuck in your hair.
"How?"
Just like a bird begging to be free, although aware that the wilderness will be its death.
Maybe cinders are what birthed most of us. And instead of being cherished, we were set ablaze. And just like a volcano, we forgot how to erupt, we found peace in drifting arms. Although somewhat boiling, we were frozen to fever.
Maybe we aren't showers and sunlight but floods and hurricanes.
I've been searching for a window to a day, when words will have faces. Smudged, smiling and shy. All I found was a peephole to the midnight, when faces won't have words.
We can but touch glass to reminisce the hand held on the bridge behind a poster promising a longer summer
My words need meaning, they said. A profound lack of lustre is ******* the verses dry. The absence of a will to not frame riddles, is murdering every blot of ink in red. A noose hangs low from the title, and reaches the name by the time the sentences end. Every word comes as a punch of flesh on stone, unnecessary. A lucky draw of words thrown about for a prize less lottery.
What is more beautiful than an autumn of mess?
More meaningful than a heartache of happiness,
a nosebleed of ecstasy, a pint of pain with gin and love?
More laborious than saying everything and nothing?
Time is a fretboard.
"How?"
When we kissed, couldn't you hear the first note of the concerto?
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 3:47 PM UTC
Lucy
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and oh,
The difference to me!
ድንቅነሽ
እድገቷ እምብዛም ባልተዘወተረው
የሽማ ማጠቢ አቅራቢያ ነው
እንደአንድ ኮረዳ፣ለአድናቆት ሆና
ፍፁም እንግዳ፣
ለፍቅር ተወስና በጣም በጥቂቶች
የልብ ጓዳ፣
ነው የኖረች
ያቺ ሃምራዊ ፅጌረዳ
ዋቅላሚ በወረሰው ኮረብታ
በከፊል ተጋርዳ፡፡
እንደብቸኛ ኮከብ
ጽልመት በለበሰው ሰማይ
ደምቃ አንደምትታይ
ከማንም እይታ ርቃ
ነው የኖረች
እንዲሁም የሚያውቅ የለም
ድንቅነሽ መች እንደሞተች
ግና መቃብሯ ውስጥ ነች
ወይኔ፣ ልዩነቱ ለኔ!
(ዊሊያም ወርድሰ ወርዝ/ትርጉም ዓለም ኃይሉ)
Dec 11, 2019
Dec 11, 2019 at 8:37 AM UTC
\put your feet on the land/
His name, according to the scrawl on the cover of his journal, was Viele. His build, according to everyone he'd ever met, was a lazy mosaic of withered limbs; veins snaking like cracks in pavement.
His intentions, according to hindsight, were regrettable.
\and see/
It is the gospel truth that man is the expert of denial.
As sure as the dead stay dead,
The Graverobber will prefer the term 'opportunist'.
Viele was a "professional",
took pride in his "art".
He dug, dug, dug,
'til the wood did part.
Stripped the cemetery to its bones (or, if you please, of its bones).
\ain't no grave/
Then Viele snags his shovel, about three feet deep.
Somehow the handle asphyxiated by the stalk
Of a Morning Glory, which flowers a defiant blue -
swallowing whole, the rusting ***** as its spiral buds take
their first breaths - against, of course, the tarred lung
of their rawboned abuser.
And lo!
(the image befits the phrase, as does the Earth "empty of form")
the deadyard stood guard,
erupting
like it was suddenly attacked
by an impressionist's paintbrush.
The deadyard, and Viele
Van Goghing, Goghing, Gone.
\gonna hold my body down/
In Lieu, In Bloom:
Baby's Breath and Bells of Ireland and Daisies and Hydrangeas and Lace of Queen Anne and Sunflowers and
God, ad nauseum they arose,
arching upwards from graves.
Leaving no gravestone unturned,
in the pursuit of the place
where footnotes become headlines
and headlines turn to deadlines
and deadlines turn to soil.
For in the morning,
when Viele returns
and Glory, ironically, stands down
(slash-stands-us-up)
we will know to wait.
Tucked away behind our rejected Heaven's gate,
for the show to return.
Where there's Life in the urn.
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 1:36 AM UTC
**People are not always what you see...
humanity is beyond visual, yet above the mental...
Humanity is a universe, with sands on beaches,
stars in the skies, truth and lies, different planets and galaxies...
Humanity is moons and moons and moons...
but most of all, humanity is you... So to judge me better,
look within you and judge yourself rather than what you see or hear... you are human, so am I...
I am you, you are me... we are the universe...**
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 11:32 PM UTC
**When I meet the Sunset, I'll tell her
about how beautiful you pair looked
I'll apologise for all the time your
glowing eyes paled the full moon
I feel remorseful for ignoring the stars
for when we were together I preferred
to watch you from spotless to scars...
They need to come back, the sky
mourns their absence everyday
like I often do because of yours
I'm writing to the blossoms
especially the Roses in the rain,
they must think I hate their scent
yet I love it...I just couldn't smell it
whilst in your warm fragrant arms
even the road is hurt for she thought
all those promises of forever together
were hers, you seldom promised too.
The lawn's never stopped asking for
you...everyone misses, everyone thinks
you should have stayed a little longer
Bed still has your space kept & cold
The isles wonder why you won't walk
their even just one more time...
the curtains no longer glow in gold
even at dawn... everyone's in frown
& fed up of the excuses they're told
I'll have to apologise to my heart
for letting him think it'd found a mate
I'm to blame for trying to predict fate...
I've tried to wait a little longer for you
but it clearly seems you ain't coming
back...We all wish you could return...
Why does desire always have to burn?
I'll write to the ocean and tell her to expect
us no more... that tear was the last of you
the sad gaze you left me wearing was my goodbye
I'll write to the DJ continuum and tell him
I wish he could replay the music of out time together
for though short lived I'd give away this eternity
to relieve that brief moment that beats millenniums...
I'd choose you over life, because you gave me
what years before you couldn't find... peace
I'll never know the serene I found in your embrace
because I'll never give another as much trust
as I gave you... you were an Angel... you were paradise
I'll never forget that day... the tears in your eyes...
I'll never stop writing about us... we were
better than jack and Rose let alone Romeo and Juliet
We were better than the movies because
we were real... I wonder why we had to end
like movies and books... I wonder...**
Yours truly...
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 10:39 PM UTC
*She snored like a stuffed pig
and he so much hated it
but every time he remembered
her breathtaking smile, he cared less
about how loud she actually snored
because the perfection in the joyful stretch
of her ****** muscles in juxtaposition
to the snore not only reminded him about the vows
" For better for worse" but also that every blessing had a curse
and people were really two faced like the coins
and we decide which face we see when we flip
he knew there's a dark side to even the most twinkling star
just like there was no beautiful one without a scar
what mattered was he chose her and she chose him
and once he realised that life wasn't as hard as it may seem
the snores suddenly turned into sweet lullaby
that he badly missed them the moment
she phoned and confessed she couldn't make it home
silence felt worse than the snores had ever felt
it was a torment the moment he placed down the phone
he hated it and whenever she was away he would die
in longing for the completeness of her lovely imperfection
he ached, tossed and turned trying to find her in the void
just like he did when they'd just married due to her snore
only this time it was because of true affection
he badly missed her, an irony he just couldn't ignore*
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 5:26 PM UTC
*she didn't look back to see the tears as they crawled
or my tired fingers that snapped with a click
she didn't look to see my trousers high rolled
or my cheeks turn pink especially the left that did twitch
but I wanted her to do it so that I would see her last look
needing to know her final description in our book
I needed to see the reality of how our radar gets shredded
and how she was holding that moment I dreaded
there were questions in my heart that one glance
should have answered like whether there would be another chance
I was sick watching her leave as I grieved
I tried so hard to disguise that I was weak from disbelief
was it all a lie, was that the sour taste that seasoned goodbye?
was the tree not deep enough in ground that it had to die
simply due to the drought of a few weeks doubt?
she didn't look back even when she reached the last bend
that would our visibility totally end
yet I still told myself she would, that we weren't done
as I sat down torn between running
after her or just looking on at a heart burn
with untold fires of rage, and murderous yearning
maybe I should have followed her and begged some more
but if a week wasn't enough to do it could a minute avert her 'No'?
it was a blunt knife plunged to the hilt into my flesh
and mercilessly twisted for me to have a maximum feel
it was spittle right onto my favourite dish when I've starved over a month
it was a cancer at it's last stages slowly eating me away
wanting to chew over and over the little flesh
left on my feeble bones to mere pulp
or a noose helplessly ******* out the little life left
and I wishing I didn't kick the support under my feet
beckoning someone to come to my rescue and cut the rope
but the gnawing tightness around my neck stealing my desperate cry
and even after that bend I still adorably saw her right there
I saw her close to me and I saw her everywhere
how could I not see her everywhere when for years
she was my pillar, my strength and palm that wiped my tears?
I fell back to the ground and looked straight to the afternoon sun
without blinking,all my existence in ecstasy
and in the nothingness I knew that was the last dot
of happiness in my lifetime I would ever see
And as I in vain implored myself to be strong
I only grew weaker wondering what really went wrong*
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 5:06 PM UTC
*It burrowed through her heart like a scared mole
sending ripples of pain straight to her soul
disbelief clogged her eyes as she watched discombobulated
by a lot of images strange and very unrelated
the air smelled of rose flower which scent didn't fit the moment
for her skin was weaved in piercing thorns of torment
her mind was a rim spinning contrary to the globe
as a dull alien sensation throbbed beneath her lobe
she could smell blood as vivid as it tested coppery
and her sky blue eyes turned bloodshot and teary
so much for an adventure she thought
she couldn't place her position in her congested mind
yet she had none but little strength much as she fought
she perspired yet it was darker than sunny
as she regretted focussing on the destination ,not the journey
Entering her vintage car was all she could remember
for her brain was roasting worse than a burning ember
it was like going through hell head first
made worse by the itching sub Saharan thirst
she mourned and cursed but after a time passed
she realised her agony was eating her voice
and instead ******** whispers leaving her no choice
but silence for she was suddenly voiceless and dumb
she tried to lift limb after limb but all were numb
she couldn't even blink as much as she couldn't think
serpentine tears crawled out her chilly visage
yet she could hardly scratch
All she saw was a blurry image
like she'd taken too much scotch
Had she? Had she tried to drink away her pain
**** the steering pressed into her chest
squeezing her heart, bruising her breast
the agony,despair and pain was driving her insane
she suddenly remembered every detail as the car heated
she was escaping from reality whence she cheated
Did she really think few bottles of bitter wine
would fix her mistakes,that drunk she'd feel fine?*
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 11:44 AM UTC
*You are shattered and so am I
And thinking that I'll forget is a lie
but can't we find a way to fix each other instead of hurting alone
can't we get the two broken
hearts to stand as one
Don't you think two broken
people could truly be loyal
after all they've known the
incinerating ache of betrayal
Can't we find a way of making each other feel at home
like support each other,not only cuddle to feel warm
can't we share our experiences and
find a way to accept they happened
and instead of feeling sorry
you be the page and I the ink
and together we write another love story
can't we find a way to find contentment in each other
instead of whimpering over spilled Milk
wasting tears mourning loves that never were
yet we could find merry if we jump and fall again
I mean ain't you even just anxious to find out
without having a single speck of doubt
if all love ends but sadly and in searing pain
We could hold on to history forever but it
still would make no difference
or we could let go,finger by finger until we free fall
after all the ball's in our hands,it's our call
we could choose to focus on the past wishing
things had taken a different bearing
and freeze in the cold air of biting despair
believing our hearts are shattered beyond repair
and keep going down the rumbling doldrums and not care
or we could decide anything is worth daring
stick to and play by the ruthless rules of "it's over"
and give "us" a shot, by starting over
for so long we've been nothing but two crazy sad friends
How about we just take the lovers road, see where it ends?*
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 3:20 PM UTC
it was tuesday, the 19th of january
when a single glance to your eyes
made my lenses foggy and not deliberate
and with a single snap of fingers,
i lost everything that i had
i will never look at tuesdays the same way again
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 9:58 PM UTC
Falling in love will always hurt. Even if you get to marry them & have the happiest moment of your life, walking down the aisle or waiting at the altar for your lover. One of you will have to leave sooner or later.
Scenario #1, they die first. That **** will hurt. You will no longer feel their arms around you. The softness of their hair will be missed by your hand. Those late night movie marathons and fort-buildings will all become memories. Because they're gone. And as they leave, they took every single particle of you with them. And it's going to hurt for the rest of your life.
Scenario #2, you die first. You will spend seven years in whatever place you may go after you die, waiting for them. And sometimes, you will inevitably watch them move on and worse, fall in love with someone new. When it's time for them to die, there's a possibility that they might not even look for you in heaven or hell. For they're going to be busy waiting for their new lover to follow them into the light.
And you will become a distant memory.
Love will always hurt.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 12:33 AM UTC
*To kickstart the day with only the memories of the night in my head
To hold only two corners of the cover and lay the bed
To watch the ***** morning sun mount the sky
To savor the sweet orange rays and sigh
To kiss goodbye knowing it is just the start
To have total peace at heart
To phone her while still at work to find out how she is
To do the job with dedication and ease
To drive quite fast enough at the end of the day
To find her keeping her anger towards my delay
Dammed up and quite unsuccessfully at bay
To peck her forehead and kiss her lips and say
"Hey bush baby, ****** sorry I'm late
And even if I can't fathom how you feel I regret "
To see her eye lids twitch in passion and forgiveness
Juxtaposing her with the twilight uniqueness
To sow the seeds of humor and make her smile
In relief like the king Fishers from Victoria and River Nile
To hold her hand and walk her to our car
Ours because she healed every wound and scar
To take her to the awesome shopping malls
Buy her super Teddys and furry dolls
To then drive her home passing by the outskirts
To look her in the eyes bit by bit, as I slowly drive
To have my heart and mind alive
And a home filled with bloomed flower gardens
To have a shoulder that shares my burdens
To share all chores with her, right from laundry to cooking
To paint the world in letters while she's looking
And her glazing like smile on a laptop and paper
To save her warmth and care less about no hater
To watch the sun get consumed by the ravenous dusk unlike the dawn
To hold hands and watch the Milky way twinkle pawn
To consume every little moment of life and serenity
To have my first born take on my soccer club's name Chelsea
And watch it grow to a simple life by the Nile or by the sea
To bask down the boulevard holding hands toward eternity
To ask for the miracle of lasting forever
From God, to always live two together
To retire after two decades of success
In hardwork and start to tap the soul for access
To inspiration and do the best of the best
Of her paintings and I,my poetry while we rest
To have our little cottage and vegetables cast by the sea
To ride wheels of the rest of our life together, you see
That's what I feel my future lady and I deserve
To watch butterflies, evading fear of death by a warm fire
Telling myths and sweet stories to little ones till one by one we retire
According to me, that's a life lived, that's a dream, that's love*
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 2:13 PM UTC
Many times, we love, we are loved, we hate
and we are hated and yet we can never find
quantum proof for how much we feel what we
feel, It's left to habitual action, like It's
assumed we hug, kiss or smile as proof of love,
yet even haters can do the same since we live
in a universe where many smile with their
teeth rather than heart.
I believe a scientist somewhere's trying to
discover a way of bringing about statistical
perfection.
Even emotical pendulums, clockwise towards
happiness and Anti-clockwise towards
Melancholy have an imaginary measure hence
cannot be traced.
By and large, I think trying to quantify feelings
is a holy Grail hunt, it doesn't matter how
much, It's enough knowing you are loved or
hated, you are desired or repelled. As long as
you know, quantity doesn't matter, life is all
about the moments, not how long those
moments resonate before their wave taking a
different existence. Life is not about how many
breaths you take, but the moments that take
your breath away. It's a Game where the Goals
you score don't matter, what matters is you
play your role right.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
Our love is not
A prosaic puzzle
It is more like a
Victorian poem
Difficult to understand
By the modern world
Yet beautiful all the same
Long-lasting
One can see this is not a game
Though there may be one too many 'hither' or 'thy'
All that really matters is you and I
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 5:09 PM UTC
It came to me as I walked out the door.
My heart, I probably forgot
on his doorstep.
Or in the pocket of his favourite sweatshirt,
or in the first strains of his voice,
singing the song of my heart,
for my heart.
What does it matter?
It's all just shards anyway.
Shards hurt.
They pierce your skin,
as they do mine.
But in me, they evoke a flood.
and in you,
a string broken,
and nought else.
It has been my sweetest downfall,
watching you tear at life.
Colliding with fire.
running headlong toward the plunge
Crashing with my walls,
beaten back by catastrophic emotion.
You sighed,
and walked
and watched.
All I had to do was break down,
and you'd be standing there.
The shards you did not pick up.
No.
The shards you swept away
under the languid carpet.
they stayed there,
blameless.
For it is the fall that caused the shards
and not the other way round.
"The shards will help you feel."
I said.
"No, the shards you can keep."
A sharp shake, 'no'
Maybe he does not want to remember
that perhaps a quiet word,
a secret smile
would have seen the shards intact where
glittering stones and fresh satin
could not.
What does it matter?
The silence isn't too loud.
The void isn't too full.
The cold isn't too harsh.
The tear isn't too sad.
What does it matter?
To you,
or
to the shards.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 5:49 AM UTC