You don't always know what I'm thinking. Late yesterday afternoon, when the leaves were rustling in the wind, thoughts about you, lit up like the sudden switch of a lightbulb, in a dark room. It was my passion for you, that caused my thoughts to burn bright. and isn't it weird? that of all the bright ideas, I could conjure up in my head, the most unbearable one, is losing you I slide my fingers to your side of the bed, suddenly, you are not there, the book, there next to the bed then the person you adore steps into the room and asks; "Would you like your tea a bit sweeter today?" and then, when it comes it's just bland tea the wind is carrying.
If the I the me the ego the wrecker of the soul would go how beautiful this life would be if we didn't have to live in duality trying to feed the light while fighting the darkness inside if the busyness of this life was not the business we strive and we sat here in silence no thoughts. Just silence what if the sea had no waves and the water was calm what would I see infront of me
If I were rain my drops would pour down and wash all your teardrops would fall And flow into the mountains deep And no man would feel sorrow Nor cry for I Am sure Only happiness will remain Like fresh petrichor If I were rain
My daughter wants to jump into the big blue swimming pool I know I cannot allow this because big swimming pools lets you drown Olivia does not understand this she nags and throws herself on the floor like a dog when he wants a pat on his stomach when I do not surrender she goes and sits under a tree with blown up cheeks and a frown that could make even the sun run and hide behind the clouds I aspire that the universe has my best interests at heart like I have for my daughter when I truly want something and the universe does not give it to me I can imagine the universe talking to herself saying,
Foolish girl. She believes this is good for her, but she does not comprehend how much agony it will bring.
And perhaps I left the door open, so you could walk right through. Like you always do wearing a smile as big as the ocean. With your backpack and your keys in your hand. How was your day you would say. I guess as the day peeked around every corner I did not bother to think what if. I guess I thought it would just be the same as yesterday, well yes they change like the tides of the sea but sitting at my desk covered in notes it never crossed my mind to think, what if. What if, he does not come walking through the door. Then comes the call, "Ma'am, John there was an accident." "He didn't make it." The words strikes me like lightning and then a cloud forms in my sky ready to burst open. It's not true I whisper to myself. It's not true. I think about everything I didn't say yesterday, today, everyday. Silence takes over and then melancholy walks through the door, walks right over and sits next to me on the cold, wet floor.
Sometimes I just know. I only have to look into your eyes and know that the light has left them, even though you are breathing alright. Words wage the bloodiest of wars within your weary veins, but your face remains the epitome of calm.
You were the one who taught me the subtle difference between peace and calm, and now I know it is not peace that lurks behind those lips, it is the silent despair disguised as calm, that only comes to the fore through years of unfulfilled hopes and slowly decaying dreams.
Tragedy knocks quietly at ungodly hours, but doors that have not been touched by loving hands will open at the slightest of pushes. That is how your skin plays games. It bends and melts and burns when doused by the most mellow of flames.
And now pain has found a home, and it won't leave. But then, I look into your eyes, the eyes that once held the most improbable of dreams, and I cannot help but wonder if that was your plan all along.
I find myself writing midnight haikus, because sleep is fickle, much too fickle. And then I know I am lost, as easily as the traveller knows when the night is too dark and the bridge too far to cross. I read your poems because you were the one who taught me to write, to love and to fall in love with writing. Those are really three separate things but I treat them the same.
And even though you never wanted me to wither away like you did, I look at my words and then I look at yours. I know then that our words are maps to the same hell, and that if they begin their sins with yours they would end their prayers with mine.
Note to self: Bus journeys in the dead of night are funny things.
It makes one realise you’re not alone Let’s collaborate the feels of words And endure the misting of poetry That hamper every tale in graves of solace A place where writers unite And cliff to hangout with smiles
When I saw you My heart declared war against me a love war where you don't know who is the victim, nor you can identify the culprit where war comes wearing peace and peace is just a phase between one gaze and the other.
When I saw you, I fell in the trap of an endless astonishment. My heart started asking questions but my soul seemed to be aware of the answer.
When I saw you, I saw beyond flesh, a lone, beautiful and deep lost soul in a world of shallowness. A soul in black and white and as an artist, I wanted to spend the rest of my life colouring this incomplete masterpiece.
When I saw you, I saw an incomplete puzzle and I wished between me and myself to be the missing part of it.