The Genesis of this vessel Was a swaddled cocoon of tranquility Warmth, nourishment from a tether And a metronome beat in rhythm with my own
Placidity quenched me with every liquid breath Ontogenesis complexities were thriving with growth Millimeter by millimeter augmentation formed senses I shared deeply loving vibrational tones with my host
I had to leave the comfort of this optimum chamber To search for these frequencies of sound that bound One moment I was cold, the next was warm embrace "I love you my son", then tears streamed our faces
Winters proclaim to arrive in the flurry of snow spiralling under the streetlight, in the thousands of arrival notes written on the window fog. I exhale a white phantom of mist that I breathed in, a few seconds ago, and as winter gives me a wild kiss that so brutally numbs my lips I promise myself, yet again that I would love myself forever.
I gamble with hope. I gamble with half-sublimed, redolent pieces which lie deep inside my holed pockets, and they help me to feel all the bustling merriment lingering around. I know hope is dangerous for a breakable soul like me to have. But still I hold it like a grail of wine. I agree, that I try not to hope, that I try my best to hope less but still this night is telling me that I'm not hopeless.
These Christmas Eve lights, are saying that my home is waiting for me. But I'm still trying to find it, I'm still trying to find the way back. I'm just a strange reindeer, treading between cold cobblestone streets and slightly shriveled tinsels, who was never invited to be a piece of Santa's sleigh of relish.
I've forgotten the taste of sweet cranberry sauce, of a piping hot mug of hot chocolate, of fruitcakes of a "merry" christmas. All I have is an everlasting happy aftertaste loitering over my pale, chapped lips. A bittersweet song is sinking inside me from my head to toe, making me a little less darker, like snowflakes settling from sky to a charcoal ground.
And I'd hang Christmas stockings on ice-frozen poles, which will turn from shadow grey, to glowing white. For I do hope, more than I want to. I don't seek happiness, but I hope happiness would seek me, one day. And I hope my imaginary Santa Claus finds my address someday, again. It felt like a long, hopeful poem and I were strangers, who were never supposed to meet. But it recognised my face, somehow, under these red and yellow lights.
And now I think, it's going to take ages, for me to let this Christmas go. I'd be lurking on the streets with my unfinished drink singing a Christmas Carol, stumbling through the rest of my dark nights.