Cigaretteburnt

there is something oddly alluring darling,
in the way grey smoke escapes your lips,
gently let sideways, cascading into summer swans
eagles, through the holes in my soul.
fine lines, tight lipped, half sly smile.

barely concealable how your indifference,
seductive so, melts me into quiet rage
sometimes.
some other times,
intense yearning.

inconsequential your white
tshirt unshaved shadows the tie rack
behind you the golden cube round
your neck.
inconsequential
my observations but for the fact
they are about You.

everything has Meaning.

pinky edged nightmares bloom
into roses, violets, sunshine darling, when i
wake them to thoughts of you.
my nightmares cascading away like smoke darling,
away like ashy eagles, radiant grey
swans.



.

red gold dipped mornings drag themselves out of
pots of paint and sheer bluey skies
slash colour and spring across my open window i am
yellow gold blue on the outside red black broken
on the inside
i wonder if colours can explain feelings states of being
in ways words cant.

red is anger and black is grief
im spun of the twain consumed
beyond relief .

.


i am shattered like crushed butterflies coloured red
smeared across blank white walls my wings
splutter and fall under your feet
cement and marble
tiles and tears
there is no compassion in your voice
in your feet.



.

there is much to say
and not enough in me to declare it
i wish i could just
rip my heart out
onto this page
let the red rivulets map their own course, spell out
the way this feels inside right now.
your absence
makes heart sore and snap in
wooden splinters, newspaper shreds, glass shards,
sheer motes of
knife sharp dustsandblood
splashed on this blank white canvas.
elements forming stories, confessions,
vulnerable exposes of
spirit skin and soul.

(spiral red stains)

after all,
visual
graphic devastation
needs no more
feeble
poems, words,

explanations.

probably one of the more disturbing poems i wrote a very long time ago...




i wish i could

slit my wrists and lie in my own pool of blood till it burns black brown blue you.
i want you to mix in with my flaws my imperfections my weaknesses my vulnerability my blood me.

flow back in
pulsate
pound
rush
flow
throb along my clogged dry calloused sinews veins arteries heart and beat with me,

beat with every heartbeat every broken pulse every long withdrawn breath that fails to reach my lungs and my heart.

beat with me as the oxygen runs out into the pool i lie dying in of life and love and you.

beat with me as you flow around and see this happening but feel just as suffocated and trapped and utterly utterly helpless as i do.

beat with me when i struggle for breath.beat beat beat my name in every cell.

beat with me and urge me to stay awake to the dying dreams of u which dapple like shadows skirting out of sight shadows that bid adieu shadows of blue in shades of you

beat with me as this body that you loved and cherished wracks its way to skies wracks its way to heaven to hell wracks its way tiptoeing on the fingerprints you left on it , the fingerprints on the burnt brown bruises where callouses lie on my tender skin of salty lips and broken promises.

beat with me. beat me.

beat

till i know not nothing till i know not numb till my mind turns weak and bleak like an unsung poem

beat with me

till the blacks and the blues and the many hues of u choke my eyelids my nose my mouth until all i see is a faded blue

all i see is me and you.

Eloquence evades me.


I find myself distressed, because I cannot
spew out pearls of such intense clarity they make
jaws drop in awe, eyes bulge with wonder.


Write to me some summer lines.


Write to me an ode to the days of yore.
when words and daisies
lined up my street with white sunbeams,
golden dreams.


Now even happiness leaves me uninspired.
oddly content. oddly hollow.
bated breath and tip-toeing eggshells to see
if it (when it) ends.


Suspicion.
Superstition.


Hollow laughter in hollow silences.
Hollow words.


I become become become
speechless.

I am the lovechild of glittery gold city night lights and illusive melodies on the subway.
urban child. city child.
child of the chaos. child of the beautiful .

child of the constructions which
lace cold pavement
and cold heart


stony smiles in gray water puddles.
stony imprints of people's gray souls.

snippet.

A spectator watching my own life on a remote t.v screen I am
too far to even try and come close and
reach out and touch myself to
feel me and pinch me and stare me in the eye and see
if i am real and i
am me.

and yet...

You find in me the girl I lost to the hands of time and eyes of men and
eyes of time and hands of men.

I lost myself to use abuse and scarlet
tattoos
of scars and wars fought, forgiven
and not
forgotten.

but you make me forget and you make me hope and hope
is not the thing with feathers but the bird of stone that
weighs me down and wakes me up and makes me wonder if
this bird of stones can fly.


i soar on these dreams and find the world
flying beneath my weary feet.

held

you got me in a choke-hold.
Hold.
choke.
choke more.
check me.
life line.
check mate.

hate blind

cursed fate
fake case
suffa cate.
catch phrase
e rase
caught breath
brain dead
dread lock
lock down.
down cold
choke hold.

snippets.3

On new students.

its like a parade of masks
facades
i get lost in plastic smiles
hollow eyes
flash all too briefly in my eyes.
surprised?
not quite.
it is Fall, and they, like me,
are unsure of who to be.

till then let's all dwell
in meaningless laughter.
Ricochet off the walls.

On some remark by the World Lit,prof.

it is hardly paradise
if not golden.
hardly
if angels persist
on moldy wings.

On some new girl in tutorial.

her eyes dance
around the room
almost
making us
insignificant
she glides alone here
with her gaze.
dancing the tap dance
in rubber
shoes.

On sum other person in tutorial

sit a little too composed
for comfort.
A class act
practiced all too many times
before.

Hands.

Hands that curl and uncurl around soda cans.

Hands that hold onto bus poles, hold on like

they’re clawing, clambering, drowning,

To let slip is to let go.

Hands that

are tiny, and fit into a palm

and curl around a finger

for security, for safety, for

Comfort.

Hands

that lay twitching on lonely table tops

twitch to the beat of loneliness, to drawn out breaths

to the stranger who never comes.

Hands

that salute to power, hands

that pluck out flowers, hands

that dig graves for the brave, the old, the forgotten,

and the Cherished.

Hands

that follow like a breeze around her waistline

as he steers her around the crowd, steers her to

make her his own

Hands

that flourish pens, pencils, praises,

Hands

that she gently raises

to the Heavens every night in prayer.

Her hands

that pray for peace, for patience, for her

Salvation.

inspired by Odysseus.

I am
the withered leaf caught
in iron rakes, the
land of eternal gloom,the
infertile eyelid
wrung out of its last
beads of grief.
I am
the agonized soul
that wanders forlorn,the
shattered mirror that yields not my
reflection but a broken
million faces of my wife, my son and my own
heart. I am
Icarus.
I fall.

Every flicker of hope
brings me closer to my ruin.

of them.

hush now.
i will murmur ballads into your ear of how
they came back and back and back again
they came crying and lying, they came to you begging to be urs
again and again and again
and how is it and why is it was only after they had failed you
and they had told you that it was
You
who had failed them.
they will not know why they came back, when you
had already slunk away into the shadows into
the corners of your eyes into the tiny
holes in their minds.
how will you tell them then that you had found a new solace in a new
sun?
how will you tell them that you played by the rules
that were meant to be broken, because You wrote the rules you wrote
the untouched and the shattered.
how will you tell that you
loved them no more that
the world had spun around and lost itself
a million times over in its
multitudes of intricate threads
that were born and are born
and fade into a nothingness with every passing
second
and that new stars had shone a million times and a
million new suns had shone every day since
they last went away
and that
it was all a little too late?

hush now, flow
on the clouds of a myriad blues
dewdrops of iridescent hues
and spin
in the embrace
of a gentle dream's glaze.
hush now and forget
every word that was said.

.

Sometimes I feel like a MS word file.
stretched taut to the sides of the page.
fully justified
of every breath I take.
I am predictable.
Written.
My full stops, questions are all in check.
I am margined.
My personal bubble
1.5 inch
The white sides roll around me like a shroud.

.

When i miss you
i sing
bring
memories into my
mind
find
sublime
joy at things
we used to do.

.

I can already see the story spelt out
across the sky.
I'm my own oracle.
I sense disaster as it comes.
sense Disintegration
of a bond. a habit. a feeling.
Knowing you care. Knowing you're there.

.

.......................

it's like we're both on
parallel highways
suspended, by parallel
strings high above
the world.
Our realities don't
intersect.
We stay rigid in our place.
Twist and turn to cater to
life's
everyday monotony.

But for the brief moment
our breaths
overlap
I am alive.

Before reality pulls, before
we return to the gray, the
dull, the here and now
the never will be.

................

.

i want to see your hands with
my fingertips.
trace out
your palms like a
fragile, torn
map.
i want to
tiptoe across your
intricate woven paths and
find an
eternal perdition
in your
fist.

Snippets 2.

These ones r purely nostalgia-based..

This ones for you mum.

Now,I meet
swollen feet
in faded Nike's,
in my dreams.
They remind me of better days.
My mother lays
Healing fingertips on my heel
the feel
of that warmth
lulls me to sleep.

Dad

Dad drove me to school
on days
with pouring rain
no light rays.

Today I wait
my bus
Fifteen minutes late.
Again.