Tired

It feels like my heart is tied to a braided jute rope,
Like a broken cleat left dangling off the boat,
And the propellers speeding out of control through the liquid enclave,
As my heart slaps to and fro over the transverse waves.

My crystalline mind lying gently on the surface of the ocean,
Whistling eerie echoes of ice, gentle tunes, harmonic motion,
The cosmetic shimmer glistening over it from the sunset gleam,
Now assaulted by the pollution of this maritime machinery. Read More

The Facsimile

“Wake up!” she cried, slapping his cheek.
A lifeless head, still, limp.
“I am here.” Startled, she slipped.
Taken aback.

A facsimile? She turned to this galley slave,
His half body standing out from the grave,
Shovel over his shoulder, insolent gaze.
Smooth as tarmac.

She looked back at the lifeless soul,
His red lips, green eyes, etched into cuneiform
Across his sinless face. Cold, but warm.
Hair jet black.

“That part of me is now dead,” snorted the renege,
He shovelled deeper and deeper as he digged,
Raining black moulded loam, his arms a drilling rig.
Dirt track.

“A grave for who?” He disappeared,
His pride, his vanity, the hubris all engineered
His futile end when his soul was auctioneered.
Memorial plaque.

Khalil Gibran: Broken Wings

Solitude has soft, silky hands, but with strong fingers it grasps the heart and makes it ache with sorrow. Solitude is the ally of sorrow as well as a companion of spiritual exaltation.” ~ Broken Wings

Sometimes, very briefly, I wish I could empty my identity, to dissolve any sophistication of thought and be mentally frozen like most of society around me who seem content living within these false facades and who dumb themselves down until they actually forget how to use their own minds, just so this heartache could end.

The impossibility to find a friend seems almost obvious now, someone at the same level  as me, reading the same page. I can’t read backwards. The most dangerous in our society tend to be the most ignorant and I can’t risk being hurt again, but the arid desert in front of me is frightening, the mirage of my own corpse standing in the hot distance singing captivating tunes of death. Read More

Can Anybody Hear Me?

“Can anybody hear me?”
I turn and peer into the darkness,
My mind a little weary.
The altitude kaleidoscope the chorus
Of a formless song. Sing,
“I’m here. I’m here.” Read More

The Tree of Life

Her stained toes clutch to the narrow cliff-edge.
Prepared, crumbled stone trickle softly down
the overhang. Tap tap tap, a musical echo drops like
blood from the crucified lesions punctured over her crown. Read More

One Little Hello

Dried petals of black stained skin peel
Around the edge
Her wrinkled fingers waterlogged by blood,
A dehydrated beat, slowing, slow that
She wakens with a gentle tap.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispers,
Her palms embalmed around the organ.

The alkali sea sheets the sand beneath her
Soft, golden sponge
Cushion her knees, moored as she sinks,
Absorbed into the coast, married, merged that
The angel beside her is scourged.
“Let it go,” he whispers,
A snag of perpetuum love fruitless on the shore.

The covenant of salt betrayed by a bitter bluff
Sisyphean obscenity
Each ventricle perish to decay as she
Still waits for one little hello, hello, say hello.
Her heart cracks to ash.
“I loved him,” she bemoaned.
Now a statue frozen to stone.