the dirt on my clothes- the white muslin and the brown chewed words, the earth dripping. its spots, that i dare not touch, they seep in, seep into the revolting blanks in me. the tireless cutters of trees, the sleepless lumberjacks in me, look up at my skin and its new ink they stop and breathe in some understanding. they choke on it, they sleep on it they carve it on everything they have destroyed. they have new gods again. gods that they will never pray to nor please. the gods they can’t ever leave.
The fishes peep at me through the pink sewer grates, the filth and dirt and greed of city eating their eyes, the loneliness scratching at their fins.
I look at them as if they are a painting hung on an illuminated wall – the last standing wall. The vapors of dissipated life, dissolved flesh spread all around it – the waste of everyday life the waste of silent war.
But it lasts only a moment my gift of vision, my ability to detach only lasts so long. The hunger in my bones, once again, makes me look away.
I get up and walk. I move my feet to the beat of the song being spun in my corrupted mind I am tempted to increase the volume to find a pitch that resonates with the air here. The point where everything bleeds and nothing heals what will happen to me there, what will happen to all of us I wonder.
But I have walked these roads before I now know more than anything that I only yearn to live. Slowly, I have learned to protect my ailing tissues. I have learned to gaze lovingly at my broken mind. So, I press pause. I continue to persevere.
Once she had a bite of my fate she became a restless ghost. She looked like all my ugly wishes staring back at me but she had a beautiful smile so it was more bearable to my eyes than to wear my own desperate words on my unsightly lips. She looked out of place, but in a good way as if she was the invitation to some place where my light won’t die. Even in her voice it was my own words that asked me to leave, that told me to love for the last time. As my shrieks danced in the empty corridors she planted a seed of eucalyptus in my palm, she covered my hand with hers, and covered our hands in dirt. She told me how, for years, only the smell of eucalyptus could calm her mind, it made her believe that there was a gentle cure to every disease that hurt her heart. As she spoke such words that were not extraordinarily sad I felt my spine become soft. I dreamt of her leaning against my back relieved of her every pain and maybe it was the only beautiful wish that has ever been born from my heart. Once I touched the shadow of her heart I grew and bloomed and learnt to be the one who waits, heals, loves, and breaks without bounds.
the one thing i can’t be is honest. though there are many other adjectives that stare at me from their balconies at midnight as i walk and crawl through the dirt road, through the pool of lights, crying and shouting and breaking dreams in every home that i pass by. i hear them shaking their heads with disapproval and hopelessness. i look at their hazy shadows and try to hate them in equal measures but i don’t because they are so easy to forget. but this honesty, this honesty that people expect vexes me. this expectation makes me want to hide, run, run over their hearts all because it is so simple. all because the ones who ask me of this through their tears are not mere observers but are the ones struggling to stay close to me fighting the unnecessary sandstorm i create everyday. they are the ones who deserve honesty. they are the ones i don’t deserve. but my dishonesty is not only for this world. it is the only thing i can offer to myself as well. so again, i wake up in their arms with another lie ready on my lips. i hug them with with my true love and my false heart. i don’t try to make it right when they are in shambles again because there is no fancy way to put it, there is no beauty in what i do, there is no promise i would keep. there are only people who i leave. even when i can’t bear to miss one more person again.
I left my thirst in your well- the only way to get rid of it, get rid of it I must. For three seasons I filled it up with dirt. I waited for rains to hide my steps, to hide what I have done. I built few hills every time you crossed my thought. I built it with love. I built it with anger. I built it nonetheless. I prayed and prayed till I couldn’t see your ghost, till praying didn’t hurt. I grew up a little and I grew mad a bit. The sound of fate now rings louder in my head. I lay on the ground, smile at the sun that cannot reach my heart at the bottom of your well.
The lost all gather
at the same door as I.
They shout, yell and cry.
Praise and tell lies.
To be taken in.
To be cared for.
To be chosen.
To be looked at, even once.
Do they also feel smaller
for standing here and waiting,
for asking things whose void eats you up.
that has a fondness, an appetite
for the ones who can’t unlearn caring.
Which becomes bigger
feasting on the silent phone,
on unifinished conversations,
on the hollow rumours, on the dirt on your name,
smeared by people
who know better
but continue to do worse.
The void for things,
that even when attained,
outgrows the want that creates it.
Is there anyone
who has got what he asked
and stopped asking for more.
Who has found himself
by asking and pleading for acceptance,
by being nice and patient,
by cutting themselves up
to fit the template
of someone else’s ever growing void.
As I drop one stone after other
into the murky waters
with dust that never settles.
I find sounds in the air, forming words
which were almost lost under the blankets of pain.
I do not try to find the one who
cried out these words.
I just add them to the stones
that are destined
to be overlooked, buried or drowned.
I throw the stones that must be thrown.
So that this dirt, that my heart
So that these sorrows can find
a home and a reason
to grow old and die.