the eyes made of glass stare at us
with its kind open clutches held out.
the eyes made of forgetfulness
and remembrance in equal measure –
they are beautiful.
they sing of the most beautiful fear,
the most hurting hope.
and we sing back.
me and my brothers –
we sing like we have never known death
as we hand over our hidden skin folded in half.
folded in half, we sleep in its arm
and we invent love, invent warmth,
we hear it breathing.
we hear our lung collapse.
we have brought something to life again.
this machine of fear and ends –
it breathes, it tears up and cries.
i feel an ocean flowing into my eyes.
the suffocation ends.
and just like that there is
nothing of us left with us.
somewhere we will open our eyes
and stare at lips that sing of giving,
we will feel our hollow insides echo
with the memory of our own lightest steps
we will look
at the saddest sweetest children of this world
and we’ll know ourselves through it again.
we will know of the ocean in us
when it leaves our eyes.
and just like that we will be all that
we couldn’t bear to live as.
the door shifts
and the lights evaporate
and the steps
the steps that echo
the steps that almost dance
they stop near me
the familiar cold kind hand falls on me cheeks
and now i let myself sink in my sleep
only now can i rest in peace
In that room
seated along with my anxious heart,
my crumbling forevers, and my noisy pen,
You are now more colorful than ever-
more real, more present.
You are more you that before,
more of a person that I ever could be.
I envied you and loved you for that- that I remember.
I realize there other things that I don’t remember well,
as you put on the record
of “50 greatest pointless questions of all time”,
as you sharpen the edges of your weak hollow anger,
as you ask me to play a harmless game,
another try at the precious once-in-a-lifetime love,
another guess, another stab, another cut,
another laughter echoing and tearing
everything that almost made me human,
another try, another guess, another endearing laugh
at the sight of my tears.
I had decided that won’t flinch, that I won’t cry.
I looked at the paper again
that said that I am not actually hurt,
that everything I suffer from is a making of my mind,
that I am just too scared,
too lonely to think straight ever again.
I looked at it wanting to believe it
but also knowing I won’t allow this paper to fix this for me.
For even to this image- this violent beautiful ghost of you,
even to this- I felt I owed something.
I still waited for you to give up.
It still mattered to me – this confirmation-
that what I loved
also loved me back in some twisted way.
So I nodded yes to another rounds of wrong guess,
to this game I won’t ever win.
The morning told me that
there are times when we loose a grasp of what we are,
when we feel inadequate for all we have
and slowly all that we have seems to abandon us
even if they are beside us.
I knew what it was saying, I knew what it meant
But I didn’t want to hear it being said.
I wanted lies that could keep me going,
not an echo of reality.
I wish I could go back to sleep,
go back to being myself
(whatever that meant).
“But there is no going back”, the morning said.
“There is only effort, there is only wait.
There would be a morning that won’t be as cruel as me.
But till that morning comes,
there is only effort, there is only wait.”
Your severe gaze
resounds and echoes
the meanness only humans have.
But your hands melt at anything you touch
so that nothing,
is disturbed by your presence
in this world.
How did you learn
make that face
that kept people at distance
and kept them on their toes.
How hard was it
roam in this world (that you loved too much)
knowing everything would hurt you,
and knowing the defeat at the face of the war
that you never wanted
and you can never win.
How hard is it,
to burn the flowers
born out of your soul
only so people would
avoid the impending disaster
that you are not.
There was no joy to wander,
to pack my bags
with belongings not entirely mine
and to have a bagful of borrowed stuff,
of borrowed time.
Living on the kindness
that I didn’t deserve.
Each new handhake
echoes of heartbreak
from the future.
I knew where I was going
and I knew where I was taking them.
And that made me hate this ordeal
of trying to memorize the names
of all these new people
who will be soon forgotten.
My heart was never broken.
My home was never broken.
At least not the type of broken
that can’t be repaired.
I do not have shelter of such excuses.
I chose to stay,
I chose to love
and I chose to move away.
I choose to live with the list of names
to the end
than to see them walk away.