Saturday, November 19, 2011

Ireland



























come with me
and leave for a while the world 
that finds it so easy to forget you

At Dawn We'd be in Ireland
Me, where I am, with you in my mind
in a plane that relies on my command
on when to fly and when to land 
or when to fall
beyond the wall of clouds
I hear the invisible ticking of that digital clock
dots appearing in liquid air 
reminding us that this won't last
as much as we need it to
as much as I need it to

Exactly like how time is never enough 
where we used to be
where we always return
where we are trapped 
immobile in that cruel joke

Life should be the dream
and we escape by waking up to this:

chaos and colors smiling in perfect harmony
in seats suspended a thousand miles above land
flying not in worry nor uncertainty
your hand resting on my hand
Ireland below us
three moons above us
in a purple sky with blue stars 
here
Where we are always safe
where peace in me is what you find
where I can always read your mind

Where it happens all at once
where time we never had and time we will have
are all present in this moment
that stretches to the ends of infinity
and laughter is laughter that never retires
and tears are merely tears never stained with fear
no thoughts of leaving and being left behind
no thoughts of keeping and being kept aside

Where you look into my eyes
and you see your eyes 
reflecting the secrets of my soul
stories that only you can bear to contain
without judgement or effort
because my stories are your stories
here, where you and me
are one and the same
your hand resting on my hand
The universe smiling above us
Ireland below us,
patiently waiting
until its time for me 

to wake up.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

nostalgia
























I long to be able to listen
to songs i used to love
without apparitions of moments
tainted by the intensity
of your memory


oh! to be cured of you
and the light of your extremes


where no fragrance is off limits-
where pleasant scents
are not betrayals
but smiles waiting to blossom
no nostalgia to wrestle with,
no deep inhaling and closing of the eyes
revealing confusing hopes of reliving
refusing, inviting


refusing
inviting


oh! to be cured of you
and the light of your extremes


where the pleasant past is not a myth
where senses are not stolen
traded to a bitter future void of warm sensation
void of truth, sound and hue
void of you.



to be full of hope once more
to live, breathe, taste and feel
the little remaining of my fleeting youth
to once again be drunk with life
and everything I once held true



oh! to be cured of you
and the light of your extremes.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Headphonaut














I.

when you told me then, that you were 34
and that you looked at the stars for comfort
your voice caused an invisible blanket
of intense unsettling energy
to swirl into existence
suddenly appearing through the air from nothingness
its unseen colors lingering a bit
before tickling my ear and entering my head
a doubt-killing arrow
whose fingers shocked my hollow brain
into sudden alertness

I could bridge the gap of 10 years.
10 years would be easy.

I could add beauty and color in your projected gray life

I could be your salt.

laugh-er and listener extraordinaire
the fresh pure breeze of youth you seem to always feel you've lost
contrast to the chaos you've lived to rant about
to write about

maybe I could amuse, or better yet, amaze you
and enter the hourglass of your life,
wedging myself in the middle, to block the falling sand
disarm you with wit I thought I had


II.

You are 36.
and 10 years seem to stretch farther and farther
you move too fast, and I can't keep up

you and me,
we are in this space
where time is nothing but distance.

as I remember,
a mosaic of sharpened dull emotions shape-shifts

unfounded optimism
unbearable lightness
shy, certain, earnest confidence


is now a montage of moments
moving inside this archaic analog film strip
playing on a slow loop inside my head
slow enough that I can count each hole on its sides
slow enough that each divider is not a divider
but prison bars in a lonely cell

slower so I can analyze and analyze
so slow it stopped making sense
so slow
that
I am
trapped

bound in the infinite frames
of an endless instant

Wednesday, February 09, 2011

night meditation















there is darkness
and the lone voice of a teacher miles away
preaching presence and stillness,
the importance of nothingness-
hidden in the background I hear him
sometimes
I even listen

he hails emptiness
and slightly, I am proud-
It's all I have

beforehand
I saved a few minutes
going through the rounds
desperately searching for that
which may comfort my frozen soul

pain
pleasure
sticks and music
you.
in this space where you once were

sometimes
when there is kindness and mercy
I drift to that place
where I am almost asleep
and I am beside you

sometimes
I feel the night finally embracing me
before I feel it slip through my tired fingers
like vapor summoned by the waning moon

stolen by a sun that came too soon