Right Then & There

He intimidates me. It feels like three mighty decades are staring back at me every time he looks me in the eye. I face every breath he's ever taken, everything he's ever seen & everything he's ever done. I stand before his glorious story; vulnerable, weighed down, and scared of all the unknown bits of it. But when he smiles, the ice mountains melt & I peacefully float in running rivers & streams.

One Two Dreams

here

Feet on cold glass, surrounded by & embracing mirrors & I don't know where to look; reflections of light & thought & sun & signs of His presence & the lack of yours; shadows on the inside concealing the answers & even worse; concealing the questions. I don't know whether to wonder why I'm here or why you're gone or why one day you weren't or why one day I was or why I should wonder about anything at all. It's all too transparent but the glimmer is blinding me.

Covered in layers of white cloth; layers of different meanings & all possible explanations.

Come back to me.

Undress me.

Layer after layer, sheet after sheet. Strip me of my confusions & tame the beast inside my head. Get to the core of my weak self & show me the truth, naked.

here

Guide me, blindfold me, and I will follow. Because I've got no strength & I cannot but surrender. Get me out of here, I do not want to hear my breath anymore; take me into the night where the skies are dark & the moon's blush pink & the clouds soft rose. I want to hear the folk rejoice about it, I want to break the silence before I turn into a madman. I want to be distracted. I want surreality, I want thoughtlessness. I want you to help me put an end to all of this.

But then again, what is this?

& who are you?

This Mess I've Become

The problem with having written too many stories is that I don't know which one this ending belongs to.

Motion Picture

here

This isn't it; this is reflections of light on a side view mirror,

Shadows of swaying trees on the wall,

Echoes of the full orchestra's song;

Ringing like reverb in an empty hall.

I have seen tall buildings & obelisks & pillars

Stretch out to touch it but they don't,

And I've seen us replicas & minor actors

Think our roles are leading as we flaunt.

Foolish is the one who claims to have wisdom

For this is just an image & we know nothing at all,

A sage is but a quester & doesn't have the answer;

All what he's read is chapters, but the story is a whole.

There's nothing I can do now but be still & look above,

And stare at His painting that I long to be part of.

Uncertainty

It's this millisecond where fantasy & reality meet. You try your best to mix & blend them smoothly like paint on paper joining sea & sky at the horizon.

And a flying bird.

But you fail. Maybe because you haven't been given a chance. Or maybe because you're using the wrong kind of paint.

Or maybe because you dream too big.

Sometimes it's hurtful to see things for what they are.

Outside your head.

And what hurts more than missing someone is realising that they never were but a false impression you've had of them. And so it turns out you're

missing a ghost.

It sounds quite fanciful to be in love with a ghost, I know. But sometimes, some days, when all what you thought things meant fade away, you stand there naked, vulnerable & confused, and the imaginary doesn't seem to help cover you up.

Make believe breaks down at times.

It's a rainy day today, and you don't like the rain. But I'm not allowed to care anymore.

Scenes of the Heart

Scene #1

We're sat at a cafe facing each other. There's tea fumes & cigarette smoke. We're speaking about big things; things so big it feels like we've been sat in silence with hands crossed all this time; because only silence can explain big things, for words are not concrete, and nothing of what holds the world together is. Love, hate, happiness, anger, it all exists in fluidic dimensions. And so we speak, but we're really just keeping silent. I feed on the quiet, and I grow.

Scene #2

We're sat side by side as we both stare out into the space before us. Big things are space, because only space is open ahead, and words imprison big things. We decide not to utter them this time. There's the sound of the car engine, the sound of cars passing crosswise one after another on the other lane of the road, and the sound of the wheels rolling over speed breakers every few seconds. There's silence in patterns, and there's big things. Then there is his scent filling me up. It feeds my very own inner space, and I grow.

Scene #3

It's all crystal clear now. I drink the water with eyes closed, and I feel like a red rose with thick green leaves. And as I swallow, I feel the water going down in streams into my body, flooding every single deep root of me. And so I bloom.

And I grow.

When the World Stopped Spinning

The apparition of his face amongst the restless spirits;

A conjuration of the feminine; an embracement for it.