After New Moon

To love,

I can feel now that I am human. I can see my breathing in the air. I can feel my bones crackling under my skin. I can hear my muscles wrigling together; in my fragile being. I don't mind if I have to feel your pains because you also offer me life. And you, love, you make me realize that I am mortal.

Time passes by without you beside me. Every single tick of the clock is the sharp blade that is wounding me. My blood is the sadness that is pouring out, draining me. And I just sit here on my window, looking into the emptiness of your traces as the seasons change.

Please come back to me, or let me run to you.

Yours always.

Reality Check

I've never seen myself as a nice person. I smudge and crack any mirror I look in. So why can someone from my far away past tell me that I was the opposite of blackness? Has she met another me? Or is she just telling me her self-made-me-memory?

Her words take me gliding on flowery hills for a second. But then I see my image smudging a standing mirror again.

Baby Blues

Look
up there in the indigo sky
hold up
your hands
because one of those
thousand storks
has what your heart
has been yearning for
Look
up there in the sky
it's raining babies
in every hue
One
is coming into your arms
an indigo baby
falls from the indigo sky

Mother, cover him
with your rainbow love!

The Smith of Night

No I can't close my eyes still. All my senses are quenching their thirst of far away land and never ending romance. My veins absorb every melody of every song I hear tonight; weaving my dreams out of those melodies. But I lost my only coin as I lean over the fountain to look inside and try to find out my luck. So now I continue my journey to the far away land where stories of romance will never end; without knowing whether I will eventually be there.

Treacherous Rain

They say the rain can ease the wrath of the hot sun, can heave the heavy burden of the black clouds. The say the pouring water from the sky can bring life to earth, can make the seeds succumb to the temptation of growing out of their shells and face up the outside world jubilantly filled with new born hope.

I have always loved that falling water. I have always eagerly sipped the scents of the wet earth, inhaled the tastes of the humid air and blended them together into my own dancing cup of tea. But lo, now that I am all soaking wet. I am shaking inside out hating the chirping of the laughing birds. I didn't recognise this feeling; never acquainted this rage. What has gotten into me? Am I not the child of Gaia anymore? Has she abandonned me? Or have I drifted too far away from her comforting bossom, have too much of the poisonous but decievingly inviting ambrosia?

The sky is light blue once again. The black from the clouds has turned into white once more. I lay flat on the ground. Beside me is a young plant singing its thankful chants to the sky. I just look straight up to the atmosphere

Faces

Am I being ungrateful?
Staring at those faces on TV. I just feel like I want to absorb every detail, hoping they would somehow occur to me. Why is fate keeping me unattended? It's like I have to spend my life writhing and wriggling my phantasies just to abstract some kind of blotched self carved home made reality. I guess I just have to keep on watching the damn TV, because on the back of my head I know that fate is giving me the finger.
But does that make me ungrateful for wanting an alternate pink wallpaper for my wall?

To Nowhere

Wishful thinking is something I can do exceptionally good because it's the thread that ties my tears from falling and my fear from rampaging. Wishful thinking is the contemplation of what my soul calls divine. With this chariot I am going away gradually.

A Welcome Song

I reached down inside my husk of heart triying to feel that little bits of colorful stones. They crept in without me expecting of their advance, like a growing rose bush in summer; with thorns just to protect me from the vicious world. Slowly but constantly they grow into me blooming their soothing, hilarious, colorful scented blossoms. The knowledge of having them inside grants me the good feeling of hope: Of hope that my core would somehow someday no longer a weary husk.

I welcome you inside my little motley stones.... help me splash my little world with brighter hues.

Words can not portray the thousands corridors of my feelings. I told myself not to go back to the place anymore, but my feet rebell against my warnings. My mind drifts alone to the spots of recent past and wishful future without me noticing; leaving my body lying soulless on the ground. And when I am there to the full and entire extent, I am always greedily devouring every detail I can catch; celebrating every step, breath, heartbeat. I can not resist to play. Everytime it pleasantly abstracts me from my immediate reality.

I have trespassed the sphere of the goddess of the hunt and enjoyed the accompany of her deer. She is coming to hunt me down and expel me out of her land.

-

I have lived for today. I saved so many diamonds and pearls just for this very day. I have dreamt of today. I fastened my fairy tales with my most fanciful stitches. I have lived for this withered day and I ended it laughing at my murdered expectations.

Look at her swaying her hands towards the sky. Drooling looking at the first prize over the clouds stomping her feet like an undernourished horse I once saw on the street. Is she a disgrace to our kind? Or are we all capable of being that way in exasperation? But mother, she disgusts me.

Princess, why are you still weeping beside the pond? You won't get your golden ball back, if you don't go for it yourself. Never should you ponder to let a green slimy frog to help you. It doesn't really matter if it is actually an enchanted prince from a far away land. A frog is still going to be a frog and it is better for you to be able to stand on your own feet for the first time. Shake the trees and let your dress rip and your blood trickle out of your cuts. Trust me, Princess. In the end you will be a strong queen.

February Goodbyes

Floating over the ensheathed city I am looking for a little island to rest my wings. I was looking for the little tree, that once hugged my worries away. I was searching for the spring breeze, which had thrust my rocking boat gently through the storm. Their traces have faded before I could recount all of our reminiscences.
This blinded city of the south is deserted.

I am missing you.

My little hugging tree, gentle spring breeze, elfish sensible muse, purifying crystal water, pampering looking glass, smooth seashell, warming quartz sand.

hurting

As always, it's starting to hurt and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Dreams are not reality but I tend to tread on my dreams and hang on to the soft mist of the fantasy. Even when it is starting to hurt and I am forced to bruise myself because of the daily fall into the harsh concrete of reality; I am still coming back to that place. Over and over again.

At the Borderline

Like a chocolate fountain, melting caramel on a hot plate and a river of honey. Sweetness bursts into me without any halt; pulling the sides of my cheeks upwards.

I wonder if it is right to betray yourself and enjoy the exciting ride and perhaps take another daring one?

happy valentine

"So much for dreaming the man of my dreams!" She said that repeatedly with watery eyes. I looked at her hollow face. People told me how beautiful she was, how her light could brought morning dews glisten like droplets of the most exotic jewels. Now I can not even seem to trace the residue of her bedazzling characters; as if she had forsaken them somewhere amidst her rigorous sorrow."Perhaps it would've been better, if I hadn't found him." And she closed her door.

The Explorer

I am back to where I used to be. I should have known, I can not go too far. My rope is not long enough.
Perhaps, if I ask nicely for a longer one....

Salma

The muse chattered in my dim lit room last night
Her glowing long gown was a colorful shade of white
She chattered her songs with her silky voice
I looked in awe as she smiled at me
saying, "Be kind to yourself, dear."

In my dim lit room she danced around
sprinkling her golden dust into every corner
Her laughter chimed indistinctly inside my ears
Glowing colorful shade of white and gold dust filled every vacant hole

The muse chattered as I listened in awe
"Be kind to yourself, dear.
For I will not always be near."
In my dim lit room I heard her silky voice

Salma