All my life I felt like the ocean,
Until I realized that my tides were just jolts of a bottle,
Placed neatly on the mantle of a curious child,
Rocking it playfully, he created ripples of my existence.
Maybe that’s how it is,
the world to one, a toy to another.
His kisses were like falling pearls
That never the hit ground,
They never made a sound,
They just trickled down to all the places I wouldn’t tell the world about.
Stacked on my spine.
In a neat row,
One tug of his fingers,
Like on the string of a guitar,
Like the breaking of pearls tightly strung together,
I’d make music,
And I knew I’d scatter into his arms,
His favorite jewel, his favorite scent, his favorite woman,
And a broken metaphor of all his desires.
I stand on an edge,
The edge where the valleys call out,
Heard of falling in love?
Yes, just that.
They call out assuring that they’ll hold me,
Assuring that it wasn’t really falling, it was a rising.
The plateau I stand on
Clutching its grip at my feet,
With every thought of jumping,
It gets tighter.
Trying to tell that maybe,
That’s how I got there in the first place
Jumping at every valley that opened up its arms.
And now I’m too afraid at a new promise this deep stretched pit makes.
Maybe, just maybe I’m done with falling.
Maybe, it was more about the fly, than hitting the rock bottom that lured me to jump.
I stretch my arms for the last fall, last fly.
Only to realise that maybe it is always about the journey and not the destination that makes you move from the place you are to the place you could be.
Shaky fingers with a cigarette in them,
ring finger adored with a gem,
black nail polish that traps the night.
blurry eyes with no will to fight.
There’s only glitter out,
shoes, dress and on lips that pout.
I saw him there,
blurred outline, a human nightmare
He scoops what is left of me,
with bent fingers,
he manages to get the little of me,
scraping around the corners,
with stunned eyes he stared at me,
“What is in here for me to be?”
I saw him walk away,
as he found an empty stay,
“who would want to live there,
with nothing everywhere?”
I saw his fingers shine,
for he scraped out what was left of mine,
like dust his fingernails carried my stars,
just like that is how my universe was left ajar.
I’m no more a tsunami
Nor a shallow calm river
I’ve lived the extremes
And Ive either destroyed
Or been destroyed
I’m now just a river
I flow, I cause small ripples.
now I’m Not afraid of getting destroyed
And not capable of destroying.
Standing in the middle of the road,
these clouds roaring,
tearing and crying at my feet.
As if screaming out to me,
“We will compensate,
Compensate for all the rivers dried up within you,
because now if you won’t cry, we will fall.
We will fall and remind you
of all the tears that you have cried,
those that were lifted to make us,
And we will fall, roar and set in you the belief
of how mighty you are,
of how you turn
everything you do to extremes of greatness,
be it love or loss.
We’ll show you the oceans you’ve created.”
The sunflowers in my village had a curved spine.
They were always taught
that facing the earth made them more modest
than lifting their head up and following the sun.