Zmiana sposobu prezentacji
with our fingers knitted into one
like a cracked verse
we stood in the space
between elegy and romance
our movement, irregular
like a rhythm unfamiliar
we stepped into dark uncharted waters
our shadows cast behind our lingering hearts
and chasing furtively
like the wings of dark angels
the sun succumbed
to the gloom of our inner tempos
our only source of light
was the curious desire to rise
from our eyes and
setting on this unfamiliar void
we were like two cubs barnished
from their only pride
torn, forlorn, finding a destination
for our journey's formation
it was a voyage to unearth
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As aurora spreads her influence lazily
across the scattered skies
she hatches first
the wingless flicker of hope
breaking free from the throes of dusk
that bears heavily upon the straws
that shields despondency
from waning hearts
she perches coyly
on this caked art of clay
casting a mirage
upon her tar-less back
with sun scorched patterns
like the fading presence of a rainbow
she is not like the city of heaven
paved with bars of fine gold
or sicily, tarred with crispy bitumen
but she also bears the dream
within the enclave of her bossom
the dream of different shades
and shapes of forging forms
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The Jealous Woman (For The Eye That Has Any Useless Time To Behold)
the jealous woman
woe to who finds her
the epitome of rife
she cuddles cynicism and vitriol
harbors a plague between her thighs
and cheap venom between her teeth
and lives to lose again
the jealous woman
her jealousy knows no bounds
beauty finds no solace in her being
innocence cowers in fear at her presence
intelligence find residence multilple doors away
wisdom is her pariah
the jealous woman
reasoning is her time wasted
her strides, a tale for whores
life in her presence is a constant diarrhoea
what sore wonder, the ribs from which she is made
she yearns for a tale
a tale averse to her nature
and losing always by ''the skin of her teeth''
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living in full existence
what is life?
some moments of laughter
the euphoria of existing
those times when three wishes
wished unending
when companionship is
the tool for growth
when the number two is needed
for a work preceeded
when those words come free flowing and
-suddenly a bridge-
when an opportunity to say goodbye
never comes
when across the line
a helping hand is benign
when loved ones go senile
and the heart is torn in shreds
without amendment in all life's treads
when those free flowing words
become arid
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In the moment
That VOICE, ‘roll out the drums’
And we ask in our subdued still voice
is it time to roll out the drums
Who is the dance
And who is the dancer
Is it your time to dance
Or to be danced.
The music, novel
But to our nature, familiar
We know but do not know
The rhythm but the lyrics
We feel it but deny
The shiver it sends down our being
In that moment
In that tranquil moment
When everyone veers from tranquility
We are scared of what we finally become
For every single time we ask
‘what is the time’
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I see am in the corner of my eye
Astonished, apathetic, bewildered, and relaxed
It’s another day
I search through my minds relics
To catch a glimpse of am
Am sees me as I see am
Unable to discern our intentions distinctly
But I see am in the corner of my eye
Together, we reel out -experiences and expressions
acclaim and abuse
defining am as best as we could
I chatter away, am listens
am chatters away, I listen
we chatter away to a noise
we listen to a silence
and then, we establish a dialogue
finding every true nexus but no real connection
I see am even in the murkiest of moments
in the corner of my eye
I curse and cut, blame and burst
then I find our converse
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The ghost of hate, the ghost of existence
On ‘you’- on the other side of the spectrum
It’s me, its you, it’s being
He looks and loathes, then lips then lies
On the corner of his face
He makes a wry
Churning truth and troll
Clinging onto the clear with an opaque bloodiness
Drifting to and from both ends of his wits
To capture in a foil
Pure plight and pursuit
The ghost of power
In between the digit of his penning
He weaves the will of his minions to his desired design
He speaks and spurns, you speak he strikes
Taming trust and tide
Within the circle of his desperation
lurking to cap the sign of an uprising.
Holding on to a future that is not,
With a fragile grasp that is short
And the grip of his cronies.
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In the tranquil of a moment
I hear the flutter
The flutter of my heart beat
Irregular
As altercations and cacophony
This time
Not arrhythmia’s coin
But my burning passion
Rising from the embers of my emotion
It leaves inside of me
But open to an outside theme
For a touch to quench my feel
With an upsurge through my eyes
To find its match
And flicking through life’s pages
To strike a deal
With patches of history
And my heart’s own mystery
As I tread the evening sky
In search of a southern star
Hoping for a crystal night
(...)
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