poetry for thought

title: Tomorrow

Tomorrow, I will write a poem,

A poem so great that it tugs on rib cages,

A poem so simple, that it makes you smile,

A sad poem, for that single tear.

Tomorrow, never comes,

And I am stuck in this loop,

Of story lines and sentences of incomplete prose,

Of silences and memories.

Today, I write this poem,

Reminding myself of the words

That do exist,

Even when the mind aches from forgetting

And remembering.

Poetry for thought

title: Still

I feel like I am yours, still.

Not like a commodity,

But like you-know-parts-of-me-that

I-have-forgotten,

Parts of me that are hiding today.

A pinch of my personality,

That only you saw, then, and only

You can revive now, maybe.

Makes sense? Shall I continue?

I feel like I am yours, still.

Like the word still, in still water,

Water that stays still

Even while the sun eats it up in summer,

Still lingering and feeding organisms.

Yours, mine, ours, are the

Stories that need telling, lingering, eating, feeding

Wait, vocabulary makes no sense right now.

It’s a word jumble, a crossword, falling out of my tired heart,

Are you with me, still?

Nostalgia is a funny thing, isn't it?

A show reel of hazy memories, ideas,

Thoughts that need re-writing, re-imagining
Can you help me find the cracks?

The cracks that sent me, spiralling,

Through a memory, a sound, I keep
Wandering, like a fool, searching, breaking,

Is the map lost too? Do you have it, still? Maybe.

Are we at the end now?

I feel

Like

I

Am

Yours,

Still.

Even when the weaves of time

Have changed everything and nothing at the same time.

Poetry for Thought

Title: What do you think?

Loss is weightless, isn’t it?

Like a fictitious story.

Where is the documentation of loss?

Yes, a person died,

Yes, a person left,

But is that loss?

Isn’t loss what follows?

The weightless fog that has no colour,

No smell, no speed, no way to find it in this world.

An obituary doesn’t smell of loss,

It is at the period of the last sentence, of the obituary where the loss begins.

How do you explain voices in your head from a dead person?

How do you explain the smell of your ex-lover in your room?

How do you hear a meowing of cat that is long gone?

I carry loss with me,

Everywhere, every time,

Each loss having their own personalities.

Sometimes it’s a tea party,

Where we can laugh.

But does that last forever?

Ask anyone, it doesn’t.

Can you feel that weight on your chest?

Feet? Arms? Fingers? Eyes?

Is there someone holding you down?

Did you check under the bed? Behind the doors? Inside your memory?

Questions without answers, answers without questions

Is the loop of loss, I reckon.

Well, in the end, we can make friends with our monsters,

And all monsters are not scary,

A lot of them are heavy,

Like unwanted mosquitoes when you want to fall asleep,

But they come back every night.

So what do you think?

Why is loss weightless and heavy all at once?

Why do we have this loop?

How do you end this loop?

-the end-

Poetry for Thought

Title: June

You didn’t send me your overly seductive birthday message.

And I find myself wondering if this is (finally) over between us,

This dance of conversation between the silences.

I found myself reading our old messages, emails – filled with promises,

“I will never stop loving you”

“You make me better”

“I’m sorry for being an asshole, but you are the best thing that happened to me, and I will never stop loving you”

You and me are a faint memory now, the relationship,

But between those blurry flashbacks,

Some stand out like a flood light, lighting up my weakest and strongest moments.

You, my love, are light and dark,

An addiction and a rehab,

I want to hurl abuses at you,

And at the same time….

Pull you close into a warm embrace.

I’m jaded now; carefully stitching words to all the new people I meet,

I didn’t say ‘I love you’ to one lover until we broke up.

I’m jaded now;

I say ‘I love you’ to everyone, afraid of losing them.

So is it finally over between us?

Poetry for thought

title:
How to ache?

It aches sometimes,

Or maybe it aches all the time,

Maybe the ache has always been there,

Maybe it hides behind all the motions of life.

Life must be lived I am told over and over,

But how do you live, when there is a hurt, an ache,

Always searching a wound to penetrate,

Searching for a way to exist, exit.

Which means, every situation, every moment,

In the algorithm of the mind, it must answer to this ache,

The mind must find a way to release this into the world,

Or keep it within, having lonesome conversations,

Inside the ever changing world of ideas, beliefs, emotions, blood vessels…

The mind and the ache have many conversations,

Most often the mind wins, the heart cajoles, sings lullabies,

The mind beams a proud smile,

Watching the ache bloom into a flower.

Like a parent, the mind and heart know that this isn’t over,

There are more conversations to come,

Life will spiral, the mind and heart will need to learn new things,

New languages, new worlds will be presented in front of them,

While I keep living, learning and listening,

The mind and heart keep a watchful eye.

But the ache, like a wilted flower will show up,

With tears streaming, with anger raging, and silence screaming.

Poetry for thought

Title: Silence

YouTube plays a song that I heard when I hardly heard your voice.

When you were far away,

Even in these notorious times of technological connections.

“Invest in cuddles, and not conversations,” I said, yesterday.

And today I am craving for all those conversations we never had,

And even more so for those silences.

Though we were silent, it was in separation.

Silence in togetherness has its own melody,

Its own dance, its own memory.

As the song comes to an end, so does this verse.

We have drifted far from that month long, self-imposed exile,

From our love, our silences, our cuddles and everything in between.

And here we are today, in silence, but together.

Poetry for thought

Title: Imagination

Imagination doesn't suffice on a day like today,

Today should be spent falling asleep under trees,

With your hand in my hair,

Collecting smiles, watching the colour Red

Dancing in your eyes.

With every gaze, I fall apart,

And with every smile,

You put me back together,

Give me all those smiles,

I'll bottle them up and keep them for cold nights.

On days like today, imagination doesn’t suffice,

I close my eyes and I can feel your breath at my neck,

But you aren’t here and I am not there,

But imagination… is a bitch, makes you want it

Right now. Right here.

On a day like today, you should be here,

Distracting me, teasing me,

Leaving me struggling for air,

Did I mention?

Imagination doesn’t suffice on a day like today.

I am left wondering if I would forget how you smile,

And I am being greedy with memories,

Trying to always remember,

Replaying them over and over and over….

Because, you know, imagination doesn’t suffice,

9 January, 2018