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Showing posts with label questions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label questions. Show all posts

Tuesday, 28 January 2020

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-

Wednesday, 12 September 2018

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.

Wednesday, 10 January 2018

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

Friday, 24 November 2017

Poetry for thought

Title: Lurking

Lurking.
You are lurking in my mind.

I should be thankful that
you are not lurking in my bed.

Melancholy.
Deep, deep sadness.

It grips me in those moments
that you lurk into my mind.

Miserable.
I am so very miserable.

Your memories are making ripples
in oceans that are already wild.

Desirable.
Miserable desires.






Wednesday, 12 July 2017

Poetry for thought

Title: Reality



I am feeling sexual today,
Also angry,
Also sad,
And mostly confused.
I want to smell your sweat,
Dripping off my forehead,
While I find that spot
Under your left breast.                           

I want to unravel this,
Erase all memory of us,
While I slowly break down
Into this pool of angry mess.
Tears well up,
Crawl through my fingertips,
While I try to find a breath
And fail.

The imagination of your left breast,

Thoughts of our tangled feet,
While I slowly wipe away the reality
Off my forehead…
Wait,
Which is real?

The anger? The tears?
The sweat that appears suddenly
On my palms,
Which is real?

I hold my face in my hands,
Not just hold, but grip,
Which is real?
And I try to grab the imagination
To blend it with this sad and angry reality.

Forms merge, order becomes chaos,
Chaos becomes breathing,
Breathing.
Breathing.
Breathing.
Is it me? Is it you?
Chaos, calm,
Earth shattering,
And then.
The shush.

Flashes of my hands shaking,
My lips searching,
My anger brewing,
Eyes closing, sunlight burning,
Moonlight calming.

Flashes, flashes,
Lines blur,
Breathing.
Breathing.
In. out. In. out.

Stay still, maybe now we’ll know
Which is real.

Friday, 28 October 2016

Disconnect



Might have looked at it too many times.
I have stopped now,
But it comes raging back.
As memories sometimes,
And other times as a hope for the future.
Maybe we will have more pictures,
Maybe we won’t take pictures at all.

Was it a declaration of love
Or a social obligation?

How does one disconnect in this connected world?

Wednesday, 20 July 2016

Poem

days like these when the body doesn't fit the mind,
and the mind doesn't fit the soul,
and the soul doesn't fit me,

days like these are meant to be spent in bed,
with fingers in my hair and stories in my ear.

Where are you?

Only the wind sweeps across cold floors
and lonely strands.

Friday, 1 April 2016

Poetry for thought

Day 9
I feel this is incomplete, maybe not organized, but you don't live in my head now do you :) let me know what you think? Please :)

Title: One for the road


Fleeting between pages, words, sheets,
You’re the sweet kind of fire.

You are rattling cages that have been shut,
Rib cages that struggle to stay near you,
Heart cages that long to keep you inside,
Mind cages that need your smile to function.

Fleeting between pages, words, sheets,
You’re the sweet kind of fire.

I want to leave, open the cages for another,
Maybe I will forget you, maybe you will remember me,
Poetry will be written, words spilling out of every cell in my body,
We could have been something; everything.

Fleeting between pages, words, sheets,
You’re the sweet kind of fire.

I thought we could be so much,
Now I am nervous, afraid, worried,
Finally I am learning to protect myself, my heart, me,
Drawing lines, making change.

Fleeting between pages, words, sheets,
I am left wondering,
If I should have let you break me,
One for the road of rediscovery.