the nature of being

that even symbiosis is Greek for telling
of two very different livings
but in such close company,
and such sweet intimate dependencies

it is yearning whispered by winds, that moves the sea
into waves like heartbeat
to let the seaweed underneath
dance in a choreography, like memory
of longing, between distances of shores

of growth, and complementary
to intertwine romantically like reefs
that but stubbornly remain to grow individually
in depths of blue

ever known

walk with me, but do not wait

maybe winter has lost its bloom

maybe you decided to leave it all too soon

you can ask me anything

and know i will not fall apart

somehow my insides have folded

and i am convinced

there is nothing left to tear

when i have lost   

the day i found it all in you

sound -

i would tell you
that i miss the sound of your heartbeat against my own,
woven in and out like threads.

especially when i am drowned
by the sound

of my own heavy thoughts

his laughter is like the crack of dawn,

there is warmth when it accompanies mine. 

wind

There will always be whispers.
And maybe they will assume
you turn red out of guilt.

When really,
your cheeks have learned the art - 

to numb itself
from the coldness of it all. 

under cover -

& here I thought
I’d never spend the weekend
all day in bed
again

tending to wounds
without bruises
to what I am & became.

thirtieth

i used to feel like i was treading in sea, slightly drowning inside. i used to feel my pulse beat like thunder in my own head. through, and through, and thoroughly against. like vastness of waves crashing to the shores of reckless walls-
that i built like a cage around my chest, out of hurt in disguise.

and cemented by bucketfuls of resent-filled ego
                               in refusal to make home in the hearts of man

and here i lie, as if all of me feels stained
staring blankly as words pour out of me -
the melted wax harden by the winds blowing
through my balcony.
making curtains dance
with gracefulness i lack....

i want to be able to believe again,
and i want to be able to give all of me.

not in cowardly fragments as i have done...
and without wearing my tongue and heart in my sleeves
i have been tiptoeing myself on fields of landmines.
faking apathy - but fully knowing otherwise

                                                      i want to be able to feel something again.

warmth

for once, he said

       i feel less like an illusion

       when you smile at me

twenty-ninth

maybe it takes a little blurriness to get inspired,

a little diversion to realize what you had

and a little moment of confusion and emotional chaos

to figure out - 

that you've been living the facade 

you have built

with your own bare hands

and you have built with bricks a wall 

between the arrangement of your rib cage

to keep what is wild in place

slow

Here is to
every moment,
in the confined corner
space of a room
slow dancing to inaudible songs
that speak in languages
only our hearts are capable of understanding.

spine

The spine of the book sits firmly in the middle
to hold pages of the story together.
Something firmly in the middle of me
holds my story too, 
& it holds me together as well
                                                  -but it isn't my spine.

halfhearted

i fluff my pillows 

thinking it will gather me dreams

or maybe soothe

my night wounds
but they flutter away-
anyway.

elegantly, to wither

the euphony of wistfulness -
or maybe just my footsteps.
on an unknown sidewalk,
with curved roads and broken street lines
as fragmented was my coherence

i played pity on the leaves
for soon, they too will disappear,
but somewhere
between my pretentious melancholy,
unraveled a tinge of verity

i envied them.
at how delightfully they, the leaves, were

at how they dared
to swirl like confetti
with the deliciously provocative
autumn wind

even if that meant
to a fall
of decay

such gracefulness
and fearlessness
i somehow knew
i lacked in me

earthly

In darkness you make the universe out of me,
but like the earth,
surely -
I will shiver
& crumble

visceral

how does it feel,
to see the trees burn fiery red?
when the skin longs for a palm of heat
but what caresses is
minty autumn breeze?

how does it feel,
when the trickling carillon of the piano keys flutter?
does it make your heartbeat tiptoe and twirl
into light pirouettes-
leaving you in wonder
at what this tender,
muscle of yours is yearning for?

how does it feel,
to breathe a moment?
do you sigh a little
and savour sweetness in reprieve?

& maybe
no matter how convincing
you tell yourself that your feelings are soundproof
it begs its way to be heard
beating in discord to the rhythm of your chest,
and in disguised
in the clandestine corner of your mind

words will be forgotten,
but in echoes, i know
the soul remembers how to feel

a meridian

the zenith is not a desert
in desertion where blowing sands
is your only company

nor is it in the dark, lamp lit street
where warmth of late summer
moist-instilled breeze
cool your fatigued blood
into humility

when you find,
that home is the road all along
where salvation is
the ability to reflect

it is sometimes woven into
mittens of reminisces
or fortresses
of unspoken feelings

bare and windswept;

morning comes,
light stream through sheer curtains-
my shadow disappears
for she no longer recognizes this body

while birds sing sweet greetings
only silence bids by time,
there are fissures under my eyes
yet, i am reminded
that even mountains wear away

dull ache sits in my chest
how sweetly tingling bitter this hints
i still enjoy to faculty to feel

you will forget me,
like the wind that sweeps graceful tall grasses
i am ethereal.

beat, heart -

heartbeat,

i can hear you

even after all the violence of love

the vulgar wounds 

you still burn within

heartbeat,

forgive me

for when i fall and be forgotten

i still feel

all the filth in me

heartbeat,

do not break me.

Neglected

I was earth,
dry and cracked in places
of my parched lips
in desert desperation,
but you-
you were the rain
that trickled like tears but felt like kisses
how, you were so gentle
yet, rarely you came.

The Mast

A harbour anchoring moments,
Winds whispering feelings
Mind reeling into reminiscing 
But like the rope hitting a yacht's mast,
Persistent-
And resisting in a desperate rhythm
Reminding not to linger with the restless wind.

A perched seagull squawked arrogantly,
It soared free to the horizon.

Here I sit seeking no sympathy
With stillness unlike the lake before me,
Let the gentle ferry horn reprimand,
And the wafting dock console me.

-written May 2014
"Big Tub" Tobermory Harbour