Wednesday, August 10, 2011
and this pinching hurt
I buried them alive
I dug them a grave, I made
them a coffin, I disowned them
And I left them to die.
But my disobedient passions
burst out of the grave as ghosts
They pursue me and stalk me
and sometimes, they find me
Like the accursed Eumenides
Desperate to live, I flee.
The holes in my eyes
Were burnt into them
As yours bored into mine
Piercing the insides of my head
With the swift sharpness of arrows
Examining my soul.
Barbs from your mouth scalded me
Cut me into meat-pieces.
I thought I needed to develop immunity
Night, and night follows day
I operate like clockwork,
Sleepwalking, gliding, dragging my steps
Searching for your face unconsciously
In likely and unlikely places, I know
I need immunity now, not from you,
But the absence of you.
over monkey bars at age eight
Feet at the top, the world
turned topsy turvy.
Head hanging backwards
over the boat, the river became
My sky, and surreal reflections
A sidelong glance at your face and
My heart leaps up and I behold
in the sky.
I thirstily search among crowds
The next face could be yours, after all
And will o'the wisp memories become
my shadowy companions.
Blown by every wind that flows
Hither-thither, I am a reed
In sandy shores.
where does the wind
Come from, where does it go?
Toppling ,uprooting me
Winding its way into large pores
Of the sandy soil in which I grow
At the water’s edge.
I must recede within the interior
I must find the clay of the mainland
I must abandon this life of rootless edges
And growing on risky precipices.
They told me clayey soil has smaller pores
Where windy-watery intruders may not nose
Where warm and secure rootholds oppose
Every windy-watery stream that blows
And every firmly rooted reed thrives and grows.
You lie enclosed in your cocoon
And I sleep oblivious in mine.
We live as strangers.
Only the whispering wind brushes
Us together, and we touch, at times.
Stray insects that crawl over you
Crawl over me too.
When the cocoons burst, will we
Recognise, will we realise
That we are sisters born
Of the same butterfly?
You fill the empty pauses, you are
A comma. You are the parentheses
Of daydreams (this comes in useful
In classrooms, trains and market places)
You hover like quotation marks
Around every word I say,
The backdrop of this play.
My life is a story, it has coils of words
With events, characters, colours
An intricate plot and an open end.
This rapid river sometimes
Has lighter tones, which turn shady
And cloudy in places. But it has
No pauses, it is unpunctuated.
you are the colon
The semi colon which gives meaning
The genotext of this phenotext.
You are the accent, you mould
My pronounciation. Dot my I’s and
Cross my t’s, You are
The language of my imagination.
The story would still be a story
Without the punctuations, but it would
Be endlessly garbled speech
You, even in absentia, are just the full stop
I come home to. Period.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
They are elsewhere on this blog, of course, but I am not posting them again, as six poems take up a lot of space. Scroll down, or use the search button, or better still, just use the link! :-)
I realised some of the links in Blood Prints in Web-Worlds don't work because the url's had changed, so anyways, now they work! All the links are "clickable"!