Your colours are flames,
eating up the world to prove its own existence;
you are the living cinder on the streets’ ashes,
burning the one who seeks blindly
and warming the one who knows you;
you are the glowing smoulder at the office,
spreading sparkles all over wildly
and melting all that’s not made of steel;
then, you blaze in the empty room,
eating up your own flames,
an ocean of flowing lava’s
inside your cavity,
inside my heart.
I built the walls, burnt the bridges,
scorched the land, searched the witches,
ruptured the nerves, devoured the preserves,
starved the body, tortured the mind,
riped out the tongue, blinded the eyes,
left none behind, let none comeaforth,
I am alone, only of a sort;
still the enemy is knocking, mocking,
wherefrom I cannot flee
and I just can’t…
Warmth fulfills this little cabin –
once again, it’s pleasing to live in;
my body, mind and heart
are enlivened by your art.
I feel guilty to live, I feel guilty to feel,
I feel guilty to fill in, I feel guilty to leave,
I feel guilty to be rich, I feel guilty to be in need,
I feel guilty to forbid, I feel guilty to reach
While feeling innocent in all and each.
All what you call that might be happiness
have been none just repeating shakedowns –
and this reddish fruit you call a mere edginess
is just being my only color in my grey breakdowns.
I walked out from others’ life
out of love and care;
isn’t it time to dare
loving myself just like others?
I’m at the threshold,
but the threshold of what
I cannot know;
it’s just a feeling.
I never experienced home
to say I’m at the threshold
of something, a door
to belong anywhere.
Through my life
I was alone,
struggling of myself,
I found it hard
to ask for help
while I knew
But still, I kept
this feeling, and
yelped at a threshold.
How I envy you all
Who can just ignore me,
Delete me from sites or apps,
Block my number and WhatsApp,
And see my face on Facebook no more
While I am glued, imprisoned with myself;
Not like you, I need to face me daily – again
And again feeling pity, disgust, nuisance, hate,
And weirdness, waiting eagerly my disappearance.
Everything was so cold,
I felt the heat of her body.
The land I walk on is itself talking,
Maddened by illusionary mystifying;
This is why, I keep denying
Dreams and reality.
Then, there’s a repeating vision
Of a garden having no age, no season,
Existing for a tree by reason
To name it: In memory.
What a dream tree is that, alas!
One shall build around it a glassen palace;
Its beauty holds sweet malice,
Isn’t it itself the tree of Eden,
Seducing and then misleading Adam;
Boiling the blood like opium,
Heavenly hellish adultery.
Its shade is ever calming,
Even if it’s not existing, it’s charming;
A Tree of daily harming,