I am the poet of grief and of vain hope,
The poet of eternal longing and perpetual heartache
But not the poet of carefree joy or honey-happiness.
The poet of eternal longing and perpetual heartache
But not the poet of carefree joy or honey-happiness.
NOW
Play the game until the candles burn out
Sing the song until the last string breaks
Enjoy the night until the walls fall down
And dance until the floor opens wide
Leave no kiss unkissed,
No love unconfessed
No pleasure untasted,
No question unanswered,
No promise unfulfilled,
No favour unreturned
No guitar lying by,
No friend left behind
Shake off your ifs and whens and hows and whys
This moment is yours now,
Take it while it lasts.
Live now, without regrets.
Who knows where we'll be when tomorrow comes
Or if tomorrow comes?
What if tomorrow never comes?
Play the game until the candles burn out
Sing the song until the last string breaks
Enjoy the night until the walls fall down
And dance until the floor opens wide
Leave no kiss unkissed,
No love unconfessed
No pleasure untasted,
No question unanswered,
No promise unfulfilled,
No favour unreturned
No guitar lying by,
No friend left behind
Shake off your ifs and whens and hows and whys
This moment is yours now,
Take it while it lasts.
Live now, without regrets.
Who knows where we'll be when tomorrow comes
Or if tomorrow comes?
What if tomorrow never comes?
SILENCE LOOMS
Neon light fades, black velvet shrouds me.
Swansong on a broken gramophone.
Blunt, heavy, blunt, heavy
Clockbeats. Heartbeats.
Dying time. The air moves no more. Rigor mortis.
An inkpot rolls across the ground.
Wasted ink flows, wasted blood,
Then it dries a stain on the carpet.
Memento mori.
Silence looms, silence calls
- Unwelcome.
Words purge me, words console me, words embrace me.
Yesterday I cried the bathtub full,
Today I dove into it.
Tonight I'll cry it full again.
Then I'll write, write, write
Half-formed hope on a torn sheet
I'll write, write, write
In haste
Until my pen dries out
And the bathtub overflows.
Or until my pen overflows,
And the bathtub dries out.
Neon light fades, black velvet shrouds me.
Swansong on a broken gramophone.
Blunt, heavy, blunt, heavy
Clockbeats. Heartbeats.
Dying time. The air moves no more. Rigor mortis.
An inkpot rolls across the ground.
Wasted ink flows, wasted blood,
Then it dries a stain on the carpet.
Memento mori.
Silence looms, silence calls
- Unwelcome.
Words purge me, words console me, words embrace me.
Yesterday I cried the bathtub full,
Today I dove into it.
Tonight I'll cry it full again.
Then I'll write, write, write
Half-formed hope on a torn sheet
I'll write, write, write
In haste
Until my pen dries out
And the bathtub overflows.
Or until my pen overflows,
And the bathtub dries out.
OF TRUE FAITH
The truest faith is not of those
Who brandish their blessings
In feigned awe,
Boasting of that which they unjustly received,
Nor of those who drink freely of fortune's fountain,
Thinking the reward fair
And themselves better than the rest.
For it is easy to kiss the hand that abounds in gifts,
And lift the name that has raised you high.
No, true faith is of those who are ever-pressed by misfortune
But still only bend their knees to God.
Those who welcome illness, pain, hunger, and all evils
With an unfaltering smile.
Those who dance amongst the shards of dreams
And give thanks for a sip of air
A touch of sunlight,
The fragrance of blossoming trees.
Such faith, born in rags and not silk robes,
Anchored in heaven's hope,
Blind to injustice and ignorant of caprice,
Is wisdom beyond life, beyond time, beyond fortune.
The truest faith is not of those
Who brandish their blessings
In feigned awe,
Boasting of that which they unjustly received,
Nor of those who drink freely of fortune's fountain,
Thinking the reward fair
And themselves better than the rest.
For it is easy to kiss the hand that abounds in gifts,
And lift the name that has raised you high.
No, true faith is of those who are ever-pressed by misfortune
But still only bend their knees to God.
Those who welcome illness, pain, hunger, and all evils
With an unfaltering smile.
Those who dance amongst the shards of dreams
And give thanks for a sip of air
A touch of sunlight,
The fragrance of blossoming trees.
Such faith, born in rags and not silk robes,
Anchored in heaven's hope,
Blind to injustice and ignorant of caprice,
Is wisdom beyond life, beyond time, beyond fortune.
WHAT HAPPENS?
What happens to dreams when they die?
Do they grow wings and soar to heaven?
Do they roam free, do they play,
Their white robes untainted by the smoke,
A piece of my childhood in their hands?
What happens to dreams when they die?
Do they grow wings and soar to heaven?
Do they roam free, do they play,
Their white robes untainted by the smoke,
A piece of my childhood in their hands?
REMEMBRANCE (IN MEMORY OF MY GRANDFATHER)
A tree with a hundred branches lost its roots,
And gone are the days of candy-coated innocence,
The sunscreen-scented summers by the lake,
The pastel dreams born in the faded grass.
We don't float weightless in the golden light,
Nor weave hopes of the coming millennia.
Now we discuss our workplace woes
And mourn the glory of the past.
One more curtain has been drawn,
One more library burnt to ashes.
In our hands, a box of overexposed memories,
In our ears the whispers of the victorious dusk.
Cries, prayers, smiles all swallowed by the greedy night
And ten questions grown from the seeds of sunrise.
Nausea engulfs the stifling stillness
Tornadoes scream in the boiling silence.
But the river flows undisturbed,
And the tree stands proud like the nursing roots.
And it will prosper again, and flourish forevermore
A billion branches will soon conquer the sky.
A tree with a hundred branches lost its roots,
And gone are the days of candy-coated innocence,
The sunscreen-scented summers by the lake,
The pastel dreams born in the faded grass.
We don't float weightless in the golden light,
Nor weave hopes of the coming millennia.
Now we discuss our workplace woes
And mourn the glory of the past.
One more curtain has been drawn,
One more library burnt to ashes.
In our hands, a box of overexposed memories,
In our ears the whispers of the victorious dusk.
Cries, prayers, smiles all swallowed by the greedy night
And ten questions grown from the seeds of sunrise.
Nausea engulfs the stifling stillness
Tornadoes scream in the boiling silence.
But the river flows undisturbed,
And the tree stands proud like the nursing roots.
And it will prosper again, and flourish forevermore
A billion branches will soon conquer the sky.
I DON'T WANT TO
I don't want to speak words tonight,
Or say who I am, and who I am not.
I don't want to shout my life story to be heard above other stories.
I don't want to run from 'why don't yous' and chase 'if onlys'
I don't feel like feigning a smile until my muscles burn.
'Why not me' is a dangerous path,
And 'why not me' is my lullaby.
I know I'm not the Mediterranean.
I am the Arctic.
My life is a walk in the rain.
But it's not 'that' kind of rain.
This is not a meadow, and it's not summer.
This is the city, and I'm wearing my best shoes.
I don't want to be someone else's someone else.
I'll be yours if you ask.
I was theirs, but they never asked.
Tonight I just want to lie in someone's arms,
Though I'm not sure if I want to lie in your arms, or his, or his.
Maybe it doesn't matter. I just want to speak the silent language of love,
And write a long, long history.
I don't want to speak words tonight,
Or say who I am, and who I am not.
I don't want to shout my life story to be heard above other stories.
I don't want to run from 'why don't yous' and chase 'if onlys'
I don't feel like feigning a smile until my muscles burn.
'Why not me' is a dangerous path,
And 'why not me' is my lullaby.
I know I'm not the Mediterranean.
I am the Arctic.
My life is a walk in the rain.
But it's not 'that' kind of rain.
This is not a meadow, and it's not summer.
This is the city, and I'm wearing my best shoes.
I don't want to be someone else's someone else.
I'll be yours if you ask.
I was theirs, but they never asked.
Tonight I just want to lie in someone's arms,
Though I'm not sure if I want to lie in your arms, or his, or his.
Maybe it doesn't matter. I just want to speak the silent language of love,
And write a long, long history.
PITY THE POET
Pity the poet who gives and gives again,
In vain, in vain again.
And gives more than gold - she gives eternity
To miserly muses who stoop not to reciprocate.
Pity the poet who dares and dares again
To love and love again,
Overdosing on the poison that doesn't kill,
In pursuit of a land that doesn't exist,
A time that never comes,
A dream stillborn,
A hope hallucinated.
And in the end a poet is in pain, in pain again,
So she knows she's alive, alive again.
Pity the poet who falls and falls again,
And cries and cries again,
Then dips her pen in the tear-soaked mud,
And writes and writes again,
And freezes midnight into a song,
Sorrow into a brush-stroke.
Pity the poet who lies
Alone, alone again
Tossing in agony, screaming for death
Till the night resigns.
And when morning rises again,
A poet will love and love again,
In vain, in vain again.
Pity the poet who gives and gives again,
In vain, in vain again.
And gives more than gold - she gives eternity
To miserly muses who stoop not to reciprocate.
Pity the poet who dares and dares again
To love and love again,
Overdosing on the poison that doesn't kill,
In pursuit of a land that doesn't exist,
A time that never comes,
A dream stillborn,
A hope hallucinated.
And in the end a poet is in pain, in pain again,
So she knows she's alive, alive again.
Pity the poet who falls and falls again,
And cries and cries again,
Then dips her pen in the tear-soaked mud,
And writes and writes again,
And freezes midnight into a song,
Sorrow into a brush-stroke.
Pity the poet who lies
Alone, alone again
Tossing in agony, screaming for death
Till the night resigns.
And when morning rises again,
A poet will love and love again,
In vain, in vain again.
FRAGMENTS I.
There was a yesterday.
There will be a tomorrow.
Yesterday you weren't here.
Tomorrow you won't be here.
But today I mourn.
I mourn what I couldn't lose.
I weep over the match blown out by the wind before it could light a bonfire.
I curse the rooster's shriek that aborts a shaping dream.
I kneel by the shards of my heart and pick you out,
Like you pick the bits of meat from a bone to silence an unsatisfied hunger.
I know that this is just another farewell, another stamp in my passport.
I passed through your heart, I stayed for a fortnight. Or so.
Now the road calls, and the broad night, and the legions of unconquerable hearts,
Just another image to develop in my darkroom.
Just another poem whispered into the dark.
There was a yesterday.
There will be a tomorrow.
Yesterday you weren't here.
Tomorrow you won't be here.
But today I mourn.
I mourn what I couldn't lose.
I weep over the match blown out by the wind before it could light a bonfire.
I curse the rooster's shriek that aborts a shaping dream.
I kneel by the shards of my heart and pick you out,
Like you pick the bits of meat from a bone to silence an unsatisfied hunger.
I know that this is just another farewell, another stamp in my passport.
I passed through your heart, I stayed for a fortnight. Or so.
Now the road calls, and the broad night, and the legions of unconquerable hearts,
Just another image to develop in my darkroom.
Just another poem whispered into the dark.
SHIELD YOUR HEART
Shield your heart before I break inside
Shield your heart before I claim my place
Shield your heart before I kill all joy
Shield your heart before I steal your night
Shield your heart before there's no one else
Shield your heart before there's nowhere else
Shield your heart before it's too late
Shield your heart before there's no escape
Shield your heart before my curse taints you
Shield your heart before you fall in love
Shield your heart before I break inside
Shield your heart before I claim my place
Shield your heart before I kill all joy
Shield your heart before I steal your night
Shield your heart before there's no one else
Shield your heart before there's nowhere else
Shield your heart before it's too late
Shield your heart before there's no escape
Shield your heart before my curse taints you
Shield your heart before you fall in love
EVERY CITY
Every city has a soul, a liquid, misty soul that shapes every newborn child, and a heart that hums them lullabies. Every city raises its own archetypes, just as it gives texture to the rain and taste to the sunlight. Flee with hatred or roam far and wide, your city will follow you, eternal child.
Every city has a soul, a liquid, misty soul that shapes every newborn child, and a heart that hums them lullabies. Every city raises its own archetypes, just as it gives texture to the rain and taste to the sunlight. Flee with hatred or roam far and wide, your city will follow you, eternal child.
TO LET YOU GO
My imagination sits me atop the universe
And conjures legions to love me.
But when I was browsing through your photos,
My imagination could not make me appear there.
That's how I knew I had to let you go.
My imagination sits me atop the universe
And conjures legions to love me.
But when I was browsing through your photos,
My imagination could not make me appear there.
That's how I knew I had to let you go.
WHEN LOVE IS A GOODBYE
I am.
And you are.
But we aren't. And we won't be. And we can't be.
But not because 10000 miles stand guard between us,
And not because the bricks that built our childhood
Were cut from different stones.
No. The unyielding wall that keeps us apart
Is a fine, fragile, invisible fabric woven from your dreams
And perfumed with your sweetness.
You are a ship waiting to anchor,
I am a rock that falls and starts an avalanche.
You are a flower longing to release its seeds,
I'm a leaf that courts the storm.
You'd lie into my arms wanting them to rock you,
But my swift hot blood would rise and drown you.
Sometimes love is the warmth of two joined hands,
Or the rainbow spark of two lips as they touch.
Sometimes love fortifies the future,
Sometimes it defeats the past.
But sometimes love must be a goodbye
To save us from the ever-looming fall.
And I know, though my heart cannot grasp it,
To let you be,
I must let you go.
I am.
And you are.
But we aren't. And we won't be. And we can't be.
But not because 10000 miles stand guard between us,
And not because the bricks that built our childhood
Were cut from different stones.
No. The unyielding wall that keeps us apart
Is a fine, fragile, invisible fabric woven from your dreams
And perfumed with your sweetness.
You are a ship waiting to anchor,
I am a rock that falls and starts an avalanche.
You are a flower longing to release its seeds,
I'm a leaf that courts the storm.
You'd lie into my arms wanting them to rock you,
But my swift hot blood would rise and drown you.
Sometimes love is the warmth of two joined hands,
Or the rainbow spark of two lips as they touch.
Sometimes love fortifies the future,
Sometimes it defeats the past.
But sometimes love must be a goodbye
To save us from the ever-looming fall.
And I know, though my heart cannot grasp it,
To let you be,
I must let you go.
THIS SIDE OF THE MOON
On this side of the moon, When evening rushes in, I don the guise of a huntress And march, across dead leaves And dead dreams Into stuffy bedrooms And obscure pubs And ice-cream parlours And tequila bars Though I know you aren't there. The half-darkness promises noble preys But morning falls on overripe boys Who do not merit a mere blotch Of my overflowing ink. On this side of the moon, Lips kiss while souls lie in boredom And bodies mingle, but hearts never unite. So my neglected heart Wraps itself into your memory, And my lips, frozen in feigned smile, Swallow a waterfall of tears. On this side of the moon I will miss you until my final day. And on the other side of the moon? Do you remember the taste of my kiss, The warmth of my hand, The shade of my eyes? Do you ever dream about me, Or lie awake, Asking what could have been? Or is my heart too far away On this side of the moon? |
|
WINTER SONG
I sit by the embers of a bonfire
And watch the clouds as they convene,
Heavy with burdens they grudge to release.
The sky is dressed in steely blue
The wind hisses, and faded voices
Come and go, come and go.
Light flickers somewhere
Far on the horizon,
And yonder the black shadow
Of a church tower.
But this is a promiseless night
Of a promiseless life.
The laughter of the un-cursed,
Brighter than the sun itself,
Forever echoes in my ears.
But my fingers grasp the icy wind
And my knees bang on frozen mud.
I invoke the snow to bury me
And let me sink into its embrace
And catch me, and save me from the frosty morn.
But no answer comes. No comfort.
Only the blanket of midnight.
That falls on me as I lie
With eyes wide open,
Dried tearless by the unfeeling wind,
Lips frozen in prayer,
Heart waning,
And waiting,
Forever waiting for a better spring
Since your departure.
I sit by the embers of a bonfire
And watch the clouds as they convene,
Heavy with burdens they grudge to release.
The sky is dressed in steely blue
The wind hisses, and faded voices
Come and go, come and go.
Light flickers somewhere
Far on the horizon,
And yonder the black shadow
Of a church tower.
But this is a promiseless night
Of a promiseless life.
The laughter of the un-cursed,
Brighter than the sun itself,
Forever echoes in my ears.
But my fingers grasp the icy wind
And my knees bang on frozen mud.
I invoke the snow to bury me
And let me sink into its embrace
And catch me, and save me from the frosty morn.
But no answer comes. No comfort.
Only the blanket of midnight.
That falls on me as I lie
With eyes wide open,
Dried tearless by the unfeeling wind,
Lips frozen in prayer,
Heart waning,
And waiting,
Forever waiting for a better spring
Since your departure.
THE MORNING AFTER
Your fingers slipping out of my hands,
Your lips chilling my forehead,
The tightening knot of your neck-tie,
A torn button in the ashes of the bonfire.
Burnt breadcrumbs cascading on the floor,
The promise of winter creeping through the door.
All whisper:
This is the morning after.
Your fingers slipping out of my hands,
Your lips chilling my forehead,
The tightening knot of your neck-tie,
A torn button in the ashes of the bonfire.
Burnt breadcrumbs cascading on the floor,
The promise of winter creeping through the door.
All whisper:
This is the morning after.
ESSAY IN VERSE
This is a poem about poetry.
And poetry is about nothing. And everything.
The poet's ink is the river that carries their blood,
Blackened by vain love, sorrow and lifelong heartache.
And poetry is every tear-drop that gathers into words
As it falls on a blank page.
And poetry is a flag that claims a piece of land in the world.
And every syllable a choir that accompanies my heartbeats.
Short. Sharp. Stifled. Deep. But never still.
Swaying like the sea,
Whistling like the wind,
Scorching like the sun.
An ocean condensed into a dewdrop,
A lifetime into a wrinkle,
Humankind into a verse.
Poetry is the ghost of a wise-man
Omniscient and unwilling to speak,
And poetry is the ghost of a newborn babe,
In awe, and knowing nothing of the world.
Poetry is the unwanted stepchild.
And yet, a mirror of the world.
This is a poem about poetry.
And poetry is about nothing. And everything.
The poet's ink is the river that carries their blood,
Blackened by vain love, sorrow and lifelong heartache.
And poetry is every tear-drop that gathers into words
As it falls on a blank page.
And poetry is a flag that claims a piece of land in the world.
And every syllable a choir that accompanies my heartbeats.
Short. Sharp. Stifled. Deep. But never still.
Swaying like the sea,
Whistling like the wind,
Scorching like the sun.
An ocean condensed into a dewdrop,
A lifetime into a wrinkle,
Humankind into a verse.
Poetry is the ghost of a wise-man
Omniscient and unwilling to speak,
And poetry is the ghost of a newborn babe,
In awe, and knowing nothing of the world.
Poetry is the unwanted stepchild.
And yet, a mirror of the world.
RESTLESS VISITOR
I call thee, restless visitor,
Love,
Blessed curse,
Sweet serpent.
You will die.
You must die.
But before you go,
Empty your poison
Into my veins.
Deceive me, and
Make me believe
That I'm happy.
That I can be happy.
Bloom, cornflower,
Grow, chestnut-tree,
Spread, golden light,
Open, ruby rose.
Stay, summer night.
Sharpen, faint mirage.
Twist me,
Turn me,
Shake me,
Roller-coaster.
Rage inside me,
Hurricane.
Descend,
Mighty rain.
Lift me,
Muddy flood.
And let me float.
And float
And float.
And then
Rest evermore
In a corner
In my heart.
I call thee, restless visitor,
Love,
Blessed curse,
Sweet serpent.
You will die.
You must die.
But before you go,
Empty your poison
Into my veins.
Deceive me, and
Make me believe
That I'm happy.
That I can be happy.
Bloom, cornflower,
Grow, chestnut-tree,
Spread, golden light,
Open, ruby rose.
Stay, summer night.
Sharpen, faint mirage.
Twist me,
Turn me,
Shake me,
Roller-coaster.
Rage inside me,
Hurricane.
Descend,
Mighty rain.
Lift me,
Muddy flood.
And let me float.
And float
And float.
And then
Rest evermore
In a corner
In my heart.
A STORM IS COMING
The waves still sway softly by the shore,
And the mist of paradise still curtains the land.
But yonder black clouds hold their council
To herald the approach of war.
A storm is coming.
The wind screeches and mocks us.
This time there is no escape.
The boat, oft besieged by rain, cannot withstand more.
The mist dissolves.
The sun hides in fear.
A storm is coming,
And the boat must capsize.
Its cargo, gathered lifelong,
Unseen treasures destined to delight,
All will succumb to decay
When the storm arrives.
I pity thee, woeful captain, who dreamt of
Happy excursions on summer days,
Envisioning love, and feeding on laughter.
Summer has run away, captain.
And winter is in charge.
From now on, storms will reign and rage.
But worry not, captain.
A mighty storm is coming.
You will soon be at rest.
The waves still sway softly by the shore,
And the mist of paradise still curtains the land.
But yonder black clouds hold their council
To herald the approach of war.
A storm is coming.
The wind screeches and mocks us.
This time there is no escape.
The boat, oft besieged by rain, cannot withstand more.
The mist dissolves.
The sun hides in fear.
A storm is coming,
And the boat must capsize.
Its cargo, gathered lifelong,
Unseen treasures destined to delight,
All will succumb to decay
When the storm arrives.
I pity thee, woeful captain, who dreamt of
Happy excursions on summer days,
Envisioning love, and feeding on laughter.
Summer has run away, captain.
And winter is in charge.
From now on, storms will reign and rage.
But worry not, captain.
A mighty storm is coming.
You will soon be at rest.
BACK TO LONDON
The black shadows of memories embrace me.
As paradise flies away on a paper plane
And the leaking vase of joy falls into pieces.
And I awaken on the riverbank
To see all,
My hopes, my dreams, my life flow by
Slowly, surely.
And only London stays behind;
My nightmare in daylight,
The city of choking air
And empty hearts.
I hold onto the wind, the smoke, the puff of steam,
All that's upward-bound
And saves me from the inevitable,
Unavoidable,
Ultimate fall.
The black shadows of memories embrace me.
As paradise flies away on a paper plane
And the leaking vase of joy falls into pieces.
And I awaken on the riverbank
To see all,
My hopes, my dreams, my life flow by
Slowly, surely.
And only London stays behind;
My nightmare in daylight,
The city of choking air
And empty hearts.
I hold onto the wind, the smoke, the puff of steam,
All that's upward-bound
And saves me from the inevitable,
Unavoidable,
Ultimate fall.
FALLING
Falling: in love
through a red sea
(rich and sweltering.)
for a promise
(expecting nectar and tasting vinegar),
and then
head first onto the ground,
(an earthquake on land and an explosion in my heart)
(dizzy, feverish,
and finally at home.)
Falling: in love
through a red sea
(rich and sweltering.)
for a promise
(expecting nectar and tasting vinegar),
and then
head first onto the ground,
(an earthquake on land and an explosion in my heart)
(dizzy, feverish,
and finally at home.)
FOUND AND LOST
~To K.~
Daylong I hunger, but food cannot sate me,
Daylong I shiver, but fire cannot heat me.
My desire, my wish, my all
Is the golden-haired, golden-hearted boy,
Mine for a moment
And gone forevermore.
Oh, warm, hazy red nights,
The orange flame in your eyes,
And me, white, raw,
Rarely marked by love.
But your soul kissed my soul,
And your heart embraced my heart,
And time stopped, and my love was born.
Until daylight invaded and hope vanished.
I fit into your arms
So well that I thought
I belonged there.
But I belong to no one.
Nowhere.
Never.
My love, my smooth, polished crystal heart
Vanquished by the world;
And distance,
Time,
Birth,
Place,
Mountain after mountain
Between us.
So I drift on, and long, and hunger
For love that cannot be;
Amor vincit nihil.
~To K.~
Daylong I hunger, but food cannot sate me,
Daylong I shiver, but fire cannot heat me.
My desire, my wish, my all
Is the golden-haired, golden-hearted boy,
Mine for a moment
And gone forevermore.
Oh, warm, hazy red nights,
The orange flame in your eyes,
And me, white, raw,
Rarely marked by love.
But your soul kissed my soul,
And your heart embraced my heart,
And time stopped, and my love was born.
Until daylight invaded and hope vanished.
I fit into your arms
So well that I thought
I belonged there.
But I belong to no one.
Nowhere.
Never.
My love, my smooth, polished crystal heart
Vanquished by the world;
And distance,
Time,
Birth,
Place,
Mountain after mountain
Between us.
So I drift on, and long, and hunger
For love that cannot be;
Amor vincit nihil.
HOME
Is home the four walls I call mine
For a little while,
The pillow my head longs for
on a too long night?
The noise of a party
Creeping inside?
Or is home where my mother sings,
And my father scolds,
And my sisters laugh,
And dogs bark, and roosters crow,
And memories are painted on every rock?
Is home the kitchen sink
Where I labour for bread?
Or the well-worn plush
Of a theatre hall?
Or the crisp air
Before an early flight?
Or the winking sea
On a summer eve?
Or the melting concrete
Bathing in neon-light?
But the song quietens, and the address changes, and the plane touches down, and the curtain falls, and the sea dries out, and the lights flicker, and the party ends,
And I realise that home is not a place, but a feeling.
Is home the four walls I call mine
For a little while,
The pillow my head longs for
on a too long night?
The noise of a party
Creeping inside?
Or is home where my mother sings,
And my father scolds,
And my sisters laugh,
And dogs bark, and roosters crow,
And memories are painted on every rock?
Is home the kitchen sink
Where I labour for bread?
Or the well-worn plush
Of a theatre hall?
Or the crisp air
Before an early flight?
Or the winking sea
On a summer eve?
Or the melting concrete
Bathing in neon-light?
But the song quietens, and the address changes, and the plane touches down, and the curtain falls, and the sea dries out, and the lights flicker, and the party ends,
And I realise that home is not a place, but a feeling.
PERHAPS I LOVE YOU
~To N.~
I pray for you by every crucifix
And toast you in every old tavern.
I cry for you in every empty corner
And whisper your name on every windy hill.
But when you are near,
I hide behind a fan
And tell you there is someone else.
Always ‘someone else’.
Perhaps I love you, but I cannot yield.
Not because I do not dare to love,
But because I’m afraid to lose you.
And I would lose you, that is for certain,
Because loss is the end of every love.
~To N.~
I pray for you by every crucifix
And toast you in every old tavern.
I cry for you in every empty corner
And whisper your name on every windy hill.
But when you are near,
I hide behind a fan
And tell you there is someone else.
Always ‘someone else’.
Perhaps I love you, but I cannot yield.
Not because I do not dare to love,
But because I’m afraid to lose you.
And I would lose you, that is for certain,
Because loss is the end of every love.
KENSINGTON KISS (THE TUBE POEMS 2.)
Tonight
I saw a couple
Kissing
Under the arcades
Of High Street Kensington.
Oddly, they were alone
In the otherwise always full
Station hall.
But this couple filled the arcades
with more love and warmth
Than the hundreds and thousands
who rush through from dawn to dusk.
Tonight
I saw a couple
Kissing
Under the arcades
Of High Street Kensington.
Oddly, they were alone
In the otherwise always full
Station hall.
But this couple filled the arcades
with more love and warmth
Than the hundreds and thousands
who rush through from dawn to dusk.
THE TALE OF THE TWO FLOWERS
A gardener once planted
Two seeds of the same kind
Under a bush, side by side.
But he planted one in a spot
Shaded by the leaves,
While the other, an inch away,
Stood free under the sky.
So the selfsame sun
Lavished one with golden rays
While the other received nought
But a few stray beams
When spring came,
Two flowers sprang up from the seeds
But the one favoured by the sun
Grew tall and bright.
While the other became weak
And faint in the shade.
When their time came to release their seeds,
The tall flower was aided by the wind
And its seeds landed on fertile soil,
While the seeds of the smaller flower
Only encountered a feeble breeze
And fell on barren ground.
So one flower, admired by all,
Blooms in glory to this day,
While the other is but the prey of decay.
What is the moral of this tale?
Do not blame a flower
If it’s not tall enough,
For a flower cannot grow
If it’s hindered by circumstance.
A gardener once planted
Two seeds of the same kind
Under a bush, side by side.
But he planted one in a spot
Shaded by the leaves,
While the other, an inch away,
Stood free under the sky.
So the selfsame sun
Lavished one with golden rays
While the other received nought
But a few stray beams
When spring came,
Two flowers sprang up from the seeds
But the one favoured by the sun
Grew tall and bright.
While the other became weak
And faint in the shade.
When their time came to release their seeds,
The tall flower was aided by the wind
And its seeds landed on fertile soil,
While the seeds of the smaller flower
Only encountered a feeble breeze
And fell on barren ground.
So one flower, admired by all,
Blooms in glory to this day,
While the other is but the prey of decay.
What is the moral of this tale?
Do not blame a flower
If it’s not tall enough,
For a flower cannot grow
If it’s hindered by circumstance.
THE LILY
I watch the lily on my desk
Lying silently in a plain glass vase.
I gently touch the striped petals,
Their whiteness stained by a hint of red,
And their redness paled by shades of white.
Not quite pure enough, not too passionate.
And lo, a streak of green is creeping up.
I marvel at the robust stem
As it floats just below the water’s edge,
Bending to no earthly force,
But broken by any hand.
I sniff into the air,
Lured by the faint perfume
At first so charming in humility,
And yet guarding poison at the core.
I watch the lily on my desk,
And the more I watch,
The more I recognise myself.
I watch the lily on my desk
Lying silently in a plain glass vase.
I gently touch the striped petals,
Their whiteness stained by a hint of red,
And their redness paled by shades of white.
Not quite pure enough, not too passionate.
And lo, a streak of green is creeping up.
I marvel at the robust stem
As it floats just below the water’s edge,
Bending to no earthly force,
But broken by any hand.
I sniff into the air,
Lured by the faint perfume
At first so charming in humility,
And yet guarding poison at the core.
I watch the lily on my desk,
And the more I watch,
The more I recognise myself.
SOMEWHERE/SOMEONE ELSE
Tortured by tedium,
I oft long to be somewhere else.
In a place where work is pleasure
And not Sisyphean labour
In a place of smiling skies
And caressing sea-waves
Where the wind doesn’t chase me,
And the rain never assaults.
In a city where love is king
And indifference is extinct.
In the midst of luxury
Instead of an unheated attic.
Or just sheltered from the world
And free to cry in my own room.
Seized by sorrow,
I oft long to be someone else.
Someone who talks without inhibitions
Someone radiating confidence
Someone for whom food is a friend
And not a cruel enemy.
Someone who flies to the mountaintops
And makes her dwelling there.
Someone who never blushes,
Never blunders,
Never despairs
And never falters.
Someone of resilience
And resolve
And a solution
To every problem.
Someone taller
Blonder,
Prettier
And smarter.
Or I just wish to be
Someone who can love me
Because that person must be
A saint or an angel.
I sometimes wonder
if people ever long to be me.
Then I wonder why it is
That I can embrace an enemy
And forgive a criminal
But I can never learn
To love myself.
Tortured by tedium,
I oft long to be somewhere else.
In a place where work is pleasure
And not Sisyphean labour
In a place of smiling skies
And caressing sea-waves
Where the wind doesn’t chase me,
And the rain never assaults.
In a city where love is king
And indifference is extinct.
In the midst of luxury
Instead of an unheated attic.
Or just sheltered from the world
And free to cry in my own room.
Seized by sorrow,
I oft long to be someone else.
Someone who talks without inhibitions
Someone radiating confidence
Someone for whom food is a friend
And not a cruel enemy.
Someone who flies to the mountaintops
And makes her dwelling there.
Someone who never blushes,
Never blunders,
Never despairs
And never falters.
Someone of resilience
And resolve
And a solution
To every problem.
Someone taller
Blonder,
Prettier
And smarter.
Or I just wish to be
Someone who can love me
Because that person must be
A saint or an angel.
I sometimes wonder
if people ever long to be me.
Then I wonder why it is
That I can embrace an enemy
And forgive a criminal
But I can never learn
To love myself.
I HAVE A QUESTION
God,
Mirror Mirror,
Sweetheart,
Mother,
I have a question.
Who am I?
And what am I?
And where am I?
And where’s the way?
And can I turn back?
Why did you,
And how could he?
For how long?
And why not me?
Where were you then?
And where are you now?
Will you come back?
Or are you too far?
What have I done?
Can you forgive?
Why do you ask
What I can’t give?
What’s your purpose?
What’s the reason?
When will it end?
Or will it ever?
God,
Mirror Mirror,
Sweetheart,
Mother,
I have a question.
But each question
Breeds another question
And there’s no time to ask
All I want to know.
So to condense every question
Into one that covers all,
I just ask:
What the fuck?
God,
Mirror Mirror,
Sweetheart,
Mother,
I have a question.
Who am I?
And what am I?
And where am I?
And where’s the way?
And can I turn back?
Why did you,
And how could he?
For how long?
And why not me?
Where were you then?
And where are you now?
Will you come back?
Or are you too far?
What have I done?
Can you forgive?
Why do you ask
What I can’t give?
What’s your purpose?
What’s the reason?
When will it end?
Or will it ever?
God,
Mirror Mirror,
Sweetheart,
Mother,
I have a question.
But each question
Breeds another question
And there’s no time to ask
All I want to know.
So to condense every question
Into one that covers all,
I just ask:
What the fuck?
GOODBYE 2014/WHAT I SEEK TO BE
I look back on the year
And put each moment on a scale
I omit nothing, I face all:
Happy minutes
And tear-soaked hours.
I cannot deny that there was joy
In the air of distant lands,
The smiles of friends,
And the steps that led me
Further towards my goals.
But these moments, immortalised in a puzzle piece,
Cannot make up a happy image.
I had much, comforts aplenty,
But I was never loved, nor carefree.
Money flowed freely, like a waterfall.
One day there was wealth, the next a bare cupboard.
Ghosts danced around me
While I cried for mercy.
A few happy days passed
Between each month of agony.
I lived in the shadow
Of a sword hanging above me
With one foot slipping into the abyss.
The trumpet of doom woke me every night,
As I slept by a flickering light.
Even when spring bloomed in full glory
Or summer reigned with an easy touch,
I was afraid of the day,
Haunted by the past
And frightened of the future.
I was surrounded by friends
But my soul was alone.
In the warmth of a blanket, or a week-long heatwave,
I was always freezing,
Forever longing for a man’s embrace,
The only force to melt a frozen heart.
My fire was oft extinguished
By hasty rejection.
My naive heart crushed
By scorn and alienation.
It’s time to turn the page
On the chapter entitled 2014.
I guarded every happy time
To recreate in the new year.
But I bid farewell to all bitterness
Never to experience it again.
In 2015, I wish to travel the world
And make myriad friends,
And live in comfort and luxury.
But above all, I seek to be
Loved and carefree.
I look back on the year
And put each moment on a scale
I omit nothing, I face all:
Happy minutes
And tear-soaked hours.
I cannot deny that there was joy
In the air of distant lands,
The smiles of friends,
And the steps that led me
Further towards my goals.
But these moments, immortalised in a puzzle piece,
Cannot make up a happy image.
I had much, comforts aplenty,
But I was never loved, nor carefree.
Money flowed freely, like a waterfall.
One day there was wealth, the next a bare cupboard.
Ghosts danced around me
While I cried for mercy.
A few happy days passed
Between each month of agony.
I lived in the shadow
Of a sword hanging above me
With one foot slipping into the abyss.
The trumpet of doom woke me every night,
As I slept by a flickering light.
Even when spring bloomed in full glory
Or summer reigned with an easy touch,
I was afraid of the day,
Haunted by the past
And frightened of the future.
I was surrounded by friends
But my soul was alone.
In the warmth of a blanket, or a week-long heatwave,
I was always freezing,
Forever longing for a man’s embrace,
The only force to melt a frozen heart.
My fire was oft extinguished
By hasty rejection.
My naive heart crushed
By scorn and alienation.
It’s time to turn the page
On the chapter entitled 2014.
I guarded every happy time
To recreate in the new year.
But I bid farewell to all bitterness
Never to experience it again.
In 2015, I wish to travel the world
And make myriad friends,
And live in comfort and luxury.
But above all, I seek to be
Loved and carefree.
OVER THE BRIDGE
I walked over Westminster Bridge one winter afternoon,
And watched the people as they hurried on.
But disgust frosted every eye, and hatred blew from every breath
So I turned towards the water instead.
I stood by the fence and watched in awe
As it ran restless towards an unseen goal.
The wind couldn’t ruffle and frost couldn’t still
The queen that has ruled for centuries.
The silken waves danced to their own tune
And shone proud in the silver moon.
And the surface seemed warm
Like a mother’s lap,
Like a lover’s arm,
At that moment, against the selfish horde,
I longed to sink into the warmth
And find everlasting peace
Down where men could never reach.
But beyond the bridge’s other end,
Beckoned London’s golden light
And howled a benevolent wind
That promised to lift me above the land.
So I turned around, and marched on,
Wishing to escape the scorn
Not down in the bottom of obscurity,
But high up on the peak of glory.
I walked over Westminster Bridge one winter afternoon,
And watched the people as they hurried on.
But disgust frosted every eye, and hatred blew from every breath
So I turned towards the water instead.
I stood by the fence and watched in awe
As it ran restless towards an unseen goal.
The wind couldn’t ruffle and frost couldn’t still
The queen that has ruled for centuries.
The silken waves danced to their own tune
And shone proud in the silver moon.
And the surface seemed warm
Like a mother’s lap,
Like a lover’s arm,
At that moment, against the selfish horde,
I longed to sink into the warmth
And find everlasting peace
Down where men could never reach.
But beyond the bridge’s other end,
Beckoned London’s golden light
And howled a benevolent wind
That promised to lift me above the land.
So I turned around, and marched on,
Wishing to escape the scorn
Not down in the bottom of obscurity,
But high up on the peak of glory.
LOVE/NOTHING BUT
You ask: What is love?
Ha! Love is nothing,
Just…
…the bitterness of coffee lingering on your tongue;
The toxic nectar that urges you on.
…the transparent arrows of the stingy rain
That hit you when you stay out and dance.
…the senseless pit where alcohol pushes you
That you have chosen as your dwelling-place.
…the momentary pleasure of chocolate
That flees and leaves an everlasting mark.
…the heat of the August sun that scorches your face,
A yearlong desire for a few fleeting weeks.
…the whiff of tobacco that scratches your nose
And gives you comfort when despair strikes.
…a perpetual school where lessons are soon forgotten.
And exams are failed and always retaken.
…the dreams of freedom behind a prison door
That you fasten with the key in your hand.
This is love.
The greatest force on Earth, no more.
You ask: What is love?
Ha! Love is nothing,
Just…
…the bitterness of coffee lingering on your tongue;
The toxic nectar that urges you on.
…the transparent arrows of the stingy rain
That hit you when you stay out and dance.
…the senseless pit where alcohol pushes you
That you have chosen as your dwelling-place.
…the momentary pleasure of chocolate
That flees and leaves an everlasting mark.
…the heat of the August sun that scorches your face,
A yearlong desire for a few fleeting weeks.
…the whiff of tobacco that scratches your nose
And gives you comfort when despair strikes.
…a perpetual school where lessons are soon forgotten.
And exams are failed and always retaken.
…the dreams of freedom behind a prison door
That you fasten with the key in your hand.
This is love.
The greatest force on Earth, no more.
MIRROR
The human soul is a mirror clearer than all
That reflects not only what the eye can hold
But also what’s hidden at the core.
An open smile shines on the surface
Brighter than sunlight can ever gleam.
But so can chilly indifference
Extinguish the proud flame.
A hurled word may dissolve in a moment
But it lingers forever in the mirror’s depths.
And the smallest prick of hatred
Shatters the glass to a million pieces.
And when it’s broken,
It won’t be whole again:
If the pieces are distorted,
They can never mend.
The human soul is a mirror clearer than all
That reflects not only what the eye can hold
But also what’s hidden at the core.
An open smile shines on the surface
Brighter than sunlight can ever gleam.
But so can chilly indifference
Extinguish the proud flame.
A hurled word may dissolve in a moment
But it lingers forever in the mirror’s depths.
And the smallest prick of hatred
Shatters the glass to a million pieces.
And when it’s broken,
It won’t be whole again:
If the pieces are distorted,
They can never mend.
UNLOVED BY MEN
Across the land where lightbeams dance,
Humans live in eternal cheer.
But I dwell in the field of darkness.
The sun fled in horror, and the moon is afraid to rise.
Sorrow and cares weigh me down
As I lie unpursued in the muddy grass.
The kingdom of nightmares has triumphed,
The rain falls and gathers into a sea.
And the water flows dim, velvet
And black as every heart.
A candle-flame flickers and dies.
Tide rises. The old wind stirs sometimes.
But otherwise all is still.
Silence echoes through the land,
And vain despair.
But the tide rises
And rises
And raises me
And as my worries swim away,
I float, and melt into the dark.
Seawater tickles my face
And unites with my tears.
I would shriek and beg for help.
But all is useless
And unseen
And unheard
And uncared for.
While I cry tonight,
You’ll be far away,
And you.
And you.
And you.
And you.
And you.
And you will sleep
While I weep.
I slept once
By your side.
But that was a millennium ago.
The heat of your hand still warms my fingers.
The balm of your kiss still rubs my lips.
But your arms do not shield me any more,
And my head no longer belongs on your shoulder.
I grieve as I recall every bygone ray of hope
Until the whirlpool lures me in,
And I dive into obscurity.
When my shadow-self will be a memory,
Crowds will gather at my grave
And gossip haunts forevermore
The ghost of The One Unloved by Men.
Across the land where lightbeams dance,
Humans live in eternal cheer.
But I dwell in the field of darkness.
The sun fled in horror, and the moon is afraid to rise.
Sorrow and cares weigh me down
As I lie unpursued in the muddy grass.
The kingdom of nightmares has triumphed,
The rain falls and gathers into a sea.
And the water flows dim, velvet
And black as every heart.
A candle-flame flickers and dies.
Tide rises. The old wind stirs sometimes.
But otherwise all is still.
Silence echoes through the land,
And vain despair.
But the tide rises
And rises
And raises me
And as my worries swim away,
I float, and melt into the dark.
Seawater tickles my face
And unites with my tears.
I would shriek and beg for help.
But all is useless
And unseen
And unheard
And uncared for.
While I cry tonight,
You’ll be far away,
And you.
And you.
And you.
And you.
And you.
And you will sleep
While I weep.
I slept once
By your side.
But that was a millennium ago.
The heat of your hand still warms my fingers.
The balm of your kiss still rubs my lips.
But your arms do not shield me any more,
And my head no longer belongs on your shoulder.
I grieve as I recall every bygone ray of hope
Until the whirlpool lures me in,
And I dive into obscurity.
When my shadow-self will be a memory,
Crowds will gather at my grave
And gossip haunts forevermore
The ghost of The One Unloved by Men.
BRICKS
My pillow is the granite of the floor
My blanket is the starless night.
Dead time floats in the air
As flies circle around me
Like black, fat ghosts of my past
And agents of hate.
Of my undying past that alienates,
And of dark hate that destroys me.
The icy hand of silence squeezes my throat
And the war of tears is suppressed
Before it even breaks out.
In the grey fog, all thoughts are drowned,
And what remains is the prick of pain,
Ubiquitous and yet unreachable.
Sometimes a word flies towards me,
Or a snarl, or a cruel laugh.
Their weight crashes into me
Before they hit the ground
And then turn to bricks.
Bricks that build up, unprompted,
Until I am trapped behind a wall.
A wall, how curious, that is transparent!
Across the wall there beckons the promise of joy.
But here I am a prisoner
Of the bricks,
And of my own soul.
My pillow is the granite of the floor
My blanket is the starless night.
Dead time floats in the air
As flies circle around me
Like black, fat ghosts of my past
And agents of hate.
Of my undying past that alienates,
And of dark hate that destroys me.
The icy hand of silence squeezes my throat
And the war of tears is suppressed
Before it even breaks out.
In the grey fog, all thoughts are drowned,
And what remains is the prick of pain,
Ubiquitous and yet unreachable.
Sometimes a word flies towards me,
Or a snarl, or a cruel laugh.
Their weight crashes into me
Before they hit the ground
And then turn to bricks.
Bricks that build up, unprompted,
Until I am trapped behind a wall.
A wall, how curious, that is transparent!
Across the wall there beckons the promise of joy.
But here I am a prisoner
Of the bricks,
And of my own soul.
MY HOTEL/FOR ONDREJ
My heart rivals the Grand Hotel.
It accommodates millions
For a few days, no more.
Then the bill is settled
And the room prepared
For another traveller.
I don’t favour wealth or rank.
I welcome any guest.
So, for a fickle moment,
A tour guide
Stayed in my heart.
His face was chiselled to the Eastern mould,
His tones were of the drying grass
Under the scorching sky,
His smile the wind
That blew all anxieties away.
My bus was delayed
But with him by my side
A hundred years passed like a minute.
I know how stupid,
How futile
This aimless verse is.
When distance stretches between us
Like a cruel desert
And I am no more
Than a nameless shadow
Tempted by the mirage of an oasis
But surrounded by the kingdom of drought.
I will never see you again.
And you will never care.
And that is fine.
For I am a poet.
So I’m always in love.
New flames flicker
Day in, day out.
But passion is a mask
That covers the sad truth.
What my heart screams for,
One steady beam,
One everlasting light,
I fear, I will never find.
My heart rivals the Grand Hotel.
It accommodates millions
For a few days, no more.
Then the bill is settled
And the room prepared
For another traveller.
I don’t favour wealth or rank.
I welcome any guest.
So, for a fickle moment,
A tour guide
Stayed in my heart.
His face was chiselled to the Eastern mould,
His tones were of the drying grass
Under the scorching sky,
His smile the wind
That blew all anxieties away.
My bus was delayed
But with him by my side
A hundred years passed like a minute.
I know how stupid,
How futile
This aimless verse is.
When distance stretches between us
Like a cruel desert
And I am no more
Than a nameless shadow
Tempted by the mirage of an oasis
But surrounded by the kingdom of drought.
I will never see you again.
And you will never care.
And that is fine.
For I am a poet.
So I’m always in love.
New flames flicker
Day in, day out.
But passion is a mask
That covers the sad truth.
What my heart screams for,
One steady beam,
One everlasting light,
I fear, I will never find.
LOVE'S DECAY
It is still summer in its gilded glory,
But in the balmy heat lingers the breath of frost,
In your kiss the rancid taste of war,
On the blushing bloom a tint of rust,
On my floating heart the weight of doom.
Our home on a cloud
Is soon shattered by a storm
Because the echo of forever
Is nevermore.
My face in your mirror
Is no more than a blurred shadow.
Where green purity lay under our footsteps
Now runs the toxic flood of death.
Yesterday’s abundance
Is today’s puff of sand.
The world I once saw rosy and clear
Only exists now in the prism of a tear.
The idols we cast in stone
Now flee us without goodbye.
Beyond the bleak pedestals
Stretches the kingdom of decay.
The eternal truth reigns supreme:
Love waltzes keenly with misery,
But haughtily spurns hope and cheer.
It is still summer in its gilded glory,
But in the balmy heat lingers the breath of frost,
In your kiss the rancid taste of war,
On the blushing bloom a tint of rust,
On my floating heart the weight of doom.
Our home on a cloud
Is soon shattered by a storm
Because the echo of forever
Is nevermore.
My face in your mirror
Is no more than a blurred shadow.
Where green purity lay under our footsteps
Now runs the toxic flood of death.
Yesterday’s abundance
Is today’s puff of sand.
The world I once saw rosy and clear
Only exists now in the prism of a tear.
The idols we cast in stone
Now flee us without goodbye.
Beyond the bleak pedestals
Stretches the kingdom of decay.
The eternal truth reigns supreme:
Love waltzes keenly with misery,
But haughtily spurns hope and cheer.
POEM-ETTE COMPOSED IN A TUBE CARRIAGE (THE TUBE POEMS 1.)
Heat and hate stir
In a cauldron
Below the earth.
Hell has risen
And swallowed the world.
This is London
In the summer.
Heat and hate stir
In a cauldron
Below the earth.
Hell has risen
And swallowed the world.
This is London
In the summer.
THESE INSOMNIAC YEARS/ART OBLIGES
I labour for bread by dull daylight
And when moon’s kingdom rises,
I descend into the Cave of Wonders
To gamble with the Muses.
When Fortune takes pity on me,
My reward is the glory of creation;
An airy brush-stroke or a melodious rhyme.
But when, in tempestuous humour,
She pushes me away,
Nothing is mine
Except the futile pain of nightless days.
Because I chase earthly dreams,
I gave up those that lurk behind my locked eyelids.
Slumber? That’s time wasted
Like gemstones ground and blown away.
I must live on morsels of sleep
And pursue my twofold work with equal delight.
During these Insomniac Years.
Then, one days, the Muses will invite me
To dwell among their ranks.
All other labour will be behind me,
Art, and Art only, will stack my shelves with bread.
I labour for bread by dull daylight
And when moon’s kingdom rises,
I descend into the Cave of Wonders
To gamble with the Muses.
When Fortune takes pity on me,
My reward is the glory of creation;
An airy brush-stroke or a melodious rhyme.
But when, in tempestuous humour,
She pushes me away,
Nothing is mine
Except the futile pain of nightless days.
Because I chase earthly dreams,
I gave up those that lurk behind my locked eyelids.
Slumber? That’s time wasted
Like gemstones ground and blown away.
I must live on morsels of sleep
And pursue my twofold work with equal delight.
During these Insomniac Years.
Then, one days, the Muses will invite me
To dwell among their ranks.
All other labour will be behind me,
Art, and Art only, will stack my shelves with bread.
APOLLO'S SON
On flaming Pegasus’ back,
He galloped into my heart
And, slashing the misty dark
He became my dawn.
He, Apollo’s son,
The great conqueror
Defeated me with his mighty arsenal:
The sun-crowned noble head
And the rascal’s smile,
The depth of dark chocolate-eyes
So tranquil and benign
And the honey heart
Beneath the impish charm.
With delight would I resign
And follow him to the Olympian peak.
I’m trapped by the whirlpool of desire
And fooled by love’s fairy dust.
Thus, sorrow strikes me
With rocks hurled against my heart
When another name lingers on his lips
And another face engulfs him in heat.
On flaming Pegasus’ back,
He galloped into my heart
And, slashing the misty dark
He became my dawn.
He, Apollo’s son,
The great conqueror
Defeated me with his mighty arsenal:
The sun-crowned noble head
And the rascal’s smile,
The depth of dark chocolate-eyes
So tranquil and benign
And the honey heart
Beneath the impish charm.
With delight would I resign
And follow him to the Olympian peak.
I’m trapped by the whirlpool of desire
And fooled by love’s fairy dust.
Thus, sorrow strikes me
With rocks hurled against my heart
When another name lingers on his lips
And another face engulfs him in heat.
INSOMNIA
For a week now
Dreams avoid me
But I am chased by
Monstrous angels.
Whitewashed shadows,
Our nightmares wrapped in cling film
Wherefore live they?
Wherefore haunt?
Wherefore drop they
Rancid honey,
Sweetened poison
Misty abyss,
False comfort,
Wherefore tempts me?
Whence this charm?
Clocks are ticking
Doomsday songs.
Cruel heralders
Spare me not.
Blood blackens the
Shameful snowflakes
In the distance,
A waltz fuelled by
Schadenfreude.
Hellish wonders,
Do not beckon,
Do not call!
Or speak to me in
Crystal voices.
I would like to
Understand your
Guiding message.
For a week now
Dreams avoid me
But I am chased by
Monstrous angels.
Whitewashed shadows,
Our nightmares wrapped in cling film
Wherefore live they?
Wherefore haunt?
Wherefore drop they
Rancid honey,
Sweetened poison
Misty abyss,
False comfort,
Wherefore tempts me?
Whence this charm?
Clocks are ticking
Doomsday songs.
Cruel heralders
Spare me not.
Blood blackens the
Shameful snowflakes
In the distance,
A waltz fuelled by
Schadenfreude.
Hellish wonders,
Do not beckon,
Do not call!
Or speak to me in
Crystal voices.
I would like to
Understand your
Guiding message.
THE WORST
The worst kind of loneliness is not to be left without a fellow soul
But to think you have friends, and be ignored.
The worst kind of poverty is not when you don’t have a penny in your hand,
But when you have some money and don’t know how much to spend
The worst kind of unemployment is not when you are dismissed,
But when you leave, and then you are consumed by guilt.
The worst is not when your heart is loveless and bleak
But to when you see your love, but you cannot reach him.
The worst is not when everything goes bad,
But when you are deceived by the illusion of success.
The worst is not when all your dreams collapse before you,
But when some of them could come true.
The worst is not the overwhelming despair,
But when your life is mediocre.
The worst is not when you give up because you can’t win,
But when you hold onto life because you still believe.
The worst kind of loneliness is not to be left without a fellow soul
But to think you have friends, and be ignored.
The worst kind of poverty is not when you don’t have a penny in your hand,
But when you have some money and don’t know how much to spend
The worst kind of unemployment is not when you are dismissed,
But when you leave, and then you are consumed by guilt.
The worst is not when your heart is loveless and bleak
But to when you see your love, but you cannot reach him.
The worst is not when everything goes bad,
But when you are deceived by the illusion of success.
The worst is not when all your dreams collapse before you,
But when some of them could come true.
The worst is not the overwhelming despair,
But when your life is mediocre.
The worst is not when you give up because you can’t win,
But when you hold onto life because you still believe.
WHEN ART IS BORN
Must tears dilute my paint?
Must my ink be made of blood?
Must sorrow spark,
Must despair direct
My imagination?
Can art only exist
In a mist of melancholy?
Must I sink
To the dungeons of pain
To be raised up
To art’s masters?
Why must I shatter myself?
Could I not paint jewel colours,
Could I not be the advocate of hope?
No. I’m afraid that art is born in the same place
Where despair dwells.
Must tears dilute my paint?
Must my ink be made of blood?
Must sorrow spark,
Must despair direct
My imagination?
Can art only exist
In a mist of melancholy?
Must I sink
To the dungeons of pain
To be raised up
To art’s masters?
Why must I shatter myself?
Could I not paint jewel colours,
Could I not be the advocate of hope?
No. I’m afraid that art is born in the same place
Where despair dwells.
GLORY TO YOU
Glory to You, our Heavenly Father
For balmy blossoms laden with the promise of spring.
Just as for the purity of winter’s first snow.
The velvet water on a summer day,
And the golden blanket of crisp autumn leaves.
Tongue-tickling spices,
Flavours sweet and sour.
Warming laughter,
The comfort of a roaring fire.
The majesty of the endless sea,
The dignity of solid hills.
And the dutifulness of skyscrapers.
On buzzing city streets.
All different, and yet all worthy of praise.
Such is Thy glory,
Such is Thy grace.
Glory to You, our Heavenly Father
For balmy blossoms laden with the promise of spring.
Just as for the purity of winter’s first snow.
The velvet water on a summer day,
And the golden blanket of crisp autumn leaves.
Tongue-tickling spices,
Flavours sweet and sour.
Warming laughter,
The comfort of a roaring fire.
The majesty of the endless sea,
The dignity of solid hills.
And the dutifulness of skyscrapers.
On buzzing city streets.
All different, and yet all worthy of praise.
Such is Thy glory,
Such is Thy grace.
TO HOPE OR NOT TO HOPE/MY SOLILOQUY
To hope or not to hope, that is my question.
Whether it is worthy to bear every blow with stoic resilience
Or to foresee the stubbornness of fate
And by protesting, reach peace. Peace,
The senseless darkness, shielding us from the assaults of pain
That we, the unlucky must endure. That’s the ultimate shelter
When all hope has deserted.
Peace, perhaps in heaven
But would heaven be the destination,
Or is what awaits a million times worse
Than our brief earthly stay?
This choking fear halts us
Before we parachute down the abyss,
And willingly submit ourselves to
The ghost of chances past, the cloud of lovers gone,
The moodiness of time, the injustice of wealth
The sword above our head, the weary weight of life
That’s mere honey seasoned by vinegar
While we could give up and resign with ease?
Why would we face the avalanche of despair
That overwhelms our present days?
‘Tis because the future is an unread book
And whether Fortune will be benevolent
Or an adversary, can’t be known.
So in or souls still lies the seed of hope
That our dreams are more than dust
And thus our natural urge to revolt
Is repressed by the force of hope
While we wait for the great moment of joy
That deceives with promises, and then fails to come.
To hope or not to hope, that is my question.
Whether it is worthy to bear every blow with stoic resilience
Or to foresee the stubbornness of fate
And by protesting, reach peace. Peace,
The senseless darkness, shielding us from the assaults of pain
That we, the unlucky must endure. That’s the ultimate shelter
When all hope has deserted.
Peace, perhaps in heaven
But would heaven be the destination,
Or is what awaits a million times worse
Than our brief earthly stay?
This choking fear halts us
Before we parachute down the abyss,
And willingly submit ourselves to
The ghost of chances past, the cloud of lovers gone,
The moodiness of time, the injustice of wealth
The sword above our head, the weary weight of life
That’s mere honey seasoned by vinegar
While we could give up and resign with ease?
Why would we face the avalanche of despair
That overwhelms our present days?
‘Tis because the future is an unread book
And whether Fortune will be benevolent
Or an adversary, can’t be known.
So in or souls still lies the seed of hope
That our dreams are more than dust
And thus our natural urge to revolt
Is repressed by the force of hope
While we wait for the great moment of joy
That deceives with promises, and then fails to come.
WISHES FOR THE YEAR 2014
Now that a new year has dawned
I admit that 2013 wasn’t bad after all.
What can I pray for this year ahead?
A year not worse than the one I had.
A year of renewed hope.
A pleasant job.
Enough money.
Small luxuries.
A new home
In a better borough.
A mended heart.
A new man to love.
Recovery
And a slimmer body.
Trips and plans
With old and new friends.
Sustained passion
For my dream profession.
Focus and energy
For essays at university.
Less time wasted on Facebook and co.
And more time to build my portfolio.
Inspiration and time to create
And maybe a bit of fame.
But most of all I wish
Happiness to my family.
Now that a new year has dawned
I admit that 2013 wasn’t bad after all.
What can I pray for this year ahead?
A year not worse than the one I had.
A year of renewed hope.
A pleasant job.
Enough money.
Small luxuries.
A new home
In a better borough.
A mended heart.
A new man to love.
Recovery
And a slimmer body.
Trips and plans
With old and new friends.
Sustained passion
For my dream profession.
Focus and energy
For essays at university.
Less time wasted on Facebook and co.
And more time to build my portfolio.
Inspiration and time to create
And maybe a bit of fame.
But most of all I wish
Happiness to my family.
CHRISTMASES PAST AND PRESENT
On this dull grey December day
I long for the Christmases of yore.
I remember the nervous expectation
The unending wait before the great day.
And the joy of list-making for a starry-eyed child
Who wanted every toy on every shelf of every shop.
Then the magical date has dawned at last.
I long for those jovial forenoons of festive films
And the unbreakable sanctity of lunch
That united a scattered household.
Then a light promenade after a hearty meal.
I still see the neon lights falling on the crystal snow.
The hustle and bustle of Budapest still rings in my ear.
But returning to the warmth of love
From our frosty walk,
The crazy world quietened
And only silver bells filled the air.
We noticed the graceful tree in its evening gown
Bathing in the dazzling candlelight.
And underneath laid the land of wonders.
A treasure trove of toys.
In those days, we were earnestly glad
However small a gift the boxes would hide.
For days and weeks after Christmas Eve
Only these toys mattered – and mum’s festive cakes.
Such were the Christmases of the olden days.
All warmth and cheer and hope.
But now they have vanished.
And I moved on.
London never stops.
Not even the sacred holidays can quieten this insane place,
Or halt the mass of men and cars and tubes.
I expected no warmth this year
In a converted warehouse.
With a close friend – but against a group of bohemians!
There were no candles, no Christmas lights.
Only the ashes of a cigarette flashed from time to time.
This bunch preferred a liquid lunch
Of wine and rum
Flowing free, without limits – and without a price to pay.
A strong cocktail – but it could not affect them.
They were trained to endless drinking.
And for them, midnight was the most suited time
For films and fights and feasts.
I just watched them, for they were strange
And yet, strangely familiar.
In sober moments they dabble in arts.
They paint and write and play.
Yes, they are my fellow souls!
In their insanity, they draw me.
Their life reveals its beauties.
I want to be a carefree bohemian
Above worries of money and bills!
But, ladylike, without booze and fags and weed.
Christmases Past and Present had nothing in common.
And I wonder what the future holidays will bring.
Will I return to the warmth of Christmas at the parental home
Or will I go on against current and choose another bohemian Christmas?
On this dull grey December day
I long for the Christmases of yore.
I remember the nervous expectation
The unending wait before the great day.
And the joy of list-making for a starry-eyed child
Who wanted every toy on every shelf of every shop.
Then the magical date has dawned at last.
I long for those jovial forenoons of festive films
And the unbreakable sanctity of lunch
That united a scattered household.
Then a light promenade after a hearty meal.
I still see the neon lights falling on the crystal snow.
The hustle and bustle of Budapest still rings in my ear.
But returning to the warmth of love
From our frosty walk,
The crazy world quietened
And only silver bells filled the air.
We noticed the graceful tree in its evening gown
Bathing in the dazzling candlelight.
And underneath laid the land of wonders.
A treasure trove of toys.
In those days, we were earnestly glad
However small a gift the boxes would hide.
For days and weeks after Christmas Eve
Only these toys mattered – and mum’s festive cakes.
Such were the Christmases of the olden days.
All warmth and cheer and hope.
But now they have vanished.
And I moved on.
London never stops.
Not even the sacred holidays can quieten this insane place,
Or halt the mass of men and cars and tubes.
I expected no warmth this year
In a converted warehouse.
With a close friend – but against a group of bohemians!
There were no candles, no Christmas lights.
Only the ashes of a cigarette flashed from time to time.
This bunch preferred a liquid lunch
Of wine and rum
Flowing free, without limits – and without a price to pay.
A strong cocktail – but it could not affect them.
They were trained to endless drinking.
And for them, midnight was the most suited time
For films and fights and feasts.
I just watched them, for they were strange
And yet, strangely familiar.
In sober moments they dabble in arts.
They paint and write and play.
Yes, they are my fellow souls!
In their insanity, they draw me.
Their life reveals its beauties.
I want to be a carefree bohemian
Above worries of money and bills!
But, ladylike, without booze and fags and weed.
Christmases Past and Present had nothing in common.
And I wonder what the future holidays will bring.
Will I return to the warmth of Christmas at the parental home
Or will I go on against current and choose another bohemian Christmas?
FACES
Knock, knock, knock.
A station. Rush hour.
An endless monotony of
Heels on the pavement.
One blending with the other,
A faceless crowd rushes by.
One lifeless mass
Spreading around
And dragging indifference with them.
Afraid to be crushed, you push through
And run and duck and flee.
But stop just for once, I ask you
And observe the crowd around you.
The mass separates,
Falls into pieces.
And all of a sudden
You start to see faces.
You begin to wonder.
How many are hungry?
How many are ill?
How many are freezing?
How many live in fear?
How many strangers?
How many are natives?
How many are in love?
How many have babies?
How many hate?
How many are late?
How many are tired?
How many got fired?
You’d think you see
Unknown features,
Doubtless differences.
But look closer,
And you’ll discover
Myriad mirrors
And in all of them
You recognise yourself.
You can’t turn from others
And you cannot hate,
For then you’d turn from yourself
And you’d hate your own existence.
Knock, knock, knock.
A station. Rush hour.
An endless monotony of
Heels on the pavement.
One blending with the other,
A faceless crowd rushes by.
One lifeless mass
Spreading around
And dragging indifference with them.
Afraid to be crushed, you push through
And run and duck and flee.
But stop just for once, I ask you
And observe the crowd around you.
The mass separates,
Falls into pieces.
And all of a sudden
You start to see faces.
You begin to wonder.
How many are hungry?
How many are ill?
How many are freezing?
How many live in fear?
How many strangers?
How many are natives?
How many are in love?
How many have babies?
How many hate?
How many are late?
How many are tired?
How many got fired?
You’d think you see
Unknown features,
Doubtless differences.
But look closer,
And you’ll discover
Myriad mirrors
And in all of them
You recognise yourself.
You can’t turn from others
And you cannot hate,
For then you’d turn from yourself
And you’d hate your own existence.
THE UNNAMEABLE
J ust a joke of a man I see.
A n angelic mirage
C onstructed by an empty heart.
O h, how beautiful he was!
B ut a beast behind his beauty!
J ust a joke of a man I see.
A n angelic mirage
C onstructed by an empty heart.
O h, how beautiful he was!
B ut a beast behind his beauty!
LIE INTO MY ARMS
Lie into my arms
Just lie.
Don’t move.
Don’t ruin the moment.
Hear my heartbeat?
That’s your music.
I can hear yours.
That’s my melody.
Let’s play a duet.
Don’t ruin the moment.
Just play a duet.
Lie into my arms
Just lie.
Don’t move.
Don’t ruin the moment.
Hear my heartbeat?
That’s your music.
I can hear yours.
That’s my melody.
Let’s play a duet.
Don’t ruin the moment.
Just play a duet.
OF LOVE THAT HAS TO END
Why did we try,
Why did we endeavour to build
A shelter on quicksand?
Was it really no more than lust?
An impersonal desire?
Were we not, are we not
Made of flesh and blood?
Or are we false?
Are we ephemeral visions,
The mirages of hope we cannot hold?
Sand that runs through our finger,
A fleeing butterfly?
Is there love?
Kinship between soul and soul?
Or is it just the body
That lives and longs and needs?
What is the use of
Wandering further?
Love is nought.
Love is false.
Love must be forgotten.
Only lust survives.
But now even that is dead.
Why did we try,
Why did we endeavour to build
A shelter on quicksand?
Was it really no more than lust?
An impersonal desire?
Were we not, are we not
Made of flesh and blood?
Or are we false?
Are we ephemeral visions,
The mirages of hope we cannot hold?
Sand that runs through our finger,
A fleeing butterfly?
Is there love?
Kinship between soul and soul?
Or is it just the body
That lives and longs and needs?
What is the use of
Wandering further?
Love is nought.
Love is false.
Love must be forgotten.
Only lust survives.
But now even that is dead.
ROUTINE
Despair has engulfed you
But the world is standing still.
Let’s do the laundry now.
Has this spot been washed away?
There’s one which never will.
Let’s not think about that.
How’s the roast chicken?
It will be ready soon.
Unlike…
You don’t care about that!
You’ll go and hang the clothes.
And you won’t think about
What else you’d like to hang.
Don’t you have to study?
Or just run through the lines
With your wand’ring eyes.
Your mind is too full of thoughts
To focus and comprehend.
It’s dinnertime already!
A slice of apple pie?
It will last for some days.
You don’t have to share it now.
And like a cold robot
Or a zombie without a heart,
You get through every day.
It’s only in the dark
That your wound open up,
And blunt pain torments you.
Warm tears, through your untouched cheeks,
Fall to your unkissed lips.
Even the soothing dreams
Neglect and betray you.
You roll and toss about
In endless agony
Until the morning comes
And you wear your mask again.
Despair has engulfed you
But the world is standing still.
Let’s do the laundry now.
Has this spot been washed away?
There’s one which never will.
Let’s not think about that.
How’s the roast chicken?
It will be ready soon.
Unlike…
You don’t care about that!
You’ll go and hang the clothes.
And you won’t think about
What else you’d like to hang.
Don’t you have to study?
Or just run through the lines
With your wand’ring eyes.
Your mind is too full of thoughts
To focus and comprehend.
It’s dinnertime already!
A slice of apple pie?
It will last for some days.
You don’t have to share it now.
And like a cold robot
Or a zombie without a heart,
You get through every day.
It’s only in the dark
That your wound open up,
And blunt pain torments you.
Warm tears, through your untouched cheeks,
Fall to your unkissed lips.
Even the soothing dreams
Neglect and betray you.
You roll and toss about
In endless agony
Until the morning comes
And you wear your mask again.
NIGHT-TIME/NIGHTMARE
I don’t know where’s the door
I can’t find my pillow.
Smoke fills the empty room.
Yet my dreams are aloof.
Again I hear the distant rumble,
Again I hear the war-drums cry.
The world is on fire.
The horizon’s crimson dust.
And yet, I cannot fly.
The marble that we call life
Rolls off my fingertips,
Flies up and turns to dust.
And yet, I cannot cry.
I sleepwalk on a path
That’s paved by Rubik’s cubes.
That turn beneath my feet
But they don’t give me way.
And now I cannot sleep.
Light explodes in my hands.
The torches are going blind.
But rest I cannot find.
Bang-bang-bang.
The world is going mad.
The vain beams of the moon
Melt on the green concrete.
And yet I cannot sleep!
I scribble without thought
My letter-voice changes shape.
My pen cuts like a knife.
And yet I cannot sleep!
And yet, I cannot cry!
And yet, I cannot die!
I don’t know where’s the door
I can’t find my pillow.
Smoke fills the empty room.
Yet my dreams are aloof.
Again I hear the distant rumble,
Again I hear the war-drums cry.
The world is on fire.
The horizon’s crimson dust.
And yet, I cannot fly.
The marble that we call life
Rolls off my fingertips,
Flies up and turns to dust.
And yet, I cannot cry.
I sleepwalk on a path
That’s paved by Rubik’s cubes.
That turn beneath my feet
But they don’t give me way.
And now I cannot sleep.
Light explodes in my hands.
The torches are going blind.
But rest I cannot find.
Bang-bang-bang.
The world is going mad.
The vain beams of the moon
Melt on the green concrete.
And yet I cannot sleep!
I scribble without thought
My letter-voice changes shape.
My pen cuts like a knife.
And yet I cannot sleep!
And yet, I cannot cry!
And yet, I cannot die!
IS THAT LOVE?
I wander down the roads of Neverland
And wonder: what is love?
A bear-man with a canvas sack walks towards me.
What does he bring? Is it love?
The wind whispers Chinese proverbs, but I do not listen.
Is that love?
A scarecrow tosses up a coin and then goes to drink.
Is that love?
A greying toy monkey gives me a rotten banana.
Is that love?
Two squirrels waltz and a fox observes, smoking his pipe.
Is that love?
The angel and the devil on my shoulders give up and make love instead.
Is this love?
A cloud is eating candy-floss. It won’t cry tonight.
Is that love?
Knives are tickling me, and I am married to eternal pain.
That is love.
I wander down the roads of Neverland
And wonder: what is love?
A bear-man with a canvas sack walks towards me.
What does he bring? Is it love?
The wind whispers Chinese proverbs, but I do not listen.
Is that love?
A scarecrow tosses up a coin and then goes to drink.
Is that love?
A greying toy monkey gives me a rotten banana.
Is that love?
Two squirrels waltz and a fox observes, smoking his pipe.
Is that love?
The angel and the devil on my shoulders give up and make love instead.
Is this love?
A cloud is eating candy-floss. It won’t cry tonight.
Is that love?
Knives are tickling me, and I am married to eternal pain.
That is love.
GRIEF
On a sleepless night I sought you with betrayed hope.
I called you with feverish despair
My heart burnt with eternal longing.
But bony fingers silence my throat:
Their icy touch cuts like a sharpened blade.
Bloodless lips chant their curse of doom.
And in the choking darkness, only the million eyes of loneliness answer my gaze.
I whisper a wordless prayer to the dark-clad master known as grief.
Oh, let not the sun triumph over the moon!
Let this be life’s final night
Before an eternal night.
Let everything melt and fall to dust
Let us all lose our shape and voice and thought!
Let nothing remain
But the overwhelming darkness.
The only comfort.
Let me sink into a careless nothingness
And let the night’s velvet blanket cover my shaking shoulders.
Let me find eternal relief
In a nightless sleep.
On a sleepless night I sought you with betrayed hope.
I called you with feverish despair
My heart burnt with eternal longing.
But bony fingers silence my throat:
Their icy touch cuts like a sharpened blade.
Bloodless lips chant their curse of doom.
And in the choking darkness, only the million eyes of loneliness answer my gaze.
I whisper a wordless prayer to the dark-clad master known as grief.
Oh, let not the sun triumph over the moon!
Let this be life’s final night
Before an eternal night.
Let everything melt and fall to dust
Let us all lose our shape and voice and thought!
Let nothing remain
But the overwhelming darkness.
The only comfort.
Let me sink into a careless nothingness
And let the night’s velvet blanket cover my shaking shoulders.
Let me find eternal relief
In a nightless sleep.
SHE SAYS
You are foolish, she says.
You know nothing of real life
Just look at me, the perfect wife!
You are hopeless, she says.
You won’t improve,
You are doomed.
You are stupid, she says.
What you know is worthless and dull.
If you are not like me, you can’t survive.
I pity you, she says.
You are filled with chanceless dreams,
You will fail if you don’t follow my schemes.
Take my advice, she says.
I know you more than you yourself,
And I can read your empty head.
Leave me alone, I say.
You are jealous and heartless.
Because I did what you never dared.
Sort your life. It’s screwed enough.
To succeed, I must follow my heart.
You are foolish, she says.
You know nothing of real life
Just look at me, the perfect wife!
You are hopeless, she says.
You won’t improve,
You are doomed.
You are stupid, she says.
What you know is worthless and dull.
If you are not like me, you can’t survive.
I pity you, she says.
You are filled with chanceless dreams,
You will fail if you don’t follow my schemes.
Take my advice, she says.
I know you more than you yourself,
And I can read your empty head.
Leave me alone, I say.
You are jealous and heartless.
Because I did what you never dared.
Sort your life. It’s screwed enough.
To succeed, I must follow my heart.
SPRINGTIME (IM)PERFECTION
In the honey-laden, balmy air
A cheeky breeze plays with my messy hair
To a feathered choir’s joyful ode.
With delight, I take off my coat.
Golden warmth tickles my ivory arms.
Gardens abound in floral charms.
Beaten by the fresh, bright sky,
The gloomy winter whispers goodbye.
When Springtime reigns over rich and poor,
What more could my restless heart long for?
– Only love.
In the honey-laden, balmy air
A cheeky breeze plays with my messy hair
To a feathered choir’s joyful ode.
With delight, I take off my coat.
Golden warmth tickles my ivory arms.
Gardens abound in floral charms.
Beaten by the fresh, bright sky,
The gloomy winter whispers goodbye.
When Springtime reigns over rich and poor,
What more could my restless heart long for?
– Only love.
THE KISS OF THE FROG WOMAN
Millions of princes I have met,
Their eyes of sapphire-spark
And hair of noble gold.
And millions of princes I have kissed,
Silk-smooth lips
And sweet ambrosia.
But there comes a flash, an ominous thunder
And the glorious moment collapses
No dream remains, no lust,
No prince.
– They have all turned to frogs
One by one, over the years.
And now these millions
Jump around in my garden
Their skin rough and cold and wet
Oh, what have I done? Why have I made this idle lot?
Unsparing mirror, I turn towards you
Reveal the key to this mystery.
…
Oh! But I outfrog them all!
I am, myself
The Mistress of all frogs!
Millions of princes I have met,
Their eyes of sapphire-spark
And hair of noble gold.
And millions of princes I have kissed,
Silk-smooth lips
And sweet ambrosia.
But there comes a flash, an ominous thunder
And the glorious moment collapses
No dream remains, no lust,
No prince.
– They have all turned to frogs
One by one, over the years.
And now these millions
Jump around in my garden
Their skin rough and cold and wet
Oh, what have I done? Why have I made this idle lot?
Unsparing mirror, I turn towards you
Reveal the key to this mystery.
…
Oh! But I outfrog them all!
I am, myself
The Mistress of all frogs!
OPHELIA INFATUATED/OPHELIA CRIES A WATERFALL
Take pity on the poor Ophelia!
Her stomach’s cramped, her head is dizzy
Alas! She’s infatuated.
Haunted and tormented by her vain desire,
She takes shelter in the soothing darkness
And all through the night she cries a waterfall.
She sleeps not, and dreams awake
Of the prince who left his mark, then,
On her neglected heart.
In the deadliest of heat she would be freezing
But for his embrace
And her kiss-thirsty lips no nectar can sate.
But the prince is aloof,
And love will never rage in him
Like a hurricane!
Ophelia sees her stillborn hope
Buried and snatched from her heart,
And she, too, longs to rest
In a shallow grave.
Take pity on the poor Ophelia!
Her stomach’s cramped, her head is dizzy
Alas! She’s infatuated.
Haunted and tormented by her vain desire,
She takes shelter in the soothing darkness
And all through the night she cries a waterfall.
She sleeps not, and dreams awake
Of the prince who left his mark, then,
On her neglected heart.
In the deadliest of heat she would be freezing
But for his embrace
And her kiss-thirsty lips no nectar can sate.
But the prince is aloof,
And love will never rage in him
Like a hurricane!
Ophelia sees her stillborn hope
Buried and snatched from her heart,
And she, too, longs to rest
In a shallow grave.
MY DESTINY
Not a star to escort me.
Not a sunray to warm me up.
Not a lightbeam to guide me.
Not a stream to cool me down.
Not a fruit to satisfy my hunger.
Not a bird to entertain me with a song.
Not even a stone to pave my way.
It is my destiny to be alone.
My unchangeable,
Sacred
And everlasting
Destiny.
I am not born to be loved.
Or to be surrounded by friends.
I am not born to be happy.
Happiness is an illusion
That deceives me before it flees.
For moments I dare to think my paradise is near.
For seconds I rejoice and laugh and cheer.
Then the cruel reality reveals its ugly face.
I collapse and live an endless heartache.
Before another vain hope brings me
A few days’ worth of joy.
I am the laughing-stock of God.
When humanity exhausts him
And he wants to give up,
He looks at me and he’s reassured.
I suffer. So all is well.
How much fun it must be to watch me
Struggle and cry and ache!
He’s without pity for my troubles.
And I am without the will
Or the way
To live.
Not a star to escort me.
Not a sunray to warm me up.
Not a lightbeam to guide me.
Not a stream to cool me down.
Not a fruit to satisfy my hunger.
Not a bird to entertain me with a song.
Not even a stone to pave my way.
It is my destiny to be alone.
My unchangeable,
Sacred
And everlasting
Destiny.
I am not born to be loved.
Or to be surrounded by friends.
I am not born to be happy.
Happiness is an illusion
That deceives me before it flees.
For moments I dare to think my paradise is near.
For seconds I rejoice and laugh and cheer.
Then the cruel reality reveals its ugly face.
I collapse and live an endless heartache.
Before another vain hope brings me
A few days’ worth of joy.
I am the laughing-stock of God.
When humanity exhausts him
And he wants to give up,
He looks at me and he’s reassured.
I suffer. So all is well.
How much fun it must be to watch me
Struggle and cry and ache!
He’s without pity for my troubles.
And I am without the will
Or the way
To live.
ADULTHOOD
The taste of mulled wine and coffee
A kiss of menthol on your lips
A heated embrace on your hips
Sweet perfume and sour candy
The accords of a gypsy band,
Nights out are never planned
Getting up at half past ten
Too much freedom’s in your hand
Workload piling on the floor
The deadline was the day before
You’re jaded and can’t take more
You just want to slam the door
Sleepless nights and wasted days
Your childhood heaven fades away
Rusty leaves and cold sunrays
Nature betrayed by decay
And when your salary is gone
You can no longer deny:
You longed for it, but in the long run
Adulthood is not always fun
The taste of mulled wine and coffee
A kiss of menthol on your lips
A heated embrace on your hips
Sweet perfume and sour candy
The accords of a gypsy band,
Nights out are never planned
Getting up at half past ten
Too much freedom’s in your hand
Workload piling on the floor
The deadline was the day before
You’re jaded and can’t take more
You just want to slam the door
Sleepless nights and wasted days
Your childhood heaven fades away
Rusty leaves and cold sunrays
Nature betrayed by decay
And when your salary is gone
You can no longer deny:
You longed for it, but in the long run
Adulthood is not always fun
I'M AFRAID
I lie awake, my eyes wide open
To the dense darkness that’s surrounding me
Sometimes my heart thunders
And sometimes it’s too nervous to beat.
I remark: I’m afraid.
A few days remain before I face
Another chapter, another blank page
Another endless journey.
There waits
Another voyage, another city.
Another unknown place.
I receive
Another chance, another beginning.
This time I might even make it.
And yet, I’m afraid.
Because I know
That this may be
Another failure, another heartbreak.
I lie awake, my eyes wide open
To the dense darkness that’s surrounding me
Sometimes my heart thunders
And sometimes it’s too nervous to beat.
I remark: I’m afraid.
A few days remain before I face
Another chapter, another blank page
Another endless journey.
There waits
Another voyage, another city.
Another unknown place.
I receive
Another chance, another beginning.
This time I might even make it.
And yet, I’m afraid.
Because I know
That this may be
Another failure, another heartbreak.
THE SPIDER
I saw her when I entered the shower
And forced myself to oppress a shriek
Facing the thick legs stretching on the tiling
And a million eyes without a degree of fear.
In cold blood, she stared at a cowardly, bizarre human being
While I recognised the miniature symbol of courage.
I saw her when I entered the shower
And forced myself to oppress a shriek
Facing the thick legs stretching on the tiling
And a million eyes without a degree of fear.
In cold blood, she stared at a cowardly, bizarre human being
While I recognised the miniature symbol of courage.
THE LAMENTS OF MADAME PARIS
On the bank of the Seine, lazy and careless, its bluish-grey a perfect mirror,
The old lady stops and contemplates her face
She starts to weep, and mourns her bygone glory
Stolen by the cruel hands of fate.
“Long ago I was so admired,
The finest in Europe, an unrivaled beauty.
– Now I am sombre, my charm has corroded.
Once I was wrapped in silk and tulle and lace.
– Nothing remained but a colourless, dull layer of concrete!
I used to be rich, caressed by luxury.
– But the devil named Recession cursed me with despair and famine
Once my salons welcomed the brightest of souls,
And crowned heads lit up my halls.
I sheltered all who were pursued or scared.
– But my children, discontent and sad,
Leave me in search of a fairer land.
I was the subject of talks all around;
Never was a topic more interesting to discuss.
Myriads of eyes turned towards me.
Oh! How I cherished their regards!
– Now these eyes, once so smart and clear
Are buried in horrid smartphone screens!
Oh, oh! My tears flow without end,
As I recall my youth dissolved
By the neglect of progress!”
She just cries, she does not speak.
Let us go, let’s give her peace.
For much has been said, and more can be said
But the truth remains: the glory of Paris will never come back.
On the bank of the Seine, lazy and careless, its bluish-grey a perfect mirror,
The old lady stops and contemplates her face
She starts to weep, and mourns her bygone glory
Stolen by the cruel hands of fate.
“Long ago I was so admired,
The finest in Europe, an unrivaled beauty.
– Now I am sombre, my charm has corroded.
Once I was wrapped in silk and tulle and lace.
– Nothing remained but a colourless, dull layer of concrete!
I used to be rich, caressed by luxury.
– But the devil named Recession cursed me with despair and famine
Once my salons welcomed the brightest of souls,
And crowned heads lit up my halls.
I sheltered all who were pursued or scared.
– But my children, discontent and sad,
Leave me in search of a fairer land.
I was the subject of talks all around;
Never was a topic more interesting to discuss.
Myriads of eyes turned towards me.
Oh! How I cherished their regards!
– Now these eyes, once so smart and clear
Are buried in horrid smartphone screens!
Oh, oh! My tears flow without end,
As I recall my youth dissolved
By the neglect of progress!”
She just cries, she does not speak.
Let us go, let’s give her peace.
For much has been said, and more can be said
But the truth remains: the glory of Paris will never come back.
STARS
I counted the stars
On a sleepless night
There were a billion
All sparkling and bright
I heard their call
To reach them all
But then I realised
That none of them
would ever be mine.
I counted the stars
On a sleepless night
There were a billion
All sparkling and bright
I heard their call
To reach them all
But then I realised
That none of them
would ever be mine.
DOMINO
The world
around us
Is falling
Like a domino.
Yet we, humans dream
and hope
and plan
with ever-renewing faith
in the success
of our plans.
But God thinks otherwise
And so our plans fall,
One by one
Like dominoes.
It doesn’t matter how much we hold on to them
Or what our heart desires
These mean nothing
to our omnipotent Lord.
Against opposing forces
we tend to rebel
Be it a teacher, a boss or a parent.
But we hold no chance
against the All-Powerful Father.
So we, too,
Fall,
One by one,
Like dominoes.
The world
around us
Is falling
Like a domino.
Yet we, humans dream
and hope
and plan
with ever-renewing faith
in the success
of our plans.
But God thinks otherwise
And so our plans fall,
One by one
Like dominoes.
It doesn’t matter how much we hold on to them
Or what our heart desires
These mean nothing
to our omnipotent Lord.
Against opposing forces
we tend to rebel
Be it a teacher, a boss or a parent.
But we hold no chance
against the All-Powerful Father.
So we, too,
Fall,
One by one,
Like dominoes.
PARIS
Y
O
o n
u t
c and no-one h
r notices. e
y s
That’s Paris. treet
Y
O
o n
u t
c and no-one h
r notices. e
y s
That’s Paris. treet
I AM
Some say I’m kind of kind. Or one of a kind. Selfless. Or impolite.
But no-one has entered the labyrinth of my soul.
I am a rainbow.
I am blue and purple
And white and black and gold.
I doubt my doubts
And question my questions
And face my face that mirrors
The mirror’s fearful stare
And aloof air.
But I dare
To care.
And I smile
In vain
In the rain.
I show
And learn
And give
And take.
But after all,
I am human
So I fly
Then I fall.
Some say I’m kind of kind. Or one of a kind. Selfless. Or impolite.
But no-one has entered the labyrinth of my soul.
I am a rainbow.
I am blue and purple
And white and black and gold.
I doubt my doubts
And question my questions
And face my face that mirrors
The mirror’s fearful stare
And aloof air.
But I dare
To care.
And I smile
In vain
In the rain.
I show
And learn
And give
And take.
But after all,
I am human
So I fly
Then I fall.
WALLS
Walls
I sought hope and found nothing but Walls
I reached out my hand for help but I was held back by Walls
For fleeing minutes I dreamt and hoped and saw no Walls
There was a promise of Light – nothing remained but Walls
Dim black, high and stubborn – such were those Walls
My eyes and heart wide open saw locked doors and Walls
Neither joy, nor hope, nor salvation can break through those Walls
And I have nothing, nothing, locked behind fears and Walls
But I’m slowly running out of air behind those Walls
Walls
Walls
Walls
Walls
I sought hope and found nothing but Walls
I reached out my hand for help but I was held back by Walls
For fleeing minutes I dreamt and hoped and saw no Walls
There was a promise of Light – nothing remained but Walls
Dim black, high and stubborn – such were those Walls
My eyes and heart wide open saw locked doors and Walls
Neither joy, nor hope, nor salvation can break through those Walls
And I have nothing, nothing, locked behind fears and Walls
But I’m slowly running out of air behind those Walls
Walls
Walls
Walls