Detachment

Happiness escapes me to free itself, leaving my emptiness completely untouched. Cowardly I suffer within an absence filled with an inextricable silence, speaking is impossible here.

I fell into his arms like a refugee, soaking in a lonely cry of a sadness I could never dare to share. His arms spread it's roots out, walked me slowly through the darkness; this long agony I wanted to burst open, to wreck all the ugly in the world, till my smile is pure again. I want to feel whole again. Please hold me again.

Hardness, hardness, hardness.

This world is so hard on my mouth, my language is so black, so afraid, so ashamed, so aware I'm tired of it.

People are voices lost in translation, how do I bring my own voice to life, when my speech could never sustain itself against the vast distance.

I never recovered from the taste of betrayal. I only collapsed and forgiveness became insufferable after. What is the meaning of torment, when the past will always remain an unresolved chapter?

It's so strange to think, I woke up from a dream to write this. 

Weight

I'm sorry that it's never how it's supposed to be, you straighten your back at the table, watching his lips dry of a language he smoked

I'm sorry he never showed himself, to you, when he posed himself, in front of you, imposed himself as an arrow, condemning you to a bitter side

I'm sorry you stop the conversations in your head when you're around him, fumbling to fill your cup under his conflicted breath

I'm sorry for the two different faces, that hide inside your pretty, how your anger never ceased, turning a desert of your tender heart

I'm sorry for all the times, you kissed the necks of loverlikes, you couldn't bear to love, with their cold hands squeezed between your thighs

I'm sorry for all the times he dropped in unannounced, carrying his hurt past, ringing your door bell past midnight calling for your arms

I'm sorry that all he left behind, was a trail, leading to his spirit memory, saying: I almost loved you

I'm sorry that his name falls into your  stomach like burning coal, why you bury yourself in seclusion, I'm sorry I was never a good friend to you

I'm sorry his voice crawls to your shoulders, like a rain cloud, dropping you to your knees in desperate hours of loneliness

I'm sorry that he made you watch life, with the sort of despair that turned your heart against you, to re-wound you, whenever you thought of escaping his clever lies

I'm sorry that it takes repugnance to rub his scent of your rough skin, always on your guard, damning you to a little room to keep his heat alive

I'm sorry that he emptied the fullness of your laughter, how you glance back with a flat gaze, unmoved by any banter

I'm sorry that nobody ever knew, how his dark thoughts touched you, to define and defile you as 'another thing he couldn't fix nor understand'

I'm sorry that you believed him

I'm sorry that you still do

I'm sorry he made a coffin of your dreams, kept you waiting in a tired half love, never much of a goodbye to catch your tears once again

I'm sorry I only wonder about you, shamefully, without the slightest intention to outstretch my hand, to know how you are doing now

I'm sorry

Perhaps

Perhaps it's our restless stubbornness that exhausts every possibility of a budding progress, how we're never at ease anywhere

Perhaps it's our inability to say yes, or no, ruffled so horribly within the tightening circles of indecisive maybes

Perhaps it's our aloofness, confining us to narrow fragments of sentences, that revolt against us speaking our own minds

Perhaps it's the burdening questions, we ask in the form of prayers; outstretched prayers yearning for answers to come in one day, embraced in arms wide open

Perhaps it's our spray of sadness, incurable, we learned so well how to carry it, we balance our weight with it, it's a part of us, a comfort

Perhaps it's the names of men, before you, names carved upon our soft skins, burying graveyards of memories, it's why we can't trust you, not fully, not quite, not yet

Perhaps it's our rash anger, so vengeful towards you, a knot knitted with fear, a knot tied so close to our heaving chests, we'd long forgotten how to breathe without it

Perhaps it's our deep need to be needed, we leap, we throw ourselves into the infinite nothingness of man, that swallows us gladly, it's why we're sometimes emptier around you

Perhaps it's our fathers, the first men who sheltered us, from a world of madness, we plead, then enslave ourselves to bring joy to

Perhaps it's our mothers, who never taught us that men will discolor our loyalties to ourselves, and how we will remain seated for a life of bitter tears and compromise

Perhaps it's the word love, that bandaid; the one we heard too often, in a paralyzing downfall of a tragic marriage, it's why we can't help but doubt it

Perhaps it's our obsession with the small details, that impregnate our desire to build a home for you, don't you know that's what our wombs are made of?

Perhaps it's our apologies to the unusual days, when intimacy is the enemy, and loneliness got here first, you can only wait your turn

Perhaps it's our bodies, crying blood every month, to give air to a world that lacks life in itself, we think we can still save it

Perhaps it's our suffering, so unnecessary you claim, and how we abandon ourselves to the boundlessness of it's heat waves

Perhaps it's the cruel pain, resting in our beds, that cold crowded space in between you and a lasting solitude

Perhaps it's our unresolved issues, shaping a shadow of a hard past, always, always one sneaky step ahead of you

Perhaps it's the tension birthed, inside generations of women, seeking perfection, gripping a glass image, so fragile and shaky in dismay

Perhaps it's how we hide our insecurities, self-consciously, how we silence the twist&turn, to make a room nursing yours

Perhaps it's the flowers blooming innocent promises, outside the locks of our young hearts, torn one after the other, one after the other, with no regard

Perhaps it's the dampness of disappointments, the dead-ends of conversations, the perpetual weariness; the signs we so wholeheartedly refuse to see

The signs we teach ourselves to misread

Perhaps...

Perhaps we don't really know half of what we think we know 

Read To You

All they've spent their time doing, was loving one another, they fell miserably in love for each other, falling free, passing every limitation, every boundary, they once upon a time set. A destiny changes it's course, when met with a powerful force, that is another destiny, one that is craving after love, attraction, stimulation, and companionship. He was a man looking for the one, she was a woman looking for herself.

                                                                      ***********

'Tell me..' she spoke while tracing her fingers through his back, he had a fading scar on the back of his left shoulder, she remembered the story he told her, when he was a kid, going on adventures on the playground, and how he cut his shirt, and scarred his skin, trying to squeeze himself through a locked gate, she remembered the joy, she had felt, and the big smile painting her face, when she unraveled another part of him, a part that is so dear and filled with hope.

'Tell me about forever', silence brushed the air, after these words crumbled to the ground, making little to no sound, he turned around to face her, the woman he dreams of waking up next to every day, the woman he dreams would bear his children, the woman who eclipsed every other woman, the woman who had one foot at the door, lost to her inner wars.

'The home.. I found in the open void, in the comfort of a quiet eternity; you.' 

'But we are not the same in so many ways'

'Yes, we've shown one another a different translation of the same passage, inside a text we've spent our entire lives trying to understand. I can't promise you I'll end your sadness, I am not the one underlining it with a black marker. What I promise you I'll do is; sit beside you, until you realise those sentences you keep repeating, have no secret lesson to teach you, and you are only hurting yourself by digging up your buried past for empty closures.'

'What if patience turns weary?'

'It will, it has before, and somehow I always find myself back at your door.'

'What if love dies of waiting?'

'Love never dies, it grows beyond that'

'How are you so sure?'

' "Doubt thou the stars are fire, 
   Doubt thou the sun doth move, 
   Doubt truth to be a liar, 
   But never doubt I love."

Keep reading, my love... The book is nowhere near done. It is yearning to be read and to be undone. '

Open Letter To My Father

At the shores of silence, we are embraced by all the words we lost to time, the most painful; the ones that never really stood a chance

                                                                     **********

Father, a part of me, parted into the deep in search of you, undoing tongue-ties of you, sewing threads to memories of you

Mother broke over night, I prayed for peace, I watched the moon turn grey-blue, lost in grieving you, on her shoulders I cried for you

Your voice still lingers in the mist of morning, awakening the ruins of people; buried deep in colorless dreams. Your people, turning, tossing each day, learning to live again

I glimpsed your ghost, wandering in passing, waving in difficult distance, without a mere willingness to surrender to my alone crumbled longing

I'm half chained, sleepwalking, this  world seems larger than my knowing; pale, plain and printing expired meanings to a season of dwelling

Your secret language haunts me, I hardly squeeze your name in conversations anymore, my heart is lost, looking for it's missing pieces, echoing for a place of belonging

You left without a warning, without the comforting sound of a final promise, in the deserted haze of a hushed hour, nobody was ready to let you go, Father

How could you just leave..

Because of you

Faith stood suspended on a tightrope, I forgot the sound of heavens, hollow hazy promises tweaked my dry throat, because of you

People twist the mountains to sweat the sadness temporarily, to wipe memories off their tired eyelids they laugh furiously, because of you

These walls wrapped themselves in breaths of you, emptying a home that killed every sound in wait for you, wouldn't stand on its own two feet, because of you

These corners plunged to blank days crushed in secret sorrows, voiceless weeping, thickness that aches for you, bursting with agonies, because of you

Every lullaby ends with words; heavy scattered words, drifting into the vague unknown, containing only one wish: to have you back home

Father,

This weight is slowly smoldering me, I stopped kneeling for The Lord of mercy, mourning unanswered prayers, mourning the past and a frozen present, settling in the strangling stand-stills

'Life is too short to live in isolating anger' you used to tell me, but anger  is chewing, spitting me out to the frightening fears, there's so little hope left here, an innocence that ceased to exist, estranged in perish

The ink dried on my hand, Father.. Who do I turn to now? when the days grow colder, melting into one another, the urge to fight this, fading away, one day after the other, I'm not okay, I'm not okay, not at all and you're too far to hear this, too far to see this, too far to relieve this

They all hear my cries but you, the only one I look for is you, all I want is to be reunited soon, and I'm trying.. I'm trying, because of you, because of all the dreams you had when you held me in your hands, because of the lessons anchoring me to the ground, because of the name I proudly wear, the legacy I carry on my back. Because of you, I stand

Perhaps goodbyes aren't scripted in life, so we stand, in the brilliance of silence, to embrace loss as a part of love, death as the darker side of life. memories of you, run deeper, deeper to cut the wound in half, for the heartache, the healing, rushing my way

I'm stretching my pain in the waters, to an image of you smiling down of heaven, to say: we'll meet again my loved one, to reminisce with lighthearted laughter, in the warming shade of the hereafter

This is the only reassurance that keeps me going,

Father,

I miss you 

Delivering

death does not frighten me. it's the comfort in knowing where I'll belong, the little that shall become of me. the peaceful darkness soothes the hard edges, it's fitting, this certainty in conviction, that in death; I will no longer matter, spreading into nothingness, I'll fade away gradually, & the poetic tongue that screamed bullets, will finally hold it's breath to find rest. I do not fear death, you see; there lies my hope for a silent, separate eternity completely beyond myself. 

What A Womanly Thing To Do

what a womanly thing to do, to conceal the sweetness of your bitter words, to quiver alone, to silence a love, for fear it becoming a backbone.

this unmasked love, my dear, is inflamed longing, all the poetry in the world will fail to contain.

what a womanly thing to do. to refuse to dance to the music of his heart, claiming it too loud.

to laugh away his sorrows, the sadness burdening his tired shoulders, with expectations of a father awaiting the coming of his eldest son.

to show him that heaven does exist on earth, a painting of two lovers, in a space of one, then build a barrier, preventing the future from holding the brush.

what a womanly thing to do.

trust is gazing faithfully into a heart that appears as a reason in the dark, against all your poor judgements, even lack of that.

what a womanly thing to do. to push away the unfamiliar, in order, to stamp, to prove a theory, your inexperienced mind decided long ago.

love does survive in life.

it does when you move together, if even separately, to a shared rhythm, when you strip yourself honest, when you question the rigid grip on the past, cleaning the wounds of all the hurt inside.

it does when you grow into your own woman, not a fragment of all the women who spilled down their painful lessons.

two stories never once shared the same character.

it does when fighting is broken down into remedies, to reveal the cracks, for understating to surround them from every side.

it does when steps are paved, plans are marked, to a road that sees two, not afraid to wait, to work together, against the odds of life.

lovers, take your time. in contemplation of thoughts. but do not take your precious gift for granted. in solitary, look at the result behind the force, then make your peace.

lovers, distance is the testing recognition of all that is true in love, absence is the beginning of every loss. remember, indeed love drives from a positive source of faith in the small details.