prayer

thankyou for this quest. i want to know where i am going, but if i know too soon i fear i will disappear. i want only for this body to know you, so please provide structure and integrity to this delicate balance of elements that houses my spirit.

please acquaint me with the sky, she stuns me with her grace. when my selfishness grows beyond me, teach me how to know the stars that live in her bosom and realise the extent of my ignorance, and teach me how to speak to the nomadic clouds that drift across her many faces when my friends have left my heart and when even the clouds are gone, teach me how to keep the company of the vast emptiness of the ocean face of the heavens, dear sky blue sky of shades and hues unending.

please help me know this breath that runs through my veins and speaks through my words. i feel it every moment, but i do not know from where it comes. i follow it at night, and i follow it in my sleep, but it leaves no traces in its wake. do you hide behind it?

tell me what words mean, i hear my friends saying them, and sometimes i do not understand, but i see the flames of love burning in their eyes. sometimes it is yellow, sometimes it is red, and sometimes it is black. but fire is fire, and its nature is one, and we will all come home to you when night falls over man. so tell me what these words mean, what is to be said, and when.

reveal to me the nature of this time: sometimes i get lost in it, and i lose all sense of dimension: the weaver of time, is it you? why is its path laden with feathers and thorns? why does it speak of a one-way street but manifest in endless forms? if you are the backbone of this infinite serpent, then does that mean you were never born? was i so too, if we are the same, you and I?

thankyou for my blood. i see it only when it leaves me, it is red like no other. my mother wears it too, under her skin, and it makes her shine from within. so do the trees. they make low skies when they grow, and my fevers flow when i watch them dance in the evening sun.

teach me not to worry, not to fear; because the day does not belong to me, neither does tomorrow, they are all transitions from the locker of eternity. teach me that all i have is now and the shape of it is filled with space dust formed by a compressed composition, layer by layer, over the ages, slowly revealing in moments, minutes, seconds, years: but it is not the time that matters, it is the density of it, and every moment holds every other in an indestructible balance, held fast by an indestructible force: you. so teach me not to worry, not to fear, that now is the only thing that belongs, and that it is right here:

and finally, i thankyou for this voice, because i know that it is all that there is, and without it, i would not speak to you. i would not write, i would not know, i would not feel anymore. but knowing that you are there is why i can, and why i will go on: your winds will take me there, and i know not where. but something tells me that i have been on a constant arrival and the only departure has been these thoughts, these doubts – is my destination here, where i have been from the start?

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your nearness

tell me what is this I feel
are you really here, in this darkness
or have I just been dropped
into a world of ideals?
is it the brush of your hair
or the swooning mist of an early dawn
that has come in disguise?
please stay here, right now
so that I can know what your eyes look like
so that I can remember you
and find my way to you
before I lose myself –

tell me what is this I feel
did a splinter of you pierce
the horizon of my restlessness
and leave a mark of silence in its wake?
is it an emptiness that gazes out with longing
to remain so as long as you’re gone?
when will you come again, when will you touch my time
and stay here with me, and take me home?

tell me one more thing too –
is it it worth the wait?
is it worth the years and the minutes and the moments?
will you leave a sign in the path that you take?
should I tell my friends that I will soon be leaving?
and if they ask, ‘where to?’, what should I say?

this is untitled

leaving with no fuss is like
being buried in a warm blanket
with no edges or endings
wrapped in closed comfort for
the rest of time and all that remains
forgotten, happy, without complaints

but there are these threads:
people, places, tangible intangibilities
lifelong circuits of fading signals
running like currents in a rotting sea
waiting for the ocean to open a window
and dilute this drink of life

so here
I will stay
and wait for you
my eternal

to my previous self

what is this we are doing who are you being and where are we going

were you the person I was before I became what I am now and have I forgotten you?

do our times meet or do we remain two separate parallel lines for the rest of what is, and have you grown away from me?

do our realities coexist or coincide or superimpose overlay and merge or do they flick and slither in the dust like two dying fishes?

or have we always been, two friends in disguise and two dualities of a singularity, attached to the other, like the rain and the wind?

what spaces do you leave when silence engulfs the air, leaving it pregnant with sign of death, what are the reasons for your concepts of good and evil?

where do we go from here, where do we come from, how do simple questions rally from the complexity of unity and when will I know?

when will I know the color of the self, the faces of the eternal, the light in the murk and the worth of my gold?

when will I know you, the I that speaks, and the voice that listens? the senses that collude, the marvels that fall beneath the horizon, only to speak in fission and dissapear into nothingness?

when will questions run out of fuel, when will time come to rest, and when will I sleep?

consolation

it’s okay to be a little bit crazy because nowhere is a place and that is where we’re all going. after this brief stop we’ll leave, so my eyes don’t rest for one moment when I’m here. in the darkest of nights I feel plagues arriving, storms filled with painful happinesses and wrenching sadnesses.

not knowing who I am is also okay, because I didn’t come here with my permission, and my voice is not heard unless I listen to it really carefully, and the more I try, i realise that it’s just echoes bouncing off caves within my skull.

not remembering the person I was might not matter either, because voices letting out glimpses of bright light can only be heard when I’m not being that but being this right here – this person I am now, and I will not be staying, because I will be arriving in just a moment, and that person will be me. I still do not know myself. because I’m gone as soon as I come. there is no time left in between to find out. if I ask I receive silence. if I stay silent I receive questions. maybe I should be silent for a little longer. a little wider. further.

so tell my mother that it’ll be okay, tell myself that I’ll be just fine, because I saw myself in the mirror today, just a speck that I was, so maybe it doesn’t matter much. and you can only see a speck when the sun shines at it, through it, in it, floating dust all going nowhere, flying through the corridor, waiting for itself. if it isn’t part of something, it is part of something else, and if it isn’t part of something else, it is part of itself. and that is what I’m made of. I might just be dust and sunlight.

Cold floor, warm winds

Life is about now…right now when you know you are alive, right now when you know that your heart is beating and you are breathing. When you know that you can hear music, and that the silence that enveloped you is also just as beautiful. For now, is when you are free, tomorrow is a promise of man, and yesterday is a question, but now is all you know is real for sure.

This is not a euphoric or transitional ponderance of existence and the metaphysical, but a matter of logic, of doubting the concept of time and reality.

Who are you, but yourself , and the great confusion of man called death…you and him, living this life, fighting forever, in grief and joy, till the very end, when you give yourself to your only friend. Nothing else is for real, not the people you meet, nor the food you eat; the only thing you know for sure that your path will cross the inevitable, like two lines that have diverted but are destined to meet for once and for all.

And who to fear in such circumstances, for the world is yours for the taking! All your dreams are not  dreams, and your vision has been faltering, until now! A parting curtain of fog, and behind it, an invisible abyss of darkness that swallows you, only to bring you happiness, that of the most elusive kind, that which you have never known!

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Good times bad times

Good times and basketball fields and grass everywhere and football in the sun at midday. And teachers and loud noises, and forgotten lessons. Carelessness and mathematics and fearlessness. And then there is now, which is a complex equation. Such a difference, the rethought and the the thought. Now and before. What a contrast. Black and nothing.

Where is the leaf, asked the summer. In the midst of winter, away from the pale blue bucketful of beer and sunshine. Washed over by a question that thrilled every leaf of grass. Where is the sky? And the sky opened up like a drop going down a funnel, and falling down a waterfall. Only this, this happened in one corner of my eye. Seeing and believing, then forgetting. Dead. Alive. Then dead again. And then a burst of stinging fireworks. In every inch of this that is. And some rhythm, and some colour, and a mighty mountain of light, and a tower of cotton bags. The smell of wet earth in the air, a halo of solved problems. Clarity. Just not momentarily. Distant. And present.

Ever feel alive? Ever feel like you are everything you need, and the oceans will rise and dance for you? Every fleeting moment, you live a hundred more, and so forth. There, and there, it fades out into a deception. It is all false. All is not real. Such is the nature of the truth and that which is not. Good comes and goes, and then bad comes, and then good, and then whatnot. Look out for signs. To learn where to go. What to be. And when to sleep.