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Posts Tagged ‘dive’

Verges means being pushed to the edge.

Like you are being confronted at a knife point

and you just can’t turn around but to dive

into that abyss while you don’t know how deep it was.

You always say that you can’t let them ruin you

but it’s a plain lie you wish that all is perfect.

 

If only you can cut the wire and kiss the voltage.

If only you can let the rope grip around the neck.

If only you can break the mirror and embrace danger.

Would it change a thing? Ah but no, you just go on

struggling with your inner demons and chase them

wielding that sword to cut-off somebody else’s head.

 

For you, everyday is a waging battle of wits and reason.

Perfection is costly. Holiness is fatal. Which one are you?

Nobody is born a saint and you won’t believe it too?

Do you suppose to expect the world will applaud a hero?

You raised the bar too high and it left you there isolated

basking in your self-proclaimed brand of narcissism.

 

Tell me now then, how it hurts to held onto the razor’s edge.

Or screaming mad in silence when you temporarily got insane.

Does it worth to feed people’s expectations and drag your feet

into that unending precipice while you can’t discern the apex?

Excuse my French, but I think you need to stop this disillusion.

Take a turn towards the direction where your heart leads you.

 

You might be a simple man- confident and unpretentious. Free.

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Like a man in his fishing, so is writing.

You throw the fishing rod as if throwing on chances

while anchoring your boat on a chosen spot. In the open water.

 

And your fishing line sink deep in the ocean of words. You wait

in the hope that the hook lay captive to some imaginary mouths

snapped on a bait, struggling to come away like thoughts.

 

They are like fishes- these thoughts. They are swimming against the current.

Trapped and tackled. You hold the reel, winding down farther and farther

in search for the bounty of inspiration.  Luring its elusiveness to a catch.

 

The waves of emotion might crashed into your shore.

The sinkers might get stucked through the rocks. Buried in sand.

Or in a desperate attempt, you cut the line and start anew.

 

But again, you throw the fishing rod. To wait and to hope

that a big catch is on its way to lock its jaw on the bait.

You keep gripping the reel firm awaiting for the prize.

 

And soon in the mid-air, after all hours spent in silence

like a child born out of the  womb. Eureka! The feeling

of winning, the silver fish glimmer in your hands.

 

The writer has become a fisherman, persevering

in solitude, diving deeper into a mea culpa.

Hoisting the fishing line catching hearts, once again.

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To this semi-privacy. An epitaph reads,

“in this sanctum, a restless, herein lies,

its opaque remembrance failing to breath

devoid of oxygen, rousing to the grind

like  a zombie of the worst kind”.

Against the ancient cracked walls, my fingers

will then, smear red letter stains of anguish.

 

The light bulb is my flickering moon

cocooned in cobwebs, I dread.

It went dead as it signals the start

of the many battles I will wage against,

tonight. My anger boils up, my teeth gritted

to someone’s snoring and the other’s whispers.

One-eyed as a pirate I will set to sail the hours

struggling against nocturnal enemies, those

bloodlust critters diving into my sea of sheets.

 

This nightly tryst to its mattress,

and bed covers sweat stained,

sagged by bouts of insomnia-

wasted and nauseated,

by the stench of coffee.

A back-breaking day

I will not slumber away.

Square inches of a shared space

I rented, a coffin to say a bed.

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