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Posts Tagged ‘stark’

Here I am, intending to break

your mirror in my disgust.

By letting you understand

my need to understand you.

I  am squeezing and inching

my way closer to your smoky eyes.

As I am trying to pass through

but you won’t absorb. Me.

 

There’s a part of you

I can’t unlock. You won’t

let me fill. I am a stranger.

 

You shield something away

like the night clouds. That even

the slight sincerity of words

were moondust refracted

into the air.  I keep on clearing

the cobwebs of frosted thoughts

and sand-blasted shadows

of doubt between us.

 

Let me stripped you down

stark naked. Fleshing you

out of your reptilian skin.

Your chameleon cloak you keep

on wearing everyday I don’t need.

What needs to be visible- be seen,

transparent and undividing.

I want your honesty.

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That is when I would want to stop

thinking about numbers. Straining my eyes

glued to the pages of the calendar

pinned on the wall, I marked of days

in and out.  In a work life punching timecard.

 

You never knew how stressful it was,

to run alongside the clock ticking deadline.

And seeing life like a finish line,

guessing as if today  I would be fired,

saying this day would be toast to the last.

 

Number is a finite word.  For me, an illusion

that therein we draw our strength, our definition.

If dying is a painful exercise of keeping track,

and if calendars and clocks are its devices,

then I should shred them all together into pieces.

 

I’ll proceed cutting my fingers straight,

until I only have zero devoiding myself of order.

I would not want to buy the minutes,

and the hours.  And of the days expanding

into months and years wanting to live longer.

 

When I die, so sure that I’ll predictably belong

to some cold stark concrete listed with names.

Informing humankind of milestones in a file

cataloguing folder of the year I was born

and the year that I finally stopped counting.

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Mystery unravels tonight,

strange a landscape-

since you left. The room is

a parched valley of sheets

as I lay naked, bathe

in the lunar light.

 

Sans the gravity

of your satellite. It orbits

without the ocean’s rage

of high tides luminating

passion, as I grope

within the walled corners

of the stark midnight.

 

Sadness falls

like rockets ebbing

the bed. Its trajectory

creating pockmarks

and craters

of a dormant volcano.

I tip-toed.

 

To our dreams-

pinnacled fortresses pierced

with shrapnels of regret.

Ripping pillows

until blood-tinged feathers

hover the vacuum,

shatter into belt

of asteroids and clods

of moondust.

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