Sibling Sister

I was constantly on chocolatey ferris wheels

And houses full of christmas candy and gifts.

In scarce days, I was the wealthiest of all

Thanks to you Dim-sum and your world of wonder.

The terrible stories to put you to sleep

The imaginary tigers hiding behind bushes

And the poor little lamb that waited

Drenched in the moonlight, the lamb & I

Could not decide the fate that was to be

So we mumbled, fumbled and gulped, thinking.

Looking at you snore, we knew time was running out

Thanks to you Koko, I wrote better stories and fates.

Slavery had long been abolished

But not in the house of the Sibling Sisters

With delicate cotton threads the limbs were bound

To let me crawl all around, if not for you

Dear TimTim, where would I learn to be humble?

All things apart, how would I have known

That it’s the things you love most

That are the toughest to part with.

But they are the ones you must let go

Let them go to the people you love.

It’s only then that you know you have truly given.

Other things are not giving, they are just excess.

But most of all I thank you

I thank you for being that smart kid

Who put together a very complex puzzle

A puzzle called me and made me into a picture

A complete picture that made sense

A picture that is no longer bits and pieces

Lying all over the place, but smart and able

A valuable little picture, worth something.

Thank you DeeDee, now there are no more words.

Old Soul

Sometimes,

I want to get back

The glowing shimmer of summer holidays

Perpetually dreaming in waters that kept us afloat

With the giggling gurgles of my imaginary friends

Thinking of pretty fish and chasing sharks

The wonder of green leaves and the blossoming buds

Of trees laden with shiny fruit, where do they come from?

The perplexing planes of existing in my concrete house

And on the branches of old trees

In our garden full of friendly spirits and birds

Chipmunks that tickled my toes and ate the barks of those trees.

The virginity of time, that was so timeless.

The wonderment of giraffes and hippos, so quiet

Walking and swimming around as nothing mattered.

The injustice my heart felt in the zoos

Hoping that the enclosures were endless.

The fear and thrill when the monkeys visited our house

Jumping, bouncing and gnawing on the kitchen stock.

The feeling of being lost in a city so small,

Where my wandering feet couldn’t stop exploring.

The mystery of being in this form and not being anything else.

The dizziness when the light moved in sync with the breeze

Rustling against my body and soul.

I wish I could get back the absolute truth

Of not knowing the unknown.

The Desperate Run

Bang Bang, Bang Bang, Bang Bang, Bang Bang, Bang Bang, Bang Bang!

Tipsy on the curvy lanes with the snowy white trees filled with balls of fire

Trickles of ice falling off their frigid leaves burning my body and my soul

Hitting me with harsh clunks and sizzles on my shoulders and head.

In the heat of the run with you after me, I ignore the fleeting pain and hurt,

As you run after me with a gun in your hands, bang bang bang bang!

Our souls chase each other coming face to face sometimes, uncomfortably so.

Who’s ahead and who’s behind the one who’s ahead is a mystery unknown,

We run blindly with guns in our hands on the fire exits of the hundred-storeyed buildings

Filled with endless staircases smelling of phenyl, tobacco and late-night desperate sex.

Running bare feet on the burning streets, chasing our dreams burnt by the sparks of the gleaming stars above,

Ash on our feet and in our flying hair that is grey now, chasing our dreams into the houses built of bricks

Houses built with love, compassion and sensuality, getting burnt down slowly with the friction from our ashen feet

The sparks being fueled by the hot burning balls of fire, the stars above staring at us fiercly.

Bit by Bit we disintegrate mixing into the little golden grains of time and age.

Bang bang, bang bang!

Bang bang, bang bang!

Just as dust we are, not much to boast of and nothing to hold on to,

We float away with the grains of time, humbled by the wind, taken in by the water.

Just two diminutive pieces we are, that strayed away from this blackhole of existence

Independently we meshed our lives, away from the mother blackhole, we tried

And we tried,

But it’s now time to go back, it’s time to diminish.

It’s time to forget and it’s time to go home.

Go back home and get nurtured in infinite love.

It’s time to break free, it’s time to breathe.

Bang Bang, Bang Bang!

The Quarrel

Greying Eyes and Greying Hearts

Moldy lips and drying mouths

An Itchy throat and croaky voice

A larynx unable to procure or create

Any sound or any plea

No argument nor a debate

A lost voice, that was our union.

The union that ceased to be so, with

Limp salads and fungus struck bread

Dishonest money and takeaway food

Uncomfortable heels and low cut dresses

Sleeked back gelled hair and oiled mustaches

Emotionless eyes and wavering hearts

Sitting at both ends of the dining table

Separated beds and crumpled sheets

With fingers that dug in deep at night

Into the lumps of sheet and pillow

Spotted with drool and salty tears

Shed over time with the night sky

Watching the lit windows in the distance

With lovers stuck to the panes

Making intense, shameless love

Their screaming mouths creating rainbows

With my heart feeling the heat in my body

It feels like a furnace with nothing to cook.

Taking solace in the cold moon

So grey, so silvery and steely

So imperfect with it’s craters

Just like our union that it is today.

I lie there in bed curling my toes

As they sweat uncomfortably numb

Like they were crying for the heart too.

I curl like a centipede smelling hair gel

It seems like a stench, all the way from Mars

Where there are no rainbows, just the moon

A cold moon that floats there by itself

Soaking in the light of the brighter beings

Glowing in the glory of that that isn’t its own.

My pale feet find a way to the floor

Slowly drifting away to a land

That they hope is their own.

They drift away, ghost-like slow

Leaving crumpled sheets & drool

Decaying on it’s own

As they walk my shadow

To a Land unknown.

 

What Poets Are.

A Poet? Many Ask.

To which I reply, without poise 

Or grace or any ounce of faith

In that I do and that I take comfort in.

Why am I a Poet, I do not know.

I know sometimes in moments

Of rage, happiness, love and hate.

The ecstatic of all states is only

When I feel the need to be a poet

And when I decide to be one.

They say silence is the loudest

And I say a poet is that silence

That silence that shatters

Stagnating thoughts & realities.

It’s not in the words or the rhymes

They are a way to fool this world

Into seeing that, that I see.

That, that we all see

But choose to be blinded to.

All the things a newspaper

Could not say, all the things

That the media couldn’t record.

In between those two solid realities

Lies a truth of sorts, harsh & acidic.

That truth does not fear

It lets those feelings stem and grow.

The feelings about hot bodies & skin,

Sex and body parts. 

And the ones about hate, hate for the

Ones we love, for those and that

That we conform to. 

That feeling

Of the silence of raging love

Unashamed & Unabashed

Unattainable by many,

For they do not let the silence speak.

They shut it in a box so tight,

No air, no water or earth 

Or ether.

They don’t let it burn

They don’t let this world feel

The violence of their silence.

Quietened for so long

That black hole conceives

A child of fury, of fire

That child has a voice

A voice that does not know

It’s immense responsibilities 

Of freeing this world from 

The burden, of idle chatter and taboo

And of not feeling that that sits inside

Burning a soft light over the heart

Dying and crumbling slowly.

This fearless voice, this child of fury

Little does it know, 

Of what poets are

And why am I one.

The Curious Crow and The Rifle

Once upon a time

There was a curious crow

With his eye to the barrel

Of an equally curious rifle.

Boom the crow went, and

The rifle and the hunter

In a merry blast called the past

They all disappeared and

So did the story of this blunder.

Now is the time for the stories

Of the fast fingers, the fastest of all.

Eye lids batting as quickly 

As the brightness of the flickering screen.

Absorbing your new smile and hair.

Oh my lovely dear, you are doing just fine.

I rot in my hellhole with my fingers clicking

The little clicking device, flicking through

So fast and so rapid, through little blue pages.

The one next to you is so shiny and successful.

Smiling with beers at times and liqueurs at times,

You make me feel, Yes I am old, and yes

Unsuccessful. Why was there so much banter?

Why not just a peaceful goodbye or maybe a makeup kiss?

Oh well it doesn’t matter, You are in a little hellhole yourself

You curious little rifle, don’t make me go boom

Boom you will go too, little curious rifle.

And then I think, that story is not past

I the crow, you the rifle, our hunter

Being destiny, that made us banter

Over pancakes and cookies, women and men.

It’s time to go Boom and make it,

A merry blast called the Past.

The Social Network Pervert

I hit like, I hit like, like, like,

Despite the million watchful eyes.

I am a social network pervert.

How does it matter? Anything,

My Age, Sex or Intentions

I am a committed man

Committed to my girlfriend

Beautiful and vivacious.

How does it matter, if I like

Some more skin and some pouty lips?

I like my social network muses

They lighten my day and my mood

And tighten my pants, because

A vivacious beauty is not enough,

I am a social network pervert.

Commitment matters a lot to this world

And I am a committed man.

Thank you dear social network

You are my way, to being a cheater

For cheaters are not only those

Who indulge in solidity.

They are those who think, like me

I am a social network pervert.

How does it matter, if I

Hit like, I like your sparkly skin

And your really tight, tights.

The curvature of your body is just perfect

And I think of you with my girlfriend in bed at night.

One is not enough and thus, my friend

Be a social network pervert

It’s the most worldly wise advise

Live all your fantasies

In broad daylight, being a 

Social Network pervert is just alright

Doesn’t matter if your t-shirt is too tight

I am allowed to fantasize

Because being a social network pervert

Isn’t not right, in the eyes of the world

I am the wisest of the wise.