if only

if only there was something 

that could tell me
which direction to go
after reaching the dead end
to turn back
or

run straight into the wall

the poem i never wrote

 the poem I never wrote

wrote me in its absence

all that is invisible, 

opaque, silent, illegible

lies in the abyss of that poem

in its infinity I lie without knowing

ignorant of its non-existent existence,

absent presence,

is hidden a world of self

in that poem I never wrote

I long for that self

for that smudgy scattered becoming

for that longing itself is where I exist

in the seeking I shall never find..

perhaps we are constructing a world 

where poetry is no longer possible

where we will be incapable 

of writing one, 

of imagining,

of flirting,

of living in a poem, as a poem

incapable of touching one another

we will succumb in the poem 

that no one ever wrote..

5 9 '26

so lightly,

you wish to tread the world

so lightly,

the ground cannot feel your feet

tremble

the dust is left untouched

undisturbed by your weight

for the air to fill your lungs

so lightly, 

it passes without effort

without the suffocation of borders 

that divide the outside 

from the inside

the shadows you cast 

so lightly,

they camouflage 

with fallen 

leaves and flowers and mist and time

a hum escapes your body

so lightly,

as if it were the earth's movements

the waves tiptoeing

the sun bathing at the horizon

you wish the day flies by

so lightly, 

unencumbered,

on the back of birds 

crossing the human worlds 

of weight, of violence, of noise, of despair..

I am enough

because I am what I want to be
not more, not beyond, not fast,
less
is enough
slow, here and now, is enough
not desiring to own
a house, a car, a person
without marriage, children, security
being stably unstable
is enough
a small room, small bed, a cupboard and a kitchen,
small dreams, small group of friends,
a small garden with tiny flowers to take care of,
should be enough.

a warm coffee, a cuddle and a walk on a winter evening
sleeping for long hours without worry,
enjoying few silent moments of happiness
just surviving, one day at a time,
to lead a simple slow life,

perhaps that is enough,
and all I ever want to be..

mine

 all the time there is, is mine

all the movements ever made

all the thoughts ever forgotten

all the light

all the wind, is mine

the sound heard unheard

the touch ever imagined

the silhouettes and shadows

the falls and slumber

every meaning ever meant

every word ever left unsaid

the silence is mine

of me who is a stranger

to myself

from myself

who is nothing

invisible and 

passing by...

abyss

there is a pleasure
in
falling

into an abyss

so much that
no hand can reach
to pull you out

we all like visiting
that place
just to make sure
it exists
and we can return there

when
there's nowhere else to go

guilt

what is this guilt
this deep, strong
guilt of living, of life?
what is the word for it?

climbing the stairs and panting
guilt
sleeping safely in a room
occasionally waking up with a few mosquito bites
guilt
going to watch a movie
and feeling courageous of not conforming
guilt
eating, thrice a day, sometimes even more
and then exercising to lose it
guilt
the sheer possibility to waste,
tons and tons of waste
guilt
to be waited upon
guilt
getting paid at the end of the month
and paying, as well
guilt
having opinions and the liberty to voice them out
and accumulate likes on social media
guilt
missing home, family
guilt
writing poems

how is it possible to be guilty
and cherish the reason behind it,
at the same time?
to preserve it, the guilt, within,
to not let it out,
to cage it inside
and remain punished solely by oneself?

possess, not

there is this urge
a longing
to possess
whatever i see
i feel
experience
to possess the horizon
the taste of crimson 

in the evening sky
and the monotony of the waves

crashing over the rocks
to possess them
the difference between
the shades of green 

on a tree
the lapse in the movements

of a bird in flight
and the sound of dry leaves
crushing beneath my feet
possess the crescent
slowly dissolving
into the darkness
and the silence
pushing me into sleep
possess the power

of being able to stare
into the warmth
of the setting sun
and watch it reduce to nothing

possess the experience

of time passing by
with the changing light

and that fraction of second

when the mind melts

into dreams

possess each word
and what becomes of it
as it rushes
onto the supple surface of paper
from the growing limbs
of my thoughts

but

i don't want to belong,
in that possession,
to anything
anyone

belong not

to my own thoughts

heaving my body down,

to the wind 

pulling my hair 

and trying to take me along

belong not 

to the fresh stain on my sleeve

or the man staring at me

with his comfortable piercing 

thoughts

how is that possible

belong nowhere
and still possess it all?

Blue

my hands are very cold
blue blood
rushes
and stays
at the tip of m
y fingers

it's been two hours
between your warm hands
but didn't you just come?

he says he has to leave
it's getting late

but you just came
I say

he rubs my hands
puts them in his pocket
and leaves

my hands are warm now

but I feel

very
blue

orange

isn't it good sometimes
to be stuck in traffic
and stay
stuck
not reach
the destination
destiny
anywhere

i have an orange
in my bag
it travels with me
to work
and back home
i always forget
to eat it
it stays
in a corner
of my bag
i like it
there
stuck
waiting
while i
listen to the impatient
honking cars
flickering lights
people with music
in their ears
and games in their hands

but
the orange

stays
sitting in it's dark
warm
corner

waiting

bleeding silence

my pages are bleeding

light
bleeding silence

rising and falling

waves of silence
thoughts pierce the skin

my body aches to the touch
of this silence

i turn around
once again,
its 3am
my clock has stopped running
resigned it rests, tired
weighing on my eyelids

i'm conscious of the weight
of the transition

and the cycle goes on

until I lose attention
and
fall...

walking in circles

i
keep walking
in circles
through the same dark roads
which take me home

wait

until
I breath the moonlight
while life overtakes me

you should wait

unlike those
who keep driving me
towards the dark road
which begins
and ends at home

you should wait
till morning

let me pluck
the sun from the horizon

let me see it
wither
back
to the ground


wait

while life overtakes

As i fall asleep

against this monotony
against the deceiving moonlight
I can feel the subtle changes

what would you do
if left alone
locked in a room
staring
at the same empty walls
the clock getting weary
of passing through
the same numbers

the fan is caressing my hair
as I try to look at the sky
through the gasping
curtains

the movement of the curtains
is also monotonous
it has a rhythm
to my closing eyes
moving back and forth
along with my breath
as I fall asleep

stillness

there is a stillness

in this place

which resonates

with the stillness

inside me

as if I can breathe it

in and out

with every gesture,

with every pause

the silence surfaces

between us

a comforting silence

but as it intensifies

I feel devoid of shelter

naked below the sky

immersing

in the ground

with the weight of this

silence

so slow

no one can notice

no one can hold

just witness the stillness

of our dissolving insides

a little deeper into the ocean

I'm tired of rising
everyday
to the piercing
brightness
burning my eyelids,

wake me up
when the sun is wet
and the waves
are emitting light,
I want to see it
sown
a little deeper
into the ocean
and my feet
touch the horizon

skin under my feet

the skin under my feet
is breaking apart
I see cracks
layers of dust revealed
I like them
the cracks
the dust
the reminiscence
of yesterday
today
they remind me of
that smell,
robust
but porous
an almost physical
nostalgic smell

of wet clay?

water swallowed
by the cracks
smelling of
memories
wet
tangible

that smell

And
         so much
from these cracks
so much
from touching them
revealing
from the dust
so much

monotonous

So much ink on these pages,

flipping from one to another,

flipping through day and night,

flipping in and out of the bed.

So much goes between

the ink and the flipping,

yet we don’t realise.

Just keep flipping.


Sinking

how would you see anything
anything
if your vision is blocked
by a parasite
on the shores of hope
in the waves
of anticipation
touching your feet
at every stroke
sinking you in
the porous
tomorrow
sinking
in
today,
disappearing
              feet
      legs
         palms
    chest,
eyes
look up
to their companion
waving at the horizon
drowning
red dark spots
hover in the sight
and a crescent
above
it's getting dark
and the spots,
dark red,
are also drowning
in a darker background
        time
to go
       home


5 3 '17

Silence

my hands are coveting

the silence

which stands in front of me

naked

a desire so loud

a desire

naked

I reach out

with trembling fingers

trembling breath

I reach out to succumb

the silence

within the gaps

of my trembling fingers

within the parenthesis

of breathing
in

            and

                        out