To eclipse a past
Is to brace a free fall,
You have your toes ready
for the descent,
But your skin has a bolt of lightning
Teasing the tense tissues.
Who shall remember you?
A corpse about to turn to uneven bacon,
You had a heart of fire.
Now it is dilapidated smoked ruin.
Was it worth it?
Listen to me as one listens to the rain,
not attentive, not distracted,
light footsteps, thin drizzle,
water that is air, air that is time,
The day is still leaving
the night has yet to arrive,
figurations of mist
at the turn of the corner,
figurations of time
at the bend in this pause,
listen to me as one listens to the rain,
without listening, hear what I say
with eyes open inward, asleep
with all five senses awake,
it’s raining, light footsteps, a murmur of syllables.
air and water, words with no weight:
what we are and are,
the days and years, this moment,
weightless time and heavy sorrow,
listen to me as one listens to the rain,
wet asphalt is shining,
steam rises and walks away,
night unfolds and looks at me,
you are you and your body of steam,
you and your face of night,
you and your hair, unhurried lightning,
you cross the street and enter my forehead,
footsteps of water across my eyes,
listen to me as one listens to the rain,
There is not
A single soul among these trees
And I love to decipher your voice
But the silence of yours is what
Keeps me at night.
Don’t know where I’ve gone.
It somewhere between the time,
I knew you
And somewhere between when you were
Interested to know about me.
The subways are empty
at the dead of the night.
Their exits recoil themselves
in the ashes of the ashes.
I whiff a pure smoke of a forgotten memory
and let it breed within my substructured brain.
A graveyard of cigarettes greets my shoes.
The lights go hazy as the winds turn warmer.
Another dull night has been devoured today,
with the help of a fifth of liquid courage.
Darkness needs darkness.
Its an immortal curse,
an undying thirst.
It travels with an agonizing silence
from the corpse of an empty bottle
to my eyes, staring an abyss
I wanted to curse everyone
with my eyes, while slitting their throats
by my tongue.
But I reach home dejected
whirling myself into an abyss
of nothingness.
I try the usual grind,
to type something beautiful,
but the words have escaped my prison ago.
I need a new remorse, to vomit a new grief.
So I set the whole garden on fire
and wait.
If all the beauty in the world
ceases to exist someday,
You would still be the unwritten poem for me,
The one I could never finish.
For I fear, that if I do so,
You would be lost forever in this world,
in the unseen books and the untouched pages
and in the hands of all those admirers,
whose fingertips have forgotten,
the art of patience.
