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,
And who do you become? by swallowing a light deciphered through a stained glass, For its crystals are lattices of memory, that have caressed your ghostly voiceless passages. It breaks in an afternoon, you never noticed , The memory vaporizes and before you know, it smells as if someone remembers you in a time you forgot.
Do you become a ghost, savoured by unfiltered light, blinded to the earth by a touch that warms? Is this how they mix, fear and nostalgia to a heart that is child to its own and aloof of its lineage?
It begins with
a melodious blur
as a taste of forgetfulness slithers
over my humble skin.
A yearning evolves slowly,
to disappear away
from this meaningless pursuit of flesh,
we are trapped by our existence
and nothing else.
I trespass within myself,
in search of a purpose,
in the hidden sanctums of my delusion,
where blues waves greet my feet,
and the sky made of ice
howls with terrible winds, at my timidity.
It never rains,
But I always forget to stride aimlessly,
these hungry eyes are served
with sumptuous visions,
and till my hands bleed
this hallucination copulates
with my reality.
I finally learn to float
I pen all of it down,
in the night
and call them as Art
in the morning.