I tried talking but somehow couldn’t
I waited but it was not worthwhile.
How can I make you a moment,
and disappear forever
You stay and exist as a glass,
beautiful and untouchable ,
Even In my house of touches.
I am not the winter that dies,
Not the summer that is unbearable,
I am the moon,
I work on the tides.
Shall we dive once?
As you promised.
I need you in waves,
To drift wherever you want.
Just once again.
The sky is gray
A continuous shade
I bask in its glory.
The mud turns to clay
A storm is in play
But it never comes.
Each day stays the same
I don’t have to change
A stagnating story.
Your picture is still there,
a lip balm disappears.
Some memory of yours , still undone.
The sky is gray
I love this cliché
I’m comfortably numb.
as you drift away in the bus,
whose windows are made up of just
last night’s raindrops,
remember these castles
and cathedrals : the memoirs of a fading
glorious past, these icy beaches and almost sun kissed shorelines,
melancholic clouds, this wind just before it rains again.
This all brings me back to you.
So if your fingers tingle with a breeze,
Its just me dreaming with you.
I am not there but somewhere
I shall slip into your heart
with a smile for no reason.
Bear this presence till the sun wakes us up.
What’s the opposite of an echo?
Lay your head on my chest,
Under this waxy paper moon and
Tell me what stories hide
In the constellations of your freckles.
Let my fingertips trace over
The epics of our young untameable souls.
Some spines though cracked,
And some pages though torn– but you,
You always remember
Which are my favourites.
“Have we done this before?“
“Tracing ourselves in one another?”
“Yes”, you say
and that mellow smile of yours brews
a breeze smelling of thousand dreams,
I collapse into them. Slowly, again.
Thirst is a dryness that floats from the throat : a snow that burns everything like a voiceless cold fire, a pure river polluted with a meaningless existence,a reality that drinks bottles of dreams without regret,a death caressed ominously with warm hands,a shadow unloved in the brightest sunlights.
It is a blessing and it is a curse.
It is just a human sometimes,
too much loved.
I kiss every sparkle of light
with my dark pupils:
A river smelling of forgotten touches
can only be cold,
my blood can only hold a limit of warmth
in every dream,
A little more
and my heart shall melt,
like the sun who devoured fire
just to forget
the kiss of the seas.
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.
Writings to Heaven 