Saturday, March 16, 2013

Wings of Fire [ Fourth Light ]

Some kind of insistent chirping that takes a hold in my head. Like a tune I can't stop humming. A popcorn shell stuck between my teeth. An eyelash  that I can't find in my eye. The ghost a memory, that I am not sure was reality, or something I imagined so hard that it became real. 

We are all mothers, in this way. We bring things into the world, we nurture them, we care for them, we look forward to their future. But sometimes, just sometimes, mothers have to eat their young and it's always a bitter experience, even if the survival of an idea hinges on it. 

A life for a life is the trade. We become what we hate most. There can be no running away from that. If you don't remember that tune, the tune will remember you. The ideas that you eat for survival, their ghosts will haunt you. The only good thing to do with an idea is to make a kite of it and fly it high and when it reaches up to kiss the moon, let the fucking thing lose, cut the cord, let it wander into the world. 

If the idea really was yours, it will come back to you, on wings made of fire.


Read fast. In one breath, if you can.

Friday, March 15, 2013

The Synonym [ Third Light ]

Most of all the biggest slight. The deepest cut. The shameless thing. Is that they all expect you, to be excited. While I sit here and fail to understand if being excited is what it's all about. How can a person force a smile on his face when the world around him is falling apart? How can you have a hope for future, when you're simply crawling at the start? We were told it'd all get better. We were told it'd all make sense. We were filled with truth and light. And a sense of confidence. 

Now the truth is in front of our eyes and it does not look pretty at all. Like an open wound, a sore that has festered, look closer and you'll see the worms crawl. Maybe it's for the best that we give up right now. Or for the worst that we'll face the shame of the days that are yet to come. Maybe we should get this tattooed on our skin, that hope is a synonym for pain. 

Feeling pretty hopeless, because we expect stuff from others. 

Thursday, March 14, 2013

Bitter Ink [ Second Light ]

I chewed open a ball pen the other day. The ink spread on my fingers, my teeth, my lips and my face. Looked like I had war-painted my face for some arcane celebration. Everyone looked at me like I was insane, as I smeared the ink all over the pages, of a notebook that I bought from a homeless man who offered to mend my shoes in Sector 15. The whorls and spirals of ink on those pages, they turned into animals, birds, clouds and mountains. Like stray drops of rain, liberated from the sky, the pictures rhymed in the most brutal ways, I've ever seen. 

It left me with a bitter scowl on my ink-stained face, for I had never seen something like that happen every before. I went home and rubbed my face with vinegar, trying to rub off the imagination, but like a curse, it stuck fast. 

And now I am, all blue and black.

If you're cursed with imagination, it's your duty, your religion to infect as many as you can. I am doing it, are you?

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

The Coffee Machine [ First Light ]

The coffee machine sounds like an angry giant, that growls at me for waking it from its sleep. I shudder, but the cup I keep, under it, is filled with the bitter tears that I drink. I like to think of these tears as tears of regret that a beast cries when it is pulled from its natural habitat and put under artificial lights and behind bars. It misses the time of 7 PM, when the sun is just sinking under the horizon and the wind carries the smell of ghosts with it. This is the time when memories are frozen in their cubicles and dreams are shattered with the demand of another status report. All colored and highlighted in .xls format. 

The coffee machine does not care. Maybe what I mistook for tears, is just shit that it gives about the world, and Excel sheets in general.

Trying something different, this will be in some parts.

Monday, March 11, 2013

Hope Is Like

Hope is like smoking a cigarette in the rain
You try to ignite it with a thought from your brain
It sputters and spatters but never catches the flame
Time ticks away and only you are to blame

You look for someone or something to destroy
When everything around you begins to annoy
In a way that most people would not dare to think
You seek your medication in a bottle of drink

Why do you feel pain if you don't care
Why seek eternity when you won't be there
This ball of water will fall into the sun
Too bad, you'd be too dead to join in the fun

Do you see the point? Futility of it all
We are born, we suffer, we run and we crawl
Away from our problems in problems of others
Can't even blame it on fathers and mothers

The finger of blame is an inverted U
You point it at others but it's pointed at you
Your misery, confusion, the fear and the pain
It's all your fault and I'll say it again and again

Friday, March 8, 2013

The Temple

My temple is shaking
Foundation are breaking
The worms of indifference
Sickened with confidence

Above me, the vultures 
Below, alligators
They circle
They circle

Willing me to falter

A misstep
A hurdle
A mistake
A blunder

My vision is blurry
My goddess in hurry
She calls out to me
I run, not for fun
I fall to my knees
Whisper please
She's somewhere else
Ignoring me, boring me
I lie by her doors
The wait I abhor
It eats me
It beats me
To pieces
To pieces
The longer I wait
The stronger my hate
It beats me 
It eats me
From inside 
From outside
The vultures are closer
They circle
They circle
I falter
I stumble
So why won't you love me?
So why won't you love me?
I don't know.

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

the walker in the lost city

I ate the rotting bread
And I walked the burning streets
Where the wind was dead
And dogs drowsed at my feet

But all my pain meant nothing
To the people who stared at me
Was I some kind of king?
Or just someone who walked funny?

I said my hellos to the old men
Who grunted their responses
Old women looked disapprovingly
As I counted all my chances

Would I get out of this place alive
Would I walk these streets forever
Would I even survive?
Would I end up dumb or clever?

In circles I walk
In puzzles I talk
With no meaning or sense
Just confidence 

Friday, March 1, 2013


In the walls
In the halls
Every breath
Hint of death

They have come for me
They took their time
As I patiently waited

They swirl around me
Why aren't you afraid? 
They ask in one voice

I say I'm afraid
I've always been afraid
Now the mask is too tight on my face
And I don't even want to take it off

They swirl around me
Then they hug me
One and all

They say I need it
My skin crawls
My bones go cold
And I am old
Old like a ghost