I haven’t written in a long time, and last night, while looking up at the moon, this poem suddenly came knocking at the door. I decided to sit down and have coffee with her. She told me of people who shine so brilliantly on the outside, seeming to live fantastic and expensive lives, when in reality, there is nothing within them but darkness and brokenness.
“But, they have lived with these lies for such a long time, you see, blinded by the false light they emit, that they themselves do not know who they are and what is real anymore.” The poem explained to me patiently while pointing out the loneliness of existence for the people she was talking about. “Learn to look past their expensive clothes, their Instagram posts, and their projected lifestyles. Remember, one of your famous poets once said, All that glitters is not gold. Look past the brilliance of their smiles. There is nothing beyond, but hollow spirits stumbling around in the darkness. They are dying in their loneliness.”
“How sad.” I said. “Is there nothing that could be done for them?”
“Only a light infinitely brighter than theirs, that is true, steadfast, and beyond mortal strength could save them.” She quietly said as we both gazed up at the heavens. After a period of shared silence, she turned to me and asked, “Now, are you willing to write this truth?”
I smiled and replied, “Must you still ask? I obey.” And so, last night, the poem and her wisdom flowed from the tip of my pen and were set free into reality.
The moon looks like a broken nail
Tonight it scratches across the sky
Shredding up clouds in its wake
As if saying to the world below
Hey, look at me
I am here, I am important
But the people slept
Cuddled in one another’s arms.
How sad to be the moon
Alone in its brilliance
And as the day turns
Its solitary light diminishes
Among a family of stars.
I am haunted by a ghost.
She sits by my side.
Whispers at my ear, all day
and I have to listen to what she says.
I carry her on my back,
side-splitting heaviness giving way to madness.
And she smiles at me, knowing
that I will never get rid of her.
And I will helplessly end up seeing
how she gives flesh to my heartbreaking fears.
She tortures me with her words,
a knife brutally stabbing me,
by smiling and recounting
how he smiled at her
whispered “I love you” to her ear.
How he moaned when they made love.
How he grabbed her breasts
and squeezed her hips as he plunged
roughly, sometimes tenderly into her.
She will laugh and slash out,
letting me know,
how he took her out on dates
drank wine and laughed at her jokes.
How afterwards they would share a kiss
as his eyes gazed at her tenderly
and his hands softly, ever so softly,
touched her face under the light of the moon.
She will purr softly to my ears,
as she cuts me deeply,
and tell me how his cigarette smells on her skin
and how she would dress up prettily for him,
as he says how beautiful she is
and how lucky he is to be with her.
Then, she will pull out the knife from my flesh,
hand it to me and say,
So, now you know. Come, sit, and think.
Do you think he loves you or me?
And blood bleeds from every word she speaks
and my flesh is torn apart at the seams.
Come, she says, do you think he’ll forget?
And my heart drops to the floor
numb, bloody, barely beating
as she picks it up and toss it around
like a toy that has no purpose or meaning.
Really now? She says, do you think
you could ever get rid of me?
When I am all that you would ever feel and see.
Here, she says, take the knife.
Use it on yourself, end the pain, and be free.
And so I stand up.
What did the poem say? Bloody, but unbowed.
Yes, I tell her, you are all that.
Beautiful, sexy, and meaty.
But I too can be equally feisty.
I took the knife from her hands.
Tell me, I slashed out at her,
Were you there during the difficult times?
When we were barely living on a dime
When he was nothing and no one
When he had no money in his pockets
No title on his head
No flashy car to go around in.
Would you have looked at him twice then?
I stabbed at her and said,
Would you have survived the days we had nothing to eat?
Only canned fish and vegetables, each day,
each passing arduous day.
Then go to work with holes in our shoes,
And yet smiling at each other,
drawing strength from the love in his eyes
that would somehow, I know, see me through.
I plunged the knife through her chest, and whispered,
Have you seen him at his darkest?
When he would breakdown and cry
and snap and shout,
when things didn’t work out.
Have you seen him go silent in one of his moods?
Yet I would embrace him, and accept his totality.
Without question, take in his reality.
I looked at her in the eyes and asked,
Are you the mother of his child?
Did he ever tell you that,
You are his life and his meaning?
That all he ever wants was to keep you happy and smiling?
She answered, softly and weakly, “No”.
I rose up to walk away, and I told her,
You can have him. You can go.
You have nothing I need.
Nothing I fear.
For I know,
at the end of it all,
I am everything. I am enough.
And it may take time, but I will rise again.
Made stronger, wiser, and better by this pain.
Perhaps we missed this
the simple bliss
of sitting down and talking
about life, about our meaning
to each other, the process of being
together. The stirring of coffee,
this solution, dissolving becoming one
creating something beautiful, strong, and new
out of something separated and undone.
Yes, perhaps we needed to remember
why we chose to pursue this path of forever.
And in partaking of this bread with you
under the fullness of the sun
may it affirm why we chose to remain one.
One day at a time.
It will be fine.
The world spins.
The sun sets and the moon rises.
Night turns into day.
The city sleeps and awakens
and this heart that was once forsaken
will surely beat again, scarred but recovered.
Ready for life, ready to live, and rediscover.
I know, I’ll wake up one morning
smiling while thinking
that life courses along
even down avenues of former longings
where my old love is walking by.
And I will be happy,
that he is out there
laughing and smiling without a care,
that he is well and good.
And that in all likelihood
on that day, I too, will be doing well.
And I’ll turn my back and say farewell
to him and his memories.
I’ll probably remember our story,
but I’ll take a deep breath and exhale
for it will be okay, I have prevailed.
All is well ….
Now, I just need to breathe and cope.
And hold on to that vision of hope,
that on that beautiful morning
the sun will be gloriously shining.
Life in the city will be moving.
The day will be flowing.
My heart will be beating.
And I definitely, so definitely,
on that day
will hear myself singing.
The rain fell on the car
on the ground, around us
like the beating of a hundred drums,
heralds of the spirits to come.
For today is the day of the dead
and the heavens opened up
to bless the souls
of those who came before us,
or perhaps to shed tears
for the mortal coils and fears
of those who still walk and taste
the dust of this earthly fate.
For in the end,
are we not all stardusts?
Children of the sun
glowing ever so briefly
shedding our light to those who need us
before fading into memory,
swallowed by the past
where moments are recalled from darkness
by the light of candles, so brilliant
burning for each life lived
sparks of consciousness
against the void of existence, defiant
dancing against the rain
standing tall and proud
in the midst of mud and dirt.
And when the wind blew
the fertile fragrance of earth
swirled around and filled me through.
It made me cry.
For in that moment
I remembered them in their glory
of celebrated flesh and vibrant lives.
Scent mingled with memories.
Memories turned into tears.
And suddenly, I felt the ties of generations,
the bonded weight of combined years.
The pictures were taken from various sources in the net. These images are not mine.
I walked with you again
lost in the narrow streets
we once haunted
and the closed windows
eyed me balefully
as the wind howled across the sky
echoing my pangs of pain,
and the rain fell around me
embracing me like a lover
perhaps knowing full well
that his cold touch paled
compared to the the icy darkness
of a heart lost, undone.
Or perhaps he mocked me
letting me feel the emptiness of your promise,
what was it you said ….
– we will work on forever –
and I, longing for love,
eagerly clutched at dandelion words
unaware how they drifted
from one place to another
one heart to replace another
until I couldn’t chase after it
and forever was lost
in a fraction of a heartbeat.
But life continues
forever remains true
and this moonlit tears will dry
as night turns to day
my heart beats anew
and I know, as sure as the world turns
I will someday find a love that’s true.
And when that day comes
I won’t even remember you.
For my vibrant friend, JP, whom I admire for never giving up on love. Smile, dearest, your prince will come for you one of these days.
Today, the endless gray pavement is bearable,
as my feet pushes it away, joyfully
knowing that I will come home
to a lighted room
where my weariness will disappear
against the warmth of your skin.
And the jumble of disjointed voices
rising from the city, will be drowned
by the familiar beating sound
of your heart against mine
as my hair slowly comes unbound.
with the restless companies in her mind.
Thoughts that refuse to be silent
screaming to be heard
like the ear-splitting screeching sound
of nails scratching on pristine surfaces,
leaving deep ugly marks
that would scar over
and bleed out through clenched teeth,
spewing out words
as black as the city’s hidden corners
where fear and hate –
children of pain lie waiting
in the gutter of her soul.
(Picture was taken from Pinterest. Artist unknown.)