Thrown away in a mold of unattainable aspirations
And left there
Decomposing gruesomely as nonfulfillment putrefies my brain
And I am
Choking on piles of dirt penetrating my asthmatic lungs,
Leaving me breathless.
Earthworms are dwelling under my decaying flesh now,
Feeding themselves with the last bits of glimmering hope
Coating my disintegrated organs.
Blood vessels once pumping with sanguinity and
Desires that were yet to come into existence
Are coagulated – darkened vermilion as thick as their lusty hands
Tearing my ideals apart, excoriating my creed
And clouding my vision.
Goodness, what have they not done?
Shoveled my grave and ripped me into fragments
On which they spit their foul curse astray
To feed my relics to the underworld
Feed its decadence to me – yet they know mercy.
There is no possibility of ascension
Once the intellect is rooted in barren soil,
The sockets are mudded with prohibition,
The limbs lethargic,
Although the core is throbbing
And throbbing frantically
On their plate
Until they thrust their knives in it,
Amazed by its vivacity,
Wondering how come it stayed preserved this long,
But find no answer, for the primordial haste is looming
And upon tasting incorporeal emotion,
The ALTERity is blooming.
You left me foaming
My love for you, a bottomless ocean
Of ethereal hopes sunk beneath the blue,
A valse sentimentale in slow motion
Of Turritopsis Dohrnii, cerulean of hue.
I watched you swinging from a tide,
With gracious wings you touched the firmament.
I vulnerably witnessed how waves collide,
A pelagic bird in perpetual movement.
Across the seas of time you fled,
Gliding through the welkin,
A celestial entity to embed
The mimesis of a human being.
I dived not knowing how to float
And drowned in shades of azure…
I am still aching for a lifeboat
To stream me to my eternal treasure.
A children’s play
I wish I could have stayed more,
Wrapped you in my embrace for as long as you needed
To be assembled back.
In a similar manner I used to repeatedly stick together
The pieces of the puzzle I adored
In my infancy,
Yet I was the one who disassembled it
Just as eagerly,
For I had to exercise my handiness,
Spare me of my loneliness
Or just get a temporary feeling of completion
Without even fulfilling my ambition…
I wish I could have tamed patience,
Make it my loyal companion
To aid me in the quickest of times
Of which I was not even aware
When my childhood was measured in fragments repaired.
I reached for patience slowly,
But it fled away from me…
And so did years summed up to fitting pieces
Of a puzzle I was not even fond of any longer,
A puzzle I already learnt by heart,
A puzzle that was tearing me apart.
I repeated this cycle so often that, one day,
I ran out of time,
Parts of the puzzle were still disassembled
And so were you, scattered in hundreds of remnants,
Awaiting my return and
Hoping you would be hole again.
But I grew out of my ambition to reconstruct
A mosaic so predisposed to reversibility,
A mosaic that enticed me
Or I grew tired of it, eventually.
What could be so intricate
When it comes to a puzzle for ages 7-9?
The value of time –
I wish I could have stayed more
So I would assemble you one last time,
But it passed me by…
You were to be made
A living mystery,
An everlasting tedium to me.
Farewell, my better half, yet my antagonist!
Why did you have to vanish so quickly and become one with the mist?
A fog so suffocating, ubiquitously spread,
That has been crumbling graveyard statues, awakening the dead.
If only my long-forgotten hopes revived anew…
I seldom wonder how it is like to be among the few
Who depart themselves from the rest
With a slight pain in their chest,
Looking forward to building their very own nest
Out of shattered marble, ashes and self-interest.
Posing this question to myself, I keep hesitating,
Frustratingly clenching my fists, although pretending
That the choice I have made out of necessity will reduce the pain
Of delving delusively into aspirations I cannot attain.
Should I still wander in search of dismantled almosts
Or sail optimistically towards another coast?
A decade has passed in the blink of an eye
And the prophecy of my destiny proved to be complete fabrication,
Even if I am aware that this feeling of deprivation
Is far from being involuntary, for what I have lacked throughout my entire existence
Was persistence –
An inability to voice my desolation
And I shall be eternally sentenced to damnation.
I am walking the corridors of my own mind
And they are decorated with frameless portraits
I cautiously hanged a long time now.
I absent-mindedly became a collector of fragile figures
Who secluded themselves behind thick glass
Like expressionless porcelain puppets,
Decorative pieces to enhance the beauty of one’s “living” room,
Yet there was nothing lively about them, nothing vivid
Whilst being cloistered in vitrine.
I wanted them to show emotion
So I shattered the glass
And upon desecrating their altars of placidity
They molded into shapes of despair
Fuming with anger as their opacity was fading away.
I made myself a gallery of evocative portraits
Without confining them in frames and glass
For their histrionic displays of temper were so veridical
That they deserved pellucid exposure.
As a collector, when being purposely asked by an individual
What the way I see him is, I smirk,
Guiding him to my three-dimensional exhibition
And whispering “You will find your honest portrayal here.”