Past few hours ago feels like an ancient past. Figments of one day separated by half real half dream stretches of time, when I am with you. One single day lasts longer than twenty four hours. Morning feels as if the morning from yesterday. Midnight feels closer to dawn than it actually is. I see notice a multitude of shades. Magenta, white, vermilion. I see denial and a constructive effort to forget. Run over erase. Hear the jingling of trinkets. And insane flashes of light. Look down at the pool of water from above the balcony, and how the stars reflect. The lone few stars in a grey plate of a sky with one dot of a full moon. With its aura rippling on the surface of the water. I see long tumultuous drives in the rain and the storm. A merciless wind and the tearing apart of coagulated water on streets by tires under ruthless feet. Hear confessions of failed love. I see dormant volcanoes within quiet heads.
And him. The other him, the one who is not you. I see him, the faces that he shows me. His stunted bearded well to do face. His mother's and father's. And everything. I sit talking for hours, to check if my heart beats. But doesn't.
I wait for the spaces in time when I see you. You, the alternator of definitions. The twister of destinies. Clasp your hands on my chest to check if you make it rise up and down. Do you drag me out of my perennial comatose? Do you chase me into the jungles of my mind, where I seek exile?
I see conchs, holy fire. And a dozen people. Men with silence draped overtheir faces. Women with indignation. And wailing children. All this, besides the evident pointlessness of our existence.
Besides the one tiny point that we have made already, by peeking into each other, whenever we have the privilege of company, the liberty to experiment. See outside of. That's the part to remember.
Rest of the day's trivia, won't be held anyway as a memory. Or carried ahead. Because it's a mere arrangement of fossils.
And him. The other him, the one who is not you. I see him, the faces that he shows me. His stunted bearded well to do face. His mother's and father's. And everything. I sit talking for hours, to check if my heart beats. But doesn't.
I wait for the spaces in time when I see you. You, the alternator of definitions. The twister of destinies. Clasp your hands on my chest to check if you make it rise up and down. Do you drag me out of my perennial comatose? Do you chase me into the jungles of my mind, where I seek exile?
I see conchs, holy fire. And a dozen people. Men with silence draped overtheir faces. Women with indignation. And wailing children. All this, besides the evident pointlessness of our existence.
Besides the one tiny point that we have made already, by peeking into each other, whenever we have the privilege of company, the liberty to experiment. See outside of. That's the part to remember.
Rest of the day's trivia, won't be held anyway as a memory. Or carried ahead. Because it's a mere arrangement of fossils.
1 comment:
Mighty parallel you draw my friend. And humbled I should be.
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