eros the bittersweet

overflow

this dark age
claims its throne
once more
under punishing,
lamenting, starless
sky that breaks
open sores
some things must
be understood
without being felt
some truths must
be known
without being touched
the ink that overflows
from this
unraveling,
untangling,
unbeing ~
a force, a light, a sound
unknown until now.

only these words

in shackling
pain this poet
thinks of her goddess
and utters only
these words:
your body unraveling
like a timid flower
caressed by eyelids
and endless sighs ~
that now inhabits
a heart drowning
in sorrow, drenched
in its own darkness,
that seeks the
freedom in its chaos,
that leaps in the
sight of corners
and roads leading to
your hands.

cistern

sloping, slumbering
seconds that
resonate in the
darkness, the water
that craves a
cistern, a well,
in your hands,
in your mouth,
my faith that
gathers the
incessant fire
of this unsteady,
trembling, yearning
storm
drinking from
the light of your
face.

loss

when the sky is
denied of the sun,
this body is
denied of your breath,
my sleep is
denied of our dreams
the ravens are
resurrected to
steal the goddess’
scent and stares
aching in
remembering
that my
loss taught
me of
love.

what of death

what of death
does a fresh,
intolerant bud
know?
it understands
nothing save
fear, darkness,
the annihilation
of a make-
believe
universe,
it understands
nothing save
pain, a sudden,
screaming halt
that neglects
and forbid
time from
ever happening
again.

this same heart

this same heart
that you have
beaten and exhausted
will say your name
one last time
one final breath
one timid night
one certain death
and consider
all the other dawn
as holy as this
morning
it starts to realize
the need to love
itself so it
may be
liberated.

dark and shadows

when silence is the
only water that
feed my thirst
i turn to the
prism that once
carried your
colours
and sought
within me
the delight
i shall always
embrace
the dark and
shadows
that gave you
your light.

as if

suffering only is
for those with
fortitude
whilst the blood
flowers and springs
from this unspoken,
bewildered, contained,
overarching
pleasure of gazing
at you as if
you are here,
as if all is still,
as if we are,
as if there is.

fate

light is clearest
in the darkness
and after
the havoc my
heart shall
endure
for pain feeds
its memory
of wonder,
not of desolation
and at last
i will find
again
the voice of my
faith
and the fate
of this poet
be written and
drawn on pages
meant for you.

it is time now

it is time now
i harvest the tears
that fell painfully,
cruelly upon the
skin that once
was your home

it is time now
i gather sighs and
breaths
that gracefully
exalted your name
even in this
wounded embrace

it is time now
i rest in clouds of
your gentle recollection
of the words uttered
in sleep and meant
in wakefulness

it is time now
i hear the ember
cracking as the
night summons
an endless beginning
for this faithful hand.

a return

a return,
a descent,
a fumbling,
stuttering, nervous
demise
a faint light
crushing the
dusk exquisitely
imagined by
this poet for
her goddess,
a movement,
a whisper,
an entangled marvel
that speaks and
manifests
in silence
a soul never without
faith in your
humanity.

after

after
the heavy, dreary
drunkenness in
the void
i resurrect my
dreams
to catch the
smiles that
unraveled in
the wind
parched by the
memory of
your gaze,
roots anchor
themselves
to the earth
as i clasp on
the tethers
of your melancholic
breath.

it is

it is not hope
it is faith

it is not desperation
it is understanding

it is not night nor day
it is the spring that
sleeps in winter

it is not the sin of
changing
it is the metamorphosis
of a butterfly

it is not the words you read
it is the thought that transcends

it is not that which is broken
it is that which mends

it is not a wish
it is a prayer

it is not life
it is you.

one more fall

my soul hums in
the bruised silence
of the streams
that carry your
rocks and stones
to my ocean shore
the fumbling faith
and dancing light
of this soul
seeks the darkness
once more
like a shell breaking
open to reveal
venus,
this heart is ready
for one
more
fall.

stillborn

pain borne of fire,
the abrasions erupt
from nothingness
then the rusty nature
of blood kindles itself
with the memory
of the one who caused
the lashes now
opening loudly on
my skin
the journey of heartaches
and tears
cloud the listless, impoverished
hands that once
sought your face
my smile starved
by the crescent
that cast its
light helplessly on
the burdened, desolate
eyes imagining these
words stillborn
after you.

suicide

of tendencies
and inclinations
the tormented poet
uses her wounds
once again
and writhes in
the blood raining
from her futile
suicide
aching in the
chaos of her
silence
the body
that reveals itself
in winter
a symphony of
the unspoken,
an attempt,
an unforgivable
and mute desire
to forget.

what i hold

I don’t even know where to begin. Perhaps I can start with what holds significance in my life right now.

You.

You never stopped being that for me. The most significant. We have grown apart to find ourselves and what will be best for us. But let me just say this.

There is no point in me hiding or masking what I truly feel.

Sometimes I feel I have disappointed you more than I have made you happy. But when I think of all the seconds we spent with each other – even when we were arguing – there is definitely more good there than bad.

Maybe I am the eternal optimist. Maybe it’s all just too good. And it all was so real and true and I could not have imagined sharing all those things with anybody else. At the end of it all - I know I cannot just continue saying 'maybe' - because I know things are just the way they are. It just is. There simply are no gray areas.

We have taken countless risks from the moment ‘we’ began. And I am taking this risk again, to stop telling myself to stop. Because I cannot. It would be sacrilegious if I would do that. I will never deny you that.

I do not want to grow old sad and full of regret just because I did not take the risk. You are always worth it. And I will put my heart on the line because that is what this moment is asking me to do. Because I want to be with you.

We have fallen. We are hurt, we may even feel that we are broken. But I know we both showed each other so much and had one hell of a time. But all in all – those highs and lows cannot be taken away and we both did what we did at that moment because that was the course to take.

I always have thought that one is bound to feel indebted to the person that they love the most. And I realized that this is not true. When you love, you give it freely. And that is what I am doing now. I am giving it to you. As I have given it to you and only you from the very onset.

Given all else that has happened – one thing remains the same.

You.

tyranny

broken by the
tyranny of isolation
this heart wonders
of what hope is
left when
darkness caves in
and shatters
the once peaceful
rose that lie
still in the
night
now my tongue
is halted
and my words
stripped of faith,
seeking the
long forgotten hands
that took me
down this road.

one universe at a time

I have been away. Too long.

Now I am back. And it hurts to talk why I was gone in the first place.

Each time I feel like I am flailing I turn to writing – because writing allows me to have control over things I, under usual circumstances, would mess or wreck. But the last couple of weeks have been a blur. What a beautiful blur. The emptiness still resounds in the void.


At first there were tears, puddles of tears. Then there was this inexplicable twinge in my heart that occurs only when I hear her name in my head. Which was like, every passing nanosecond of my existence. Then after a while, I couldn’t write anymore. I also stopped reading because it felt like I was just going to waste my time – I mean, I probably (I assumed) wouldn’t understand most of what I am looking at, probably wouldn’t be able to decipher the meaning of what I am reading so I ceased doing it for a moment. I couldn’t write. And it was excruciating. The thought alone of being paralyzed, of not being able to do what I have always loved, it was a kind of hell. It was worse than the misery or torment I had to go through days before that.


I realized I was…apathetic. No actually, worse. I wasn’t just indifferent to what’s going on around me. I was anaesthetized. I wasn’t feeling anything anymore. For days and weeks I mourned. I had this unbelievable overcast above me, lurking in the shadows wherever I go. Then I found myself in the center of the storm – and this time, without any regard for the chaos that is my life.

Then I had an epiphany. I just couldn’t let myself drown anymore. I just couldn’t allow this darkness to swallow me, chew what’s left of me then spit me out - and not care if the same darkness does the same twisted thing to my spirit the next day.


For the longest time, I believed this obscurity: that I define a lot of who I am based on my relationships. I neglected and left out the most important part: it does not mean that my relationships dictate who I am.


Yes, I am fallible. I do not wish to be perfect. This is the closest that I have ever felt to being human – feeling pain, eating, drinking, consuming pain day in and day out. I am frail but I should not deny myself the truth that there lies in my spirit a light that just won’t give up. And in that light I will find my strength. And in finding my strength I would understand that some things are meant to happen – and they happen because they are meant to make me believe in all that I had in the first place - myself.


There still are some parts of me that bleed. Some parts of me that ache, some parts that were scalded when I attempted to catch the fire of this battle. But my soul is housed by my inescapable self – the self that I need to look after, I need to love, I need to have faith in.


In my silence I am no longer haunted by the dreams that never will come true. In my silence I exalt Him for loving me so much to let me realize I have not met the end.


I just need to take the time.

For now I am happy pondering...one universe at a time.


 

anais nin

and the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

t.s. eliot

i should have been a pair of ragged claws.

frida kahlo

i hope the exit is joyful and i hope never to return.