Category: Poetry

There is one downside to being a superaware cameleon,
I have no energy left for joy,
When every drip of blood that flows under my skin
Goes into asking:
What’s wrong with me this time around?

Oh shit,
my hands are dangling awkwardly
as if in an out of the body experience,
I guess I’ve always looked like an astronaut on fast forward
navigating the void space between my mind and others,
without the gravity of confirmation.

And look,
the socks I picked in a rush
don’t match my clothes and I wonder,
before the whole pants below the waist thing was fashion,
did people wear them low to hide the socks out of shame ?

You see, the great Descartes said
I think, therefore I am,
But for all the 50 layers
Of hierarchical meta-thinking,
Self-fulfilling, self-deprecating loops,
I’d hardly say I am,
At best, I’m a bit lost.

In my dreams,
I’m always flying,
And there’s no weight in my stomach,
To hold me down.

 

 

 

 

Am I dreaming now?

 

Haza-ah the hit
The two groups have split
A rupture unending
And rather mind-bending
Till when will it last?
It happened so fast!
The joy of my morning,
Has turned into mourning…

I sing lullaby
To all passers-by.
They stop and they say:
Before end of May,
It’s almost tomorrow
The end of your sorrow.
I think and I count
Time seems like a mount.
Till when will it last?
It happened so fast!

I’ve grown a million eyes,
To watch the present,
And live forever in the now.

I watch it all,
My day, my night,
A tireless big brother.

For every single thing,
That goes under the sun.
Must have some meaning,
For another.

I’m keeping now a record,
Of the facts.
That I myself forget,
For the next day,
It’s all anew.

The past,
Is obsolete.

Behind a tree,
Or somewhere else,
A white-haired mocking-ghost,
Sang darkly.

A child put on a pair of shades,
And filled his ears with fallen leaves.

A grown up stood to move the tree.

The tree, once green, was somewhere else.

An elder, sitting, sang along,
His chords were slightly out of tune.

I killed a ghost one day!
They all remember,
I talked to it:
It died,
Once it became alive.

 

(For some, this ending is maybe … not the most clear. I’ve hidden some hints below. It’s my take on it. You can reveal them by selecting with your mouse, the text underneath.)

–I started this,
with just one thought:
what’s the best way to kill a ghost?
I still don’t know…

A ghost is a dead thing.

Once it becomes alive…
once you give it meat,
once you paint it in colors,
and bless it with true words,
…it ceases to be a ghost.

So many people would rise up and shine,
if only they would be seen.

Halloween is when the dead move around us,
but maybe, maybe, it should also be,
when the living become alive!

(photo modified from https://thewannabesaint.com/tag/mockingbird/ )