Who I will be

i will begin
by forgetting
you
every moment of you
and then
let go
of every desire
and finally
erase
every dream
of making memories
with you
and then emerge
the time slayer

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Asleep::Awake

a pair
set out together
until one
went off
the beaten path

he flew far and wide
the leaves danced
the stone rolled along
here they all lie
together
in rest and peace

i tried to fly
all my life
and finally
the tree let me go
little did i know
that freedom came
at a price

o tall tree
rest
shed your burden
let the lonely
streets and stones
carry them awhile

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Literature

some people grab me
like ​a coercive argument,
a vehement plea for love,
a gust of wind in the rain,
an essay on justice,
or the tempo of a classical song,
swaying me with their stellar prose.

you caress me
like long forgotten words
spoken in slow whispers
in the gentle afternoon breeze;
like verses celebrating sorrow
sung softly on moonlit nights,
melting me with your poetry;
and like words that have been a poem,
i can never be prose again.

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Sculpted

(Location: Gothenburg, Sweden)

i liked you better
when you were free,
light as a feather
floating around on me
and laughing gleefully,
the wind said to me.

but then the potters hands
took you,
made you wet and
pressed you into shape.
now there you stand
pretty as a picture
with roses growing from you
and everyone stopping to stare.

you are light no more
but heavy and firm, and
though i visit you often
you don’t float with me
anymore.
it is so hard for me
he lamented,
to see my love unmoving
and quiet.
break free, he pleaded.

how can i? i replied,
when the potter
has finally made me
who i was meant to be.

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Kissed by water

i wandered the rocky beach
oblivious to you looking at me
from the distance

i missed your gentle footsteps
creeping up to the rocks
swiftly, silently

until you were tickling the palms
of my sand-soaked feet,
cooling me and threatening
to drown me

i still ignored your power;
soon you had engulfed me
washed me clean of the sand
and left me gasping for more

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January, once more

The picture on the top is from January 21, 2016 and I wrote about it in this post. The picture at the bottom is from this morning, January 14, 2017. A lot of water has passed under the bridge. Or has it?

the tree is the same
albeit one branch lighter
the hibiscus plant is the same
just a little taller
the shrubs next to it are the same
but a few flowers short
the garden is the same
although there are more leaves

the man near the fence is the same
except i see him around no more
we too, are the same in our similar loneliness
our spirits a little heavier, perhaps
my soul still calls out to you
a little louder now, perhaps
my heart still hears your faraway voice
a lot clearer now, surely

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Timekeepers

How do you know that you are alive
And not the spirit of a nomad woman
Driving you to restlesness
Pushing you outside the gates?

How do you know these scars are yours
And not the injuries of a warrior
Whose soul still bleeds inside you
And pulls you to distant battlefields?

How do you know that you are alive
And not the ghost of a spurned lover
Wandering the streets unsatisfied
In search of a long lost love?

How do you know this is your life
And not the afterlife of another
Whose life you often dream of
Whose ambitions you struggle to fulfill?

How do you know these memories are yours
And not scenes from the life of another
Who lived a life too similar
Who walked into the light too soon?

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