Archive for the month “December, 2012”

Waiting for the revolution

DSC_2940-e

He had been waiting at the gate forever, an eternity. Unshaven, dirty, ridden with fleas, scabs and bruises inflicted by the seasons, he waited patiently to be allowed in, as he watched high dignitaries, emissaries, entire cavalries entering freely, only to see the gate closed in his face. He wrote messages on the walls around the palace, got beaten up by the guards as he sung and screamed for the King to come out, lost his voice and his tent, and even his coat was taken, making his life harder, more miserable. Tear-gassed he didn’t even have the chance to cry his fate, lost as he was trying to survive, struggling to enter while stuck to the ground. Little did he realise that behind him, new tents were being erected, new faces blossomed and stronger voices were joining his – voices with different accents and dialects, faces darker or fairer, forming one big colourful tent of the oppressed. Even the guards, or most of them, had grown wary of their fate, paid to stay out on attention come rain or shine and just shut up everyone and clean up the palace street of the unwanted rogues, their own brothers. Stripped of their uniform, they were part of the gathering masses with a humiliating salary.

That’s how the guard who shall remain unnamed told the waiting man, Why do you want to enter this soulless place? Look behind you, everyone else is waiting, we can force through the gates by sheer force. But what do we do then? Install you as the new King?

That’s not what I came for.

I know, I’ve been watching you everyday.

Although now that I think of it, I’ve forgotten what I came for.

That’s even better. It means we can all start afresh.

And that’s how the guard and the waiting man realised that all they needed to do was to lock the King and his followers inside, give them their mausoleum, let them rot under their crumbling walls, dying of their own tyranny. Freedom was out there, on the streets.

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Fading muse

DSC_0062-e2You know what?
She probably doesn't care
at all,
they told me,
caught as I was
scribbling frantically
to keep her reading
to keep her mine
to keep her loving me
to keep me alive
in this fatal game
flirting with fire
words stabbing our hearts
once soothed our soul
silence speaks a thousand pictures
more than our bandwidth can carry
more than is ever bearable
incurable massive mindfuck
writing along not to drown
clasping to dying alphabets
that built our homely walls
gasping for air
that only she could breathe
into me.

Stranger

The universe is too big
without you
indifferent homes
look at me strangely
families interrupt Sunday lunch
put off by my entrées of pity
and misery
once friendly mountains
taking us high
look down on me
Gothic cathedrals
where we played hide and seek
make me feel shit
pious effigies pretending not to see me
confessors too busy
courting their sheep
chorus of bleating
children smiling under lit
Christmas trees
backstabbing laughter
hitting my guts
with red pointed hearts
that once seemed romantic
maps arousing the masses
blank out in my hands
life-size void
painted over my favourite landscapes
forests logged down
seas flooded with foreign bodies
lullabies mutate
into late night trials
accusing fingers
touching my wounds
pressing salt
rubbing contaminated Christianity
upsetting drama
brought down to scale
feeding me in small measures
along the way.

So far away

DSC_7626-eSo far away
as near as you want to be
as far as the tide takes us
on our ramshackle boat
my words bob hopefully
in little bottles
waiting to be picked up
by no one
but you.

I think of you

DSC_1069-eI think of you
night and day
in the coldness of
hungover winter
huddled in the airline blanket
trembling pen attempting cogency
joining dots of pockmarked walls
leftover shrapnels
unexploded ordnance 
traces of faint blood drops
left nights ago
I hold you like that day
when you softly complained
that it hurt
like when we flew at will
bending all laws into magical spirals
our chamber prepared
as we left it
window wide open
candles blown out 
one after the other
as the wind warms up
as the smell of you drags me
into the deepest vortex
where I've been before
where I loved and lived before
where I died a thousand times before
where I never wanted to leave.

Death

Death intervenes to simplify everything - Philip Roth, The Human Stain
.
With every death
we are reminded
that life's a fatal game
giving us everything
enveloped in nothingness
cocktails of misery and desire
raising expectations
on paper castles
dominoes laid out to attention
by some sick psychotic mind
waiting for the little push
a patient cancer
a growing gaping void in the guts
a slowed-down heart running out of steam
a clot of sadness in the arteries
demented memory banks lost in the woods
some unfading image of a loved one
waiting for the little push
to be switched off.

+++

Death is kindness
for its chosen one
misery for the others
stalked by life
until it's their turn.

+++

Holding on
like a cliffhanger out of breath
life hanging on fragile grasp
of some quirky jutting rock
generous yet indifferent
as we succumb
to the inevitable pull
gravity's pet project
bringing all down
smashing us sensationally
the higher we dangled our madness
the bigger the drama
the sighs
the tears
the pieces to be shattered
the soppy drivels of despair
the alcoholic binges
seeking redemption in forgetfulness
hoping the brain damage
on impact
will be kind
irreversible
numb.

Ceasefire

DSC_3138-eWhen all is finished
when all structures become rubble
all corpses gone with wind
imitating ash
all skeletons turned back
where they belong
all the deafening defiant ruptures
in the sky
echo themselves to death
and the sun rises above
silently
without any
pillars of clouds
contaminating dawn
deceiving flares
bloodthirsty balloons,
will you find me?
I'll be waiting.

When words settle

When our words settle
all we're left with is skeletons
on which we weave
the traces that remain
of our existence
stitching our hollow heart
to leaking blood vessels
jailing it in ice-cold rib cage
pumping within us
fragments of hope, seasonal joy,
some harmless superstition,
quizzing ourselves with trivia,
fictitious memories whitewashing 
anything that no longer fits
anything that jars
with our little diaries of amnesia
anything we can no longer live with or without
exchanged at the plastic market
for do-it-yourself lobotomy kits
promising us relief
from ourselves
from what is
from what we have always asked for.

Mirrors

Mirrors no longer show me anything
just still lifes
hastily painted
left alone on a loft
transparent canvas of emptiness
mediocre imitation
mass replicas
of reprinted life size normality
nameless faces staring
half-drunk at the bar of convenience
seeking one night stands
with smuggled spirits
career compassion
confessing ourselves to death
seeking emergency flings
that keep us human
that keep us in the humanitarian business
and with us our shrinks
advisors, consultants,
cunt-ridden planes
filling payrolls, pill boxes,
pipelines and flip charts 
appeasing public conscience
with log frames, strategies
charities, powerpoints
petitions for clemency, lenience and balance
in polite tones
respectfully
staying composed all along
professional prostitutes
standing in line
multi-corporate-coloured
burying ourselves alive
dying for dreams that were never ours
signing our own death contracts
blowing out our own candles
egged on by cynical ghosts
patting us
pushing us softly
into their abyss.

Travelling lightly

DSC_5580Travelling lightly
tonight
almost midnight
electricity off
generators likewise
deafening fuckers
lumberjacking my head
turning streets into
factories of torture
for unglamorous neon light
smelling of diesel.
Even in the dark
the toxic inhalable 
addictive additive
to this darkened enclave of mine
takes us high
touching the sky
like curious rockets
carrying only 
grainy postcards from the future.

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