Cigarette ashes and coffee stains ruined our photo book.
They have erected a museum of ghostly newspaper articles over the sacred ground where we buried our time capsule with those 11 letters to our futures selves 10 autumns ago.All I have as memory are these blur poorly shaded sketches stored in my chaotic mind, in no particular order.
There isn’t much, but yeah, will take what I can get.
It sucks because the only way to open this memory box we made a pact once, that it should be by drowning it in warm tears of either one of us…This is fine, don’t worry you don’t have to cry, I will swallow my low self esteem and cry for you.
there are splat patterns, the abstract paintings of infants on their trembling knees,
Arms out stretched towards the open sky
Catching bungee jumping mountains and free falling light bulbs, grandsons of meteorites,
Their smiles destroying the tyranny of all things ugly in the face of the galaxy
Their smiles are what makes the world spin,
tucked between dying hearts and breaking bones are their chuckles,
this is the sticky substance that has glued the dead and living together,
there is great life in every death, existence is solidified to an enchanting stillness.
We are here today, you and I
There are pink skeletons and silver petals, the color of youthful metals, the ornaments of our awkward union,
Map readers illiterate, indecisive compasses.
It is impossible to plot the precise moment when we became one.
Not many of these objects are useful
The memories they hold are armless soldiers, their souls are cold.
When these stories are told,
The fabric walls between enemy territories are torn.
Nations die when they unfold.
I’m slowly forgetting about the war.
Don’t mind this part.
Behold, there’s a sculpture of us next to the stream beneath the willows on a Saturday morning, your pockets are full of rainbows and I have brought the sails with, hoisted my sleeves towards my elbows in case the stream discreetly grows to a river or the whole ocean while we recite our poems.
I’m ready to save your life if floods come as unannounced as they usually do.
There’s a bird in my chest, every hour she comes to life and remind me that I love you despite myself.
This bird is a giant woman, she is you in the forth approaching incarnations,
though my heart, smaller than her ear lobe, I love her too.
I speak to her, I tell her that even if you and I part ways,
hearts discover their separate pathways, I will keep her there, always,
I will carry her with me all my life, because I love her, not because of you,
but because she is you and I Love you, she stays there.
She is there now.
But she doesn’t remind me of anything.
Me and her concur.
Not many of these objects are useful
The memories they hold are armless soldiers, their souls are cold.
When these stories are told,
The fabric walls between enemy territories are torn.
Nations die when they unfold.
I’m slowly forgetting about the war.
Don’t mind this part.
Behold, there’s a sculpture of us next to the stream beneath the willows on a Saturday morning, your pockets are full of rainbows and I have brought the sails with, hoisted my sleeves towards my elbows in case the stream discreetly grows to a river or the whole ocean while we recite our poems.
I’m ready to save your life if floods come as unannounced as they usually do.
There’s a bird in my chest, every hour she comes to life and remind me that I love you despite myself.
This bird is a giant woman, she is you in the forth approaching incarnations,
though my heart, smaller than her ear lobe, I love her too.
I speak to her, I tell her that even if you and I part ways,
hearts discover their separate pathways, I will keep her there, always,
I will carry her with me all my life, because I love her, not because of you,
but because she is you and I Love you, she stays there.
She is there now.
But she doesn’t remind me of anything.
Me and her concur.
There’s a bottle filled with sad, there are words in the sad louder than the sea waves,
the words speak loudly, volumes of units more than grains there in.
You bought this at the African market, I remember.
The third gift you handed me after the StarBook and your heart.
I wish it was your heart that you forgot here not this sand,
but like I said, I’ll take what I can get.
There are 3 dimensional glasses;
this reminds me of a day we were so drunk of a Love unbound,
our feet moving independent of our minds,
the perpendicular labyrinth to the movie theater,
we had set our temporary destiny to see the ancient mythical gods play hide and seek behind modern day ideologies, but fate had it otherwise,
we obliviously killed half of our glorious night looking at robots fighting humans,
their steel fists colliding,
the unbearable music of our daily arguments
about biscuit crumbs on your bed,
the sudden vanishing of body lotion,
the antagonistic notions we had about what good poetry should sound like.
I tried them on in desperate attempts to see the slope where we once slipped an fell in love. History is a blur collage of could have and should have beens,
I see nothing worth my search.
My dear Love, my soul has tired.
I will not search anymore,
This last object is the end of my quest
My hand feels like greying hair,
I can feel your heart in the bad stories
that the grapes carry to my ears through a subterranean vein
It does not have any of your tears
But I know you enough to trust that you’re crying as well on the other side
I can feel your shoulder blades cutting through my chest
I’m holding too, too hopelessly much to a fading memory of you
This is because you’re still her in my chest
The giant women has built a nest
It is a fortress of gold feathers
This is my last treasure of a Love unknown
I still keep her here. I Love her despite my self
When the fortress grows cold in the early phases of spring
She covers my flaws with her violet blanket
It has the powers of a flying carpet
She never flies though, She stays there, she sleeps there,
engrossed in my endless questions
‘How did we end up here? When did we become such puppets of a mere alkaline chemical reaction?’
She is not a scientist, so she doesn’t answer questions about time, alchemy of physics
She loves mystery and magic with the same force but in the opposite directions as I Love her. Nightly, I ask her these questions
And like we did yesterday, we conclude…
There’s a bottle filled with sad, there are words in the sad louder than the sea waves,
the words speak loudly, volumes of units more than grains there in.
You bought this at the African market, I remember.
The third gift you handed me after the StarBook and your heart.
I wish it was your heart that you forgot here not this sand,
but like I said, I’ll take what I can get.
There are 3 dimensional glasses;
this reminds me of a day we were so drunk of a Love unbound,
our feet moving independent of our minds,
the perpendicular labyrinth to the movie theater,
we had set our temporary destiny to see the ancient mythical gods play hide and seek behind modern day ideologies, but fate had it otherwise,
we obliviously killed half of our glorious night looking at robots fighting humans,
their steel fists colliding,
the unbearable music of our daily arguments
about biscuit crumbs on your bed,
the sudden vanishing of body lotion,
the antagonistic notions we had about what good poetry should sound like.
I tried them on in desperate attempts to see the slope where we once slipped an fell in love. History is a blur collage of could have and should have beens,
I see nothing worth my search.
My dear Love, my soul has tired.
I will not search anymore,
This last object is the end of my quest
My hand feels like greying hair,
I can feel your heart in the bad stories
that the grapes carry to my ears through a subterranean vein
It does not have any of your tears
But I know you enough to trust that you’re crying as well on the other side
I can feel your shoulder blades cutting through my chest
I’m holding too, too hopelessly much to a fading memory of you
This is because you’re still her in my chest
The giant women has built a nest
It is a fortress of gold feathers
This is my last treasure of a Love unknown
I still keep her here. I Love her despite my self
When the fortress grows cold in the early phases of spring
She covers my flaws with her violet blanket
It has the powers of a flying carpet
She never flies though, She stays there, she sleeps there,
engrossed in my endless questions
‘How did we end up here? When did we become such puppets of a mere alkaline chemical reaction?’
She is not a scientist, so she doesn’t answer questions about time, alchemy of physics
She loves mystery and magic with the same force but in the opposite directions as I Love her. Nightly, I ask her these questions
And like we did yesterday, we conclude…
My dear Love, my soul has tired.
I will not search anymore,
This last object is the end of my quest
My hand feels like greying hair,
I can feel your heart in the bad stories
that the grapes carry to my ears through a subterranean vein
It does not have any of your tears
But I know you enough to trust that you’re crying as well on the other side
I can feel your shoulder blades cutting through my chest
I’m holding too, too hopelessly much to a fading memory of you
This is because you’re still her in my chest
The giant women has built a nest
It is a fortress of gold feathers
This is my last treasure of a Love unknown
I still keep her here. I Love her despite my self
When the fortress grows cold in the early phases of spring
She covers my flaws with her violet blanket
It has the powers of a flying carpet
She never flies though, She stays there, she sleeps there,
engrossed in my endless questions
‘How did we end up here? When did we become such puppets of a mere alkaline chemical reaction?’
She is not a scientist, so she doesn’t answer questions about time, alchemy of physics
She loves mystery and magic with the same force but in the opposite directions as I Love her. Nightly, I ask her these questions
And like we did yesterday, we conclude…
It is open,
Serendipity, that’s how it happened.
Serendipity, that’s how it happened.
Serendipity, that’s how it happened.
∞
~ Ben Thikalog of Tecres Yociets
