The only way
I can hurt her
is to never
see her again.
Except
it will hurt me
even more
than her.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
I want you
I want you.
Not for your beauty. Time has passed. Your image has faded. And I’m not sure if you were ever really beautiful. Or whether it was my love that made you so.
Not for your body. It has become far too common a currency since it belonged to me. I do not desire that which is not exclusive.
Not for your intelligence. Your knowledge and creativity were always too narrow for compelling conversation.
I want you.
But only because I cannot have you.
Not for your beauty. Time has passed. Your image has faded. And I’m not sure if you were ever really beautiful. Or whether it was my love that made you so.
Not for your body. It has become far too common a currency since it belonged to me. I do not desire that which is not exclusive.
Not for your intelligence. Your knowledge and creativity were always too narrow for compelling conversation.
I want you.
But only because I cannot have you.
Limited
She comes to me wearing such a bold expression.
And a skirt and heels designed to break my stride.
There is temptation in her throat, eloquence in her mouth and a promise in her eyes.
There is a secret in her words, a mystery in her face, and a challenge in her walk.
She is brave and certain. And yet there is a shiver dancing electric with tingling fingers up and down her spine.
She has not decided if she wants to seduce me, secure me, save me, or serve me.
She has not yet realised how limited her options are..
And a skirt and heels designed to break my stride.
There is temptation in her throat, eloquence in her mouth and a promise in her eyes.
There is a secret in her words, a mystery in her face, and a challenge in her walk.
She is brave and certain. And yet there is a shiver dancing electric with tingling fingers up and down her spine.
She has not decided if she wants to seduce me, secure me, save me, or serve me.
She has not yet realised how limited her options are..
Never
She wears ordinary clothes like a model, and turns them into Prada.
He has never seen anyone wear a simple dress so elegantly.
Her body, resting close and delicious on the passenger seat in the bus, makes him ache.
His eyes are constantly captured by the geometry of her knees,
the wondrous sculpture of her calves and the perfect art of six inches of irresistible, stockinged thigh.
When she talks he cannot stop watching her sensual mouth, desperate to see it smile, enthralled by the movement of her lips.
He imagines taking her lovely face between his hands,
kissing her sweet forehead and breathing in the fragrance of her hair.
The sky is as blue as in a child’s story book, and the sun is newly hatched and bold with its warmth. The window of the bus is oprn. The bustling Cairo Road is glorious around them. It is a day to stretch one’s arms out to the heavens. It is a day for golden moments. It is a day for lovers.
She tells him she will never be his
He has never seen anyone wear a simple dress so elegantly.
Her body, resting close and delicious on the passenger seat in the bus, makes him ache.
His eyes are constantly captured by the geometry of her knees,
the wondrous sculpture of her calves and the perfect art of six inches of irresistible, stockinged thigh.
When she talks he cannot stop watching her sensual mouth, desperate to see it smile, enthralled by the movement of her lips.
He imagines taking her lovely face between his hands,
kissing her sweet forehead and breathing in the fragrance of her hair.
The sky is as blue as in a child’s story book, and the sun is newly hatched and bold with its warmth. The window of the bus is oprn. The bustling Cairo Road is glorious around them. It is a day to stretch one’s arms out to the heavens. It is a day for golden moments. It is a day for lovers.
She tells him she will never be his
Torn
She is torn.
Between security and thrill.
She does not realise
Both are for the taking.
She is wired
By the promise of his message.
She does not recognise
Moments are sliding past.
She is sure
Of the power of her beauty.
She does not understand
The nature of his pride.
Between security and thrill.
She does not realise
Both are for the taking.
She is wired
By the promise of his message.
She does not recognise
Moments are sliding past.
She is sure
Of the power of her beauty.
She does not understand
The nature of his pride.
Quote
The difference between friendship and love is how much you can hurt each other.
Quote from cartoonist Ashleigh Brilliant
Stare
I devour you secretly with my eyes.
I am hungry for your presence, ravenous for your beauty.
I want to take you in whole. One magnificent glorious vista, one gorgeous portrait,
one high-definition-full-resolution-never-fading screen capture for my memory.
Such divine visual food to somehow satisfy this desperate, aching desire.
To help sustain me when you are gone.
Then I want to take you piece by piece, An inch at a time. An eye, a nail, a lock of hair, the lobe of an ear….
Yet I hardly have such control. I take your lips, your mouth, your nose, the hollow of your throat, the elegant swell of your delicious breasts, a wrist, an ankle, an arm, the heavenly architecture of your thighs….
I have swallowed you whole again.
My eyes devour you like starving man, made weak by famine, who has no sight of his next meal.
I try not to stare.
She is not you.
She has your exquisite mouth, your gorgeous brown eyes, your delicious skin. She has your body, so perfect that I swear heaven had found me when I undressed her. She has your legs, sculpted, toned, elegant. She even has your sweet breasts, with nipples like rosebuds. She turns heads everywhere, just the same as you.
She smiles as you do, bewitching, enchanting, captivating.
And like you she is the only woman in any room, any place she is in. She is the brightest, most delicate, most beautiful thing. She is adorable, funny, charming. She makes me want to protect her against the world, to see that she never comes to harm.
She fell into my arms so unexpectedly and she gave herself so completely. The way you have so many times before. In my head.
But she is not you.
I believed she was. As crazy as that might seem I thought you had become flesh after all these years. I imagined you had somehow emerged from deep in my soul and become her. That you were no longer content to just be glimpsed at airports, on catwalks, or on cinema screens. That it was no longer enough for you to flit elusively through parties, appear unexpectedly in photographs, or hover at the periphery of my vision.
That your glorious, wondrous, submissive perfection, that rare, unique, heartbreaking beauty that has haunted me all my life, filled my dreams, fueled my fantasies, taunted me, tricked me, teased me, and has made such a fool of me since the beginning of time, had ceased to be a phantom. Was no longer an ideal, a paradigm, an impossible dream. That you, in this early evening of my life, would at last be my lover. Corporeal, tangible, mortal, human.
I confused her with you. I tied myself in knots. I burdened her with expectation. I frightened her with desire. I soaked her with an ocean of words. I expected too much. I made something of nothing. I tried to treat her like you.
She was never going to be mine. I have always understood that.
But somehow I destroyed our friendship. Threw away our closeness. Broke our connection. I lost a friend.
I will never forgive you for that
I hate you.
Pride
I am a proud man.
Yet pride does not necessarily make me bad, arrogant, foolish, unintelligent, insensitive or without a sense of perspective.
But it does mean that I will never allow any friend or lover to take me for granted.
And that I will walk away from the faintest scent of rejection
Yet pride does not necessarily make me bad, arrogant, foolish, unintelligent, insensitive or without a sense of perspective.
But it does mean that I will never allow any friend or lover to take me for granted.
And that I will walk away from the faintest scent of rejection
SCARS
She left a scar on my soul.
It was once angry, raw and raised.
A livid mark leaking with salty tears.
On bad days it seeped blood.
I tested it in the places we used to go.
I probed it with the music we shared,
I distressed it with my poetry.
I tortured it with memories.
Now it has healed to a pale,
indifferent, fading stain.
It is in the shape of her smile.
I wear it with the other scars.
Like a proud tattoo.
It was once angry, raw and raised.
A livid mark leaking with salty tears.
On bad days it seeped blood.
I tested it in the places we used to go.
I probed it with the music we shared,
I distressed it with my poetry.
I tortured it with memories.
Now it has healed to a pale,
indifferent, fading stain.
It is in the shape of her smile.
I wear it with the other scars.
Like a proud tattoo.
For her
She sat cross-legged and naked on the bed amongst a tangle of sheets.
Her hair was tousled, her face flushed, her body still marked with pleasure and pain.
‘I’m listening,’ she said, her voice serious.
Her eyes were closed, her back straight, her lovely lips slightly pursed. Her head tilted slightly to one side the way she always did when she concentrated. She looked like a serious school girl.
I think I adored her then, above all our other moments.
She opened her eyes and raised impatient eyebrows.
‘I’m ready,’ I said. I positioned the laptop on my bare thighs.
‘Good’ she smiled.
I read her a handful of poems.
Maybe ten. I tried to read them with the same passion, joy, sorrow, desire and love that I felt at the time of writing. At the end of each I studied her features, trying to gauge her reaction.
She was silent and utterly still, save for the slightest, barely perceptible nod requesting me to continue. Her face became sadder with every verse.
When the last line of the last piece had faded in the quiet room she began to sob soundlessly.
I took her in my arms and nestled her safe into the hollow of my shoulder. Her tears trickled over my skin.
‘Why?’ I asked her, touching her wet face and rocking her gently. ‘Were they really so bad?
She punched my chest gently.
‘No, stupid, stupid man. I love them.’
She sniffed. Her voice wavered.
‘I just wish you had written them for me.’
Her hair was tousled, her face flushed, her body still marked with pleasure and pain.
‘I’m listening,’ she said, her voice serious.
Her eyes were closed, her back straight, her lovely lips slightly pursed. Her head tilted slightly to one side the way she always did when she concentrated. She looked like a serious school girl.
I think I adored her then, above all our other moments.
She opened her eyes and raised impatient eyebrows.
‘I’m ready,’ I said. I positioned the laptop on my bare thighs.
‘Good’ she smiled.
I read her a handful of poems.
Maybe ten. I tried to read them with the same passion, joy, sorrow, desire and love that I felt at the time of writing. At the end of each I studied her features, trying to gauge her reaction.
She was silent and utterly still, save for the slightest, barely perceptible nod requesting me to continue. Her face became sadder with every verse.
When the last line of the last piece had faded in the quiet room she began to sob soundlessly.
I took her in my arms and nestled her safe into the hollow of my shoulder. Her tears trickled over my skin.
‘Why?’ I asked her, touching her wet face and rocking her gently. ‘Were they really so bad?
She punched my chest gently.
‘No, stupid, stupid man. I love them.’
She sniffed. Her voice wavered.
‘I just wish you had written them for me.’
Love
Speak to me in colors–
thus tinted are the windows to your soul.
Might that I marvel in the mystery
as it skirts ‘cross their pond.
And yet stilled are the words; they lie like copper
upon my tongue–tarnished.
For I cannot find them enough to say
“I love you.”
thus tinted are the windows to your soul.
Might that I marvel in the mystery
as it skirts ‘cross their pond.
And yet stilled are the words; they lie like copper
upon my tongue–tarnished.
For I cannot find them enough to say
“I love you.”
Poetry
The moment before the kiss
where I linger in the silence of intimacy.
Thus my eyes caress you with a delicate obsession
as I am smitten with tender anticipation;
that to want you is to need you for I live to adore you,
and yet I never knew I could love you–
Even more
where I linger in the silence of intimacy.
Thus my eyes caress you with a delicate obsession
as I am smitten with tender anticipation;
that to want you is to need you for I live to adore you,
and yet I never knew I could love you–
Even more
Absent
Absence makes-
the heart grow fonder,
mind wander and soul surrender,
the days seen so long-
and everything seems to grow wrong,
the eyes hunt for a glimpse
and you curse your bizarre whims.
Nothing to brighten the day,
when you just wish and pray…
This absence is such a pain-
and you just cry and wait in vain.
The heart aches, its just not strong enough,
to face the life so tough…
Life is so bare,
and adventure so rare
its a bright new day
and you wish to be happy and gay.
But the heart refuses-
life is not a bed of roses
once to see is all you crave
and you ask yourself to be brave
the heart is left bleeding,
and you just cant stop lamenting…
A little thought unwinds-
and you consider it in your mind,
an absurd abnormal wish,
is it possible, the absentee feels the same way???
the heart grow fonder,
mind wander and soul surrender,
the days seen so long-
and everything seems to grow wrong,
the eyes hunt for a glimpse
and you curse your bizarre whims.
Nothing to brighten the day,
when you just wish and pray…
This absence is such a pain-
and you just cry and wait in vain.
The heart aches, its just not strong enough,
to face the life so tough…
Life is so bare,
and adventure so rare
its a bright new day
and you wish to be happy and gay.
But the heart refuses-
life is not a bed of roses
once to see is all you crave
and you ask yourself to be brave
the heart is left bleeding,
and you just cant stop lamenting…
A little thought unwinds-
and you consider it in your mind,
an absurd abnormal wish,
is it possible, the absentee feels the same way???
Reason
Everything changes into the same.
People and places forgetting their names.
Once upon a time, there was a reason
Now it is a season
Of my Life.
There is a reason why I am writing, though it eludes me now. I want to express something, though I can’t name it. I can’t see it. I can’t touch it. I can only feel it… they say to feel your words. I do. Yet I can not write.
It isn’t writing block. I can write. I just don’t want to. I used to dream that my words mattered… I would write for people… those who wanted to read… even if was just me. Throw my words into the horizon and let them be found… like a guiding star… I would write because I thought that someone needed to hear my thoughts… I would write because I thought that one day someone might need them… yet now… I don’t even want them…
I do yet I don’t… I don’t because I failed them… as I failed myself… I need my words, yet I turn away… again and again and again.
There is a reason why I am writing… it is because I need to. I will write again… I need to be patient and focus on why
Monday, December 24, 2012
If I can stop one heart from breaking
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
Friday, December 14, 2012
To my unborn child
I gave you life,
but cannot live it for you.
I can give you directions,but cannot live it for you.
but I cannot be there to lead you.
I can take you to church,
but I cannot make you believe.
I can teach you right from wrong,
but I cannot always decide for you.
I can buy you beautiful clothes,
but I cannot make you beautiful inside.
I can offer you advice,
but I cannot accept it for you.
but I cannot accept it for you.
I can give you love,
but I cannot force it upon you.
I can teach you to share,but I cannot force it upon you.
but I cannot make you unselfish.
I can teach you respect,
but I cannot force you to show honor.
but I cannot force you to show honor.
I can advise you about friends,
but cannot choose them for you.
I can advise you about sex,
but I cannot keep you pure.
but I cannot keep you pure.
I can tell you about alcohol & drugs,
but I can’t say “No” for you.
but I can’t say “No” for you.
I can tell you about goals,
but I can’t achieve them for you.
but I can’t achieve them for you.
I can teach you about kindness,
but I can’t force you to be gracious
I can pray for you,but I can’t force you to be gracious
but I cannot make you walk with God.
I can tell you how to live,
but I cannot give you eternal life.
I can love you with unconditional love all of
my life… and I will,
but I cannot force you to love me the same
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
24
I am 24 years of age and i find myself questioning a lot of
things. I am definitely not where i want to be but I am making progress.
I am not where I used to be.
As I was walking to work, I found myself asking if I have learned anything in these two and a half decades I have been on this earth? Am I the wiser, now that I am older? They say wisdom comes with years. I do not know how true that is.I would think it comes more with experiences.Another saying, growing old is mandatory, growing up is optional.So,yes,it is the experiences that you face that give you wisdom once you have crossed them.
I shall not blow my own trumpet and say I am wiser than anyone.I do know that life has dealt me enough tough blows and now that the scars have healed, and some still healing, I can comfortably say I am the wiser about a number of things.Whether I actually put this found to good use is another question but nevertheless, I have it.
To share just but a few of the lessons I have drawn from my life:
As I was walking to work, I found myself asking if I have learned anything in these two and a half decades I have been on this earth? Am I the wiser, now that I am older? They say wisdom comes with years. I do not know how true that is.I would think it comes more with experiences.Another saying, growing old is mandatory, growing up is optional.So,yes,it is the experiences that you face that give you wisdom once you have crossed them.
I shall not blow my own trumpet and say I am wiser than anyone.I do know that life has dealt me enough tough blows and now that the scars have healed, and some still healing, I can comfortably say I am the wiser about a number of things.Whether I actually put this found to good use is another question but nevertheless, I have it.
To share just but a few of the lessons I have drawn from my life:
- It truly is never that serious.Life,follows the path you choose for it.You call the shots.
- Grudges are a waste of time.People are imperfect and thus they will disappoint you,so,lower your expectations of humans.Have it at the back of your mind that we all have a very large capacity to hurt each other and err.Once you know this,it will become easier to overlook a fault.
- Once bitten, twice shy. A very true proverb.Now,this does not mean you do not forgive,simply means,the next time you are in that are you were mugged,you tread a bit more carefully.
- Forgiveness is indeed a gift to self.Revenge never really achieves much.It never undoes what was done and neither does it make the pain go away.No one is worth the effort.
- Love is the greatest of them all.Love,love and love some more.It is easier to understand people when you love them.It does cover a multitude of sin.
- Learn the seasons of life.There are people who come to your life
for a season and a reason.You need to be careful not to hold on to
someone who’s season is over or let go of someone before their time.Of
course there are those who come into your life and they are meant to
stay forever
I guess that’s enough lessons for one day.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
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