Taste of Sunlight

Image by Riccardo Mion on unsplash


My bed is in the corner
Of an empty room
The irony is self imposed
But not without reason
I have heard that darkness
Gathers more in the deep
And perhaps it shall help me sleep
Faster than dying by lying wide awake
Counting seconds, falling and rising
With time’s unreceding tide.

The curtain hanging by my bedside
Often flutters in the night
And it’s breath though purposeless
Fills me with envy
By it’s act of pure motion
Sans a shred of emotion
How can I be more than me
When everything I seek I deny to see?

Dreams; they die, my own are no exception
Even when I have them
Caged behind a glass case
Cuddled in red velvet
Caressed by Mozart’s Sonatas
The flowers shall wilt, roots die and fruits decay
Nature by nature of unrequitance
Shall swallow none but one’s own
For birds do not nest on trees unsown
And those that I watch from the moonlit window
They shimmer and shine
Like gold and wine
Broken; yes and crooked and white
But they know unlike me the taste of sunlight.

The Half Past

It was half past ten
In the broken clock
Light flooded from the bathroom
Vintage; as if streaming from another time;
A past not yet undone by dialysis,
I laid ankle deep in silk
The shawl around my neck and feet
Splitting me in two tragedies;
Naked and none, while
The feathers of my pillow whispered in their broken flight: “Do not close your eyes or all that you fear shall come alive”
There was something in those words
That left me speechless
And so I slept
Wide awake
Breathing only for breathing’s sake.

The Pulse of A Petal

I dissolve in the potpourri
A green leaf amidst dead petal
Lost men flock the streetcar
And only I fight for the aisle
Knowing far too well that the bespectacled windows
Shall turn some blind in a while
For the tapestry towns
Stitched with dancing lights
Is not for them to claim
Who lick the darkness between two tungsten tongues
And know no aftertaste to blame
But the raindrop feet on cobbled streets
Paper skin behind display glass
Torn faces through the Venetian Blinds
A world watered in a vase
Are all akin
To a bargained win
For those with mundane affair
Of humble hands with seawater veins
Wading waves of deep despair
But I of charlatan choice
Of parched lips moisturised with the mud
I know far too well of flowerpots
And the fate of dreaming bud
So I dissolve in the potpourri
A green leaf amidst dead petal
Growing gardens beneath empty graves
Waiting for the dust to settle