A woman's point of view

I told you every pain I have
And yet I felt no better,
For every pain you heard has
hurt
And then you hurt me back
tenfold.

I looked for comfort in your arms
Yet all I felt was arms of steel
and I don't mean strong;
Free flowing through your veins
was not
Warm loving that I craved.

Infused with love were not
And empty your embraces were
instead.

My lips that yearned for kisses
Uttered a thousand hurtful words
To season our meeting
Of the minds
with spiteful fiery passion
Of the unpleasant kind.

For if our lonely hearts across
from one another
Were to sit,
And if they were to meet,
Oh but then for me to write of all
such things
Would there be little or no need.

Help coming our way

Sometimes help coming our way
Is not meant to be supportive
But to cut through all the layers
Of personas and game-players,
Like a lover's heavy truth
Reaching home inside of you,
Making ocean's ripples smooth
To better reflect the sky
And a human's inner eye.

Sometimes that help
Comes disguised,
As a Satan or a Christ,
As a shadow or a dove
Or a blunder made on purpose.

Sometimes help
Comes as a weed
In rich soil planted deep.
Tread around it
with great care
As it makes you more aware.

The longer path

 

For me I heard

The longer path

might heal the wounds

No shortcut ever could.

I breathe and break

But this time not my spirit.

And inch by inch approach—

I breach the walls

To hold a torch

And bring some light

Inside,

To clear the inner plight.

I break the walls

To try and get outside

A soul too scared to speak

Too scared to walk

for it might trip

Over the giant leap

It took.

Expanding the narrow

 And the minute I stood still,

I heard voices from within,

In the silence they start talking

No words though, but only echoes.

The same minute I stood still

I saw paintings from within

In the silence they take shape

Depicting decluttered landscape.

A minute more and I could smell

The ripened coffee beans

Of a plantation far away

Of soil warm as well as brown

Transformed, and roasted, liquefied

And poured into my ancient cuppa,

coffee induced, the gutsy sparkle.

Now I’m right here in my body

Cosy and warm

Rooted and heavy

Living my life

Within my home

Within.

Hearing my breath

Breathing itself all the way down

to my bones,

all the way down,

to my pelvis

So that, revived, to spread myself

and stretch my inner limbs,

Expand in all the once unaired crannies

of whatever I am made of.

Go on, my heart

Sometimes little or no reason
Do I need igniting fires
And unleashing them on you
And You
And really any stranger
Whose karma crosses paths
with mine
In need of burning.

And it's the pain of thinking
Way too much
Of aging and of dying
And all the things Absurd
And frightening alone.
A subject much too vast
Which too much space is taking
Inhabiting my heart.

My poor heart.
This tenant of my body
And house to all my feelings
Has not a single Thought.
It lives. And lives. And soars
And then One day
Exists no more.
It beats no longer in my
body
But in the vastness of the
sky
Celestially preoccupied.

No more it beats
Or is contained,
constricted, soft or tender
Or hardened by my slow
unfolding burdens
of the past.

It makes you think, you know.
But now I'd rather feel,
Not missing any beat.
Go on, my heart.
You steal the show.

A laughter such as this

A laughter such as this,
Such as the one I hear and see
to look in that direction,
Would steal a smile off any other face,
Mine included.
A laughter such as this
Is inherent to the human nature,
Inherent to my nature!
Oh! I so crave a laughter such as this!
Much like an indication
Of the blissful happiness of a
carefree spirit.
It lies dormant,
Yet in its potentiality
I can manifest it at any time.
I only need create the space,
So that a laughter such as this
Does not pass me by once more.
Oh, it did for way too long!

Locked up

I wonder what you feel
When you avoid the present
To live in some
unbeknownst future.
I wonder how it feels
To avoid what you would feel like
otherwise,
What you would feel in the Now.

Is it anxiety? Or fear? Love?
Vulnerability?
Where have they all gone
To make room for your
fantasy of the future,
In which hidden corner of your
worried mind
Have you hidden such great treasure?

We make friends with our enemies,
Or so we secretly wish,
For we look up to them.
Or so we think.
And we keep our unwanted feelings locked away,
while developing no real predisposition towards
them.
Ay, how lonely might they feel!
Perhaps if we understood the loneliness
We would be more prone
to befriend ourselves...