The Hiatus

In danger, the holothurian splits itself in two:
it offers one self to be devoured by the world
and, in its second self, escapes.

Violently it divides itself into a doom and a salvation,
into a penalty and a recompense,
into what was and what will be.

In the middle of the holothurian’s body a chasm opens
and its edges immediately become alien to each other.

On the one edge, death, on the other, life.
Here despair, there hope.

If there is a balance, the scales do not move.
If there is justice, here it is.

To die as much as necessary, without overstepping the bounds.
To grow again from a salvaged remnant.

We, too, know how to split ourselves
but only into the flesh and a broken whisper.
Into the flesh and poetry.

On one side the throat, on the other, laughter,
slight, quickly dying down.

Here a heavy heart, there non omnis moriar,
Three little words, like three little plumes of light.

We are not cut in two by a chasm.
A chasm surrounds us.

- Wislawa Szymborska

Raining with endless gems,
The creature lives to ignore
The senseless that it abhors
To throw sunshine back and forth.

But time and time again,
It shrinks to see itself.
And all the same depress its livid mind
Into the endless pit of its chest.

For creatures are messy things.
And things are endless void.
And creatures fruiting other creatures,
Is senseless death and birth.

To live by and by with this,
Is why they were born.
So, day and day with this,
The creature goes on and on.

But you are the moon,
That shines with endless beauty.
Unquestionable, unfathomable,
On top of everything else.

And you are the stars,
That live with pointed shapes.
Hurting the imagination.
Living and dying beyond reach.

And then there was me,
An abomination of the creature.
Birthed by your silken skin,
Killed by your apathy!

Can you look at the Sun
Using your mere eyes?
And keep at it till it hides
Under the horizon.
Only to close your eyes
When the moon comes out.
And imagine that one little star
That sums everything you desire.

And you shall live
The rest of your days,
With this same scene
Playing over and over.
And still find that
You are able to smile
And live and be merry.

For indeed, you have killed
All signs of anticipation;
Colored every tinge of red
With black and white.
And sprayed deodorant
Through the lingering
Fragrances of her breath
That inhales and exhales
Not for you…

We while away
The days apart
Into lives
Of flowers
And stones.
Yet we somehow die
Sooner than
When we realize
That life
Is nothing
More than
Flowers and stones.

How can you chase that star
That shines above your head even at day,
When you know that the skies
Will never admit those who cannot fly?

And even when you grow feathers
And wings and eventually soar,
You see that her light
Exists only in your eyes.

Wake up!
You sleeper and dreamer.
Didn’t you hear?
That the world had this figured out.

Wake up!
A star is no one’s light.
For it shines as ever as bright,
Even without your sight…

You say that we do not come for you
As swiftly as your flowers bloom.
That when we come at all,
You’ve long since thrown the flowers away.

We say that we do not love
This thing that you call love.
And that those that give you splendor
And all things that are pleasant,
Torments us from birth to eternity and back.
And that which you throw away,
We keep even when withered and old.

For you, love is life
While for us, it is death.
For when love knocks on your door
You gain the world
While we lose it.
And that everything
We have earned for a lifetime,
Even that which you despise,
We lose, when we see
The world in your eyes.

Yes, we suffer when we love.
We lose sight of the colors
Of the grass.
We lose love for the sweet smells
Of that which is none of you.
We die a silent death
That we hide behind our wrinkles.
We die to wait until you return.
Until you come and claim us
From our misery.

For indeed we were born for you!

Stand still.
Let me smudge blood to your cheek,
To liven up that pallid complexion
And give you a little of my smell.

Stand still.
Let my fingers stroke your silken hair
And decorate them with my fingers.
Let them be left with your smell.

Stand still.
Love my hands as they crawl through your neck,
To grasp your head closer to mine.
Let me smell your soul.

Stand still.
And welcome the breath of my nose.
As you welcome my soul, numb your brain,
Let your blood rush to your eyes.

Stand still.
As we kiss our way amidst the world.
Amidst the flow of the rivers.
Amidst the roaring thunders.
And the angry tempest of the evening rain.

Poetry is a shelter;
A sanctuary.
Where mesmerizing
Reflections
Of the Sun dwell –
Dancing
With caustics
To put life
To the darkness
Of the soul.

How do you find meaning?
Alone, walking the night;
Smiling, laughing, suffering,
Seeing none but moonlight:
Amidst this lonesome grave
Where all them, powerless, lie,
You run and wish to save
Your birth, before you die.

Hence, you stop breathing;
So that you do not smell
Those hearts that are rotting,
Encased by your hated shell.

Hence, you halt hearing;
And scream until you bleed
And all the same cursing,
Cursing this pain’s seed.

Hence, you pretend to not see
And look past their shallow eyes.
Talking with the casuals that be,
While deep inside it cries.

I thought I was innocent,
But I’m being punished.
I didn’t start this,
But I have to finish it somehow.
I can’t say I didn’t know about it,
But I don’t remember taking part in it.
I get the feeling my freedom cost me dearly,
But I don’t remember selling my soul cheaply.

Hey, hey!
Until I die and say goodbye…
Hey, hey!
…no one will ever catch me.

You probably don’t know the eternal outlaws
Who wander the distant night.