I am just realizing that I’ve had a hole in my heart for a very long time. It didn’t fill up with the time that has passed, like I had thought earlier it would, and now i know it never will until I fill it myself. Stuff it with all the discarded waste in the world, from sawdust, rusk, vegetable peels, wasted bones from the butcher’s shop, dead bodies from wars, and all this will never have made any sense to me, how i’ll know, it will never be enough, and I will need to always press in more and more, if need be, barbarically jump on the filling and jump until everything is well in place until there is no more place for anymore stuffing, then pour cement over it. This hole i speak of, angry and obstinate, hungers for more, eats everything thrown in it, like a drainage basin, always empty. Sub holes, now, that i need to worry about. But can I? Don’t i already know where the holes all lead to? I need to die. Then the sea will finally fall quiet. And the howling beasts’ cries will begin to fade….
Resting on his shoulder, listening to the sound of our strange hearts beating softly, I exhaled my worries out for the last time. I tried to recall the words he’d spoken before and a few other things, but eventually I found that I couldn’t keep up with the side of me that was insulting me with the humongous issues that I’d so violated by thus lying there with him like that. I was aware, wholly aware of all of them, and yet there was no guilt.
I looked at his sleeping face, feeling his strange breath on my mouth. Only now I was finally getting to understand how very different we were physically. He’d warned me about it many times and yet neither of us seemed to have paid any heed to it. Our closeness now attested to the choice that we’d both made, a decision that we were meant for each other and neither of us would have it in any other way. I knew the future of this would be a difficult one, but we would have each other to take care of together. One last breath and I would wake him up and we’d pick up on what we’d left off before, and that I was sure of.
He would kill me. I knew it, that very first time I laid my eyes on him. I also knew I wanted him to. If I can’t have him, I’d rather be his memory, a delicious thought, a fantasy he would live with forever. But now I have him and he has me. It wasn’t just any situation, it was a simple, satisfying love that brought us together, in a way that I knew there was no other I would rather be happy with, than with him, in this way.
He was once my best friend, and I loved him then. I love him now, in a different way, which is all the same. Falling for him had always been easy. It could be explained to be as simple as a child’s stubbornness of not parting with her favorite toy even though it’s broken. She keeps trying to fix it, often failing, never caring that it doesn’t quite work in the same way. She just learns to love it in her own new ways, and it doesn’t matter to her – because for her, it never broke. She loves it, she’ll love it.
It was the same with Dusk. His internal world was just as complicated as mine, and maybe that’s why it makes it all too easy to just love him. He isn’t my prize, I didn’t win him. Again it was just love, the plain old kind that brought us together. Watching him sleep now, I can’t help letting go of any remnant guilt, and just breathe, and feel like suddenly we were just two kids finally happy of having won their prize.
The lotus cloud soars overhead,
Sailing across as if the sky was but a foaming sea.
Then follows the great dragon, flapping its brazen wings
Its talons reach to snatch the lotus flower.
Breathing out its nostrils full of flame.
There’s a battle going up there. Of chaos with peace.
Of the beast that tramples innocence.
How many battles must have been fought thus?
What of victors, what of who’s been paying for it,
No answers, my mind is already somewhere else.
So, the thing about curses is,
When they are cursed, they learn to love
They all love out of suffering their eternities –
Merely out of desperation,
Of having known misery.
Living with cursed people offers you the bliss of being surrounded by the grace of good hope.
I know you, you’re my mirror self,
My soulmate. I have not given up loving you.
You know it too. Maybe not yet.
You’re arrogant not to admit it thinking of me just yet.
Years will have passed, you will have returned home streets.
With your fancy dollars and shiny tipped American boots
You’ll think of what happened to that sad little girl who thought, “she loves me!”
“Is she so even now?” you’ll wonder sarcastically.
Last month her new bestseller was criticized about being too vulgar? Not too hopeful.
You’ll decide, you’ll have to remember to meet some very old school-times friends,
And remember to drop in a line in between some fancy quote,
“You know the author, was she that vulgar back, you know, at school?”
Then add a little modestly, “You’ll all will know better…classmates after all.”
“Classmates hardly. She was this sad little kid trying to pretend of being brave,”
She sneezes into her napkin. Then nods curtly. Gracious.
Your buddy tugs at your arm. He means, you’ve got to nod too.
She’s his old school darling, and you nod, remembering.
Your beer is slowly warming up. You rarely do beer anymore.
But these old school reunions, so irresistible, drinking beer isn’t silly looking anymore…
You remember the conversation going on. You ask her, “You mean she isn’t brave?”
“She is now.” Big eyes. “Oh well, she changed. About after the time we all left school.”
Oh, her friend said. She brightens up. “She wrote me down on her list of acknowledgements.”
“Well, there are a lot of rumors.” You clear your throat.
“Being a woman and writer at the same time doesn’t mean she’s a lesbian, alright!”
“Oh oh! Defensive!” This was a three way argument. You spectate.
“Well, I remember she was friends with you for a while, isn’t that so?”
Sharp cuts on your memory, refreshing the old wound.
“I don’t remember her very well. Barely used to talk, you know…” Your neck arches.
“Hmm, maybe.” She sniffles her nose. “Maybe.”
“But she wasn’t a bad person. Maybe, just unheard.”
“That’s an understatement. I think she was just stupid.”
You gull down your thought, yeah she was, she trusted people blindly.
I know you’ll want to know it more now than ever. If “she really did love me?”
You’re my shadow self. You’ll rise to find what happened to her. That girl.
That insolent little girl who promised so strongly of being different from the others,
Ending up doing the very same things. You were frustrated and gave up on her.
Now you feel bad. You weren’t any bit generous with her either.
For causes which are null and void in your head atop.
The night you drive by your old house one last time,
You pass by the spot you had come forward to drop her by.
The sun was in your eyes, you didn’t want to go further.
She’d turned back to look you in your eye, asking you to come further. You chose not to.
She kept going on. She was silent and shaken, like a whimpering poisoned lamb.
It had been the final straw, but you never knew. She gave up believing that she can love.
You want to stay now, find her and ask. But she is the hardest thing to find. Everyone tries so.
Rumors also say that she lives at some hermitage, and some say in disguise.
So many of these you don’t know what to believe. You may never find her.
But you won’t forget her even. She will be this question in your head.
Despair not, you’ll meet her again in your next life,
You’re soulmates. You are meant to meet eventually anyway.
You’ll wonder “If she really, really did love me, she should have told me so!”
But did you ever question, from what little you know of her, do you think she knew it
Well enough to know what she doesn’t want to covet something because she likes it?
Weren’t you making yourself look too good to be out of her league and all?
You knew she was buying it all. And yet you sold her some more.
You called her paranoid. You called her schizoid to live in detachment from civilization.
You pushed her away and yet she was so loyal, so nice all the time, wasn’t she?
Oh, you thought it was all just a show for you, didn’t you?
You thought she was just another bigtime girls convent bitch!
You walk up the hill, she used to talk so much about before,
Jokes about going jogging around the peripheries, in new Reeboks.
Oh, those exaggerations of hers, and she thought anyone would buy it.
You catch a little boy whistling a very old song somehow still familiar.
The author asked you to listen to it, once ages ago,
And the ghost of the song stayed stuck.
The servant boy was going shopping for his owners.
The list showed a packet of Gold Flake lites.
You had to ask now. And yeah, here lives the author. No coincidence.
You let the boy pass. You stand at the door. And wait.
You are my shadow-self. You won’t wait long.
In my case, I wouldn’t have.
I’d probably just walk away.
Knowing we have eternity together.
the universe broadens under the web of strain
the string, destiny draws through its dark heart
that maze, running through our very existence,
forever the enigma no human will ever understand–
in their mortal lifespans, is what the soul does.
it’s just as if the souls were but giant poppy plants,
they grow leaves they shed upon autumn
the bodies that rot and grow in the cycle of eternity.
foolish men. stop asking the world your questions
your rusty skin will wither and crumble one day.
ask your self, your soul and listen, you’ve been alive,
all this time.