Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Like Certainly

There are sounds of whose existence
I am certain.
Like I am sure that a rose is red,
and its light goes cleanly and meets
the waiting consciousness,
bathing it in ignorant bliss.

There are other sounds
which are only too present
which are hard and heavy as steel.
These press me and move me,
and cause me to limit my day.

And some aspirations are imaginary.
They never leave their home,
And stay and play,
And limit their day.

And some are sounds.
We hear these, from bees
These are music,

Monday, April 25, 2011

At the end of the day, I check what people have taken from me. How they saw my giving, how they must have felt. I hope with a keen conscience that they did not laugh. They could have laughed at how I am silly, at how I am absurd, clumsy. I hope they understand, sometimes I wish I could explain. But that’s how sadly the day ends, I do not want to sleep. I am afraid of sleeping before I can go back and correct it. But I give up easily, I accept loss forever. I hope again, I age and I change. Maybe I am not doing it right? Nobody even comes and tells me straight. I feel these heavy burdens on myself. But I want to carry on, because I am curious. I might be right, it could be that I get back what I have lost.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

On the deathbed I sleep.
I am happy sometimes, and I sit upright.
I face the light.
But then I flinch, I bow, I scream in pain.
I forget what was before, and I scramble.
I fall down on my bed, and I sleep.
I enter dreams, and in dreams I hear music.
Dreams are made of music.
And then I wake up in the dark.
I scramble for light.