Scarlet

A self-editing mechanism, mutually shredding a guitar

The blues of it, the itch, the ache in running sandpaper through infant skin

The different ways I come back to you, the same way you receive me

Too many humans, their vagueness a stream you drink from, time and again

The embezzler in you they think is rogue; you qualify as honest

What is dishonesty but honesty to few?

What is honesty but diplomacy to the masses?

I changed the day you looked at me odd when I picked the cherry with the longest stem

You thought it was a no-brainer I did so for the knot, just a tease, but I didn’t

At the time, the only thing with a knot was my tongue, yet, I wasn’t tongue-tied

Let me walk you through the irony of it…see…the deeper the roots of the stem, the kinder the juice to spill when you pull it out

‘cherries belong to the rose family’

The big five

The most economic, yet the deadliest

If you can’t kill the culprit, at least get your hands on his partner in crime

The brighter scarlet, the sour in tasteless sweet

An old encyclopedia you just dusted off, and put back on the shelf

After all, wasn’t there a dead rose in it? Ah, but its fragrance remains…

 

As the smoke lingers

In and out, of rehab

I mean, most of the time, no one quite speaks literally.

They don’t know, they can only assume

of what it takes to shatter a soul.

What robs you of your sleep, probably, maybe, most definitely, what do I know?

Fragmented  little puzzles, crossroads of the mind.

This piano, these hands, this rusty ol’ surface.

The out of tune, the mystery yet to swoon.

You can’t mold me, this telltale realm of space, my voice metamorphosed.

The margins within are so narrow, the wisdom of things scarce.

The fear of your own oblivion, you say you wait for nothing

but the gutless in you knows, that’s what you have been surrounded with

and so the familiar comforts in its veil.

This overflow of the conventional, makes me yearn for masks

aesthetically unacceptable, it amuses me.

The joyous music, the bitter tongue.

But then again, tenderness outburst,

defies brutal rage, beauty repelled at those that sought it only with their eyes.

You stare long enough at the gush, static motion

of paralyzing waves; this sonic rumble, and you understand.

The stronger they rush, the slower they recede

The dominance in the force, a halt in the hearts

In the eternity of a second, stretchered far too long, far too far.

The man in the sky

Your shape becomes transparent

Hands that spoke for you,

Now linger in this demise

Leave no clue, maybe tomorrow

Hope is one filthy bastard, isn’t it?

Maybe the day after, maybe never

You are bartered, material for sentiment

Word for word. You are not ready

My trademark is the wind. What’s yours?

Kind of like, a crying violin

The man in the sky takes credit for

Borrowings, these. Carefully spilling unto your sponge-like swaying

Until the dust settles

Faceless without gesture

Emotionless with a name, a persona

Clapping hands, overlapping the pull in the air

A mind violating the grayness of colour

Whispering to them that we’re all the same

Spread out wings now delay flight

Disorganized systems cannot disorganize souls

What’s scattered finds pieces drifting with the whole

A mouth pierced in all the wrong places

A head gear, defending camouflage for all the right graces

Until the dust settles

We will miss and keep missing the starting gun

 You have rent overdue, and want to walk on the moon

If only, forgetfulness hadn’t derived from memory

A reality hidden in your self-portrait

Now materialized your hidden fantasies

A picture to show them you were someone

A word to tell them you could speak…

Guilty conscience

At your doorstep there’s a mat
I wipe my muddy shoes with
If there was ever gum that stuck
I would smile at the nylon and you would call me delusional

It’s like zebras hugging each other
With the intention of blending in
To their stripes
Only to find
That to each its own

However obvious it may sound
Hazel is neither gold, and wise, nor green and new
It’s nature feeling unapologetic for, experimenting with power and its genes.

How iconic is a knife to the hands that slay
Existing in between excuses for the slain
Dreams given and killed by the same hands
Enslaved in this pursuit for freedom, ‘Dulce et Decorum est’

But like a lie, within a lie, within another lie
Trust built on brick and not foundation, was sold
Bargained for a clean soul, caged in for another smudge to rub
That only grew bigger with each flip of a page, a guilty conscience needing no accuser.

Struggle and division

It’s not that complicated really, nerves wrecking the signals sent
to the intellectual, the emotional, the moral or spiritual
What else would we have been capable of?
We already proved everyone wrong.

Killed. Saved. Killed, saved
Killed to save. Saved to kill
Tried both
The weak pretended to be strong,
this threatened their plan B.

“Be realistic, not sorry.”
No one feels your apologies as much as you
Much less the struggle to present some eulogy
Who wasn’t meant for the deceased but the spectators
Who kind of just went along, nodding at the host.

‌‌‌Two kinds of divisions actually multiply us more
Mere numbers, and scattered letters trying to make sense
The latter cannot conform without the former
Like the lazy protagonist who still made it big
Only because he measured the number of his ideal to the detail of his being
Combined and sealed them both together, rather than waiting to find his work’s meaning.

Pigments on skin

The pigments on our skin

Get to a point where

They absorb more than they let out

And this clogs our walls of exposure

This feeling of emptiness we try to fill

With disappointments we think we’ll turn around

And passive aggressively walk our storm

From the ones we use but love

And hate

This is a mirage

This reflection

It’s like a soul staring at its trapped being

How could you stare for hours contemplating your molded features?

Like tucking a kite to a chair and rocking it with inertia

Lately it’s been hard to reach

Consciousness

For it finds ways to hide

That too, professionally

It crawls onto corners we don’t want to visit

And so we don’t

And so it shrinks

To the point where it takes over its own demise

And leaves us vulnerable

Our own mind leaves us vulnerable

Our own thoughts want to flee

Stars turn to butter and slide down from their fixes

If they don’t belong in the blackness of the night

I wonder what does

Sooner or later

The moon will howl at wolves and tell them it’s all in vain

It’s like a splendid breaking of the dawn

Has anyone ever noticed

The rays of gold, and yet not so gold, that mark the mist?

How clouds welcome smoke, how fog greets the dust

How birds, raging with bitter truths, pause for a minute

Wanting to reach the sun,

Till they are reminded that flight doesn’t last

For as long as

Memories do

For the eyes see past the superficial

Let the blacksmith do what it was born for

Will ones intentions define what it sets out to be?

Balancing scales, by canceling either
Bliss triggering sin

Leaving its iron wrought

Wishing it were wood, with hopes

Of metamorphosing to the extremes of

Forgetting what it was

Before it was cut

Behind the bushes, where squirrels hide

Are peanuts falling from nowhere

That’s us behind castles

Trying to mend another brick on the wall

I don’t remember the last time

An atlas misguided a tourist on his quest

Then why does my radar’s needle

Point me to my escapes?

This heart, an unkind beast

Picking up the pieces

Yet, leaving your belongings

A beggar offering hand-stitched love

Like a mannequin pulling the threads itself

For a show

To his master

‘Keep thy word sworn to thyself’

For one broken rule, breaks them all

Purpose lost, is purpose found

We cut ourselves to make paper, it burns its ashes away

To lose trace of its worth

The ceiling closes in on me

As if I were trapped inside a jewel

And its mesmerizing reflection

Was that of my illusions

Bouncing on all fours

Explosions calmed

The more frayed, the more it shone

Till it blinded those getting close

Bewitching the ones that didn’t know

That

Not all that glitters is gold

Only I,

Can make it rain in my own drought

Alone

Not lonesome

Lonely

Or lone

Medieval era again

And the dragon slays its throat

For envisioning the future we would live in

The phoenix

Does not rise from the ashes it sprung onto

Instead

It decided to conquer the skies

With the good it shouldn’t have battled

Dreams spoke to their roots

And traded lives with fireworks

Up the horizon

At least they

Burnt down to their own reality

We had no reality to die for

Live for

Wish for

Or regret

The island for the forgotten

Contains all the thoughts suppressed

These are the inexplicable

Long silences

Even longer sighs

That revive with the rest

Where all the dust we blew, or wiped clean

Where all the laughs we shared, in our heads

Where all the burdens that were deaf, with all the feelings that couldn’t feel themselves

That’s why

The iris sharpens

When it sees it’s pray

Or why goosebumps, let us know

Of the callings of the instincts

To the seasons that promised wouldn’t change

You can emancipate yourself from dependency,

This way, be a tree without a seed

You wouldn’t have to blame

Naive seedlings

For investing in crops without a harvest

Of all the universe folded within your eyes

Or the one you create with graphite

To meet flesh with outlines

And color the sunset with your blood

Lead for me a path

With no return

The one I’m walking

Is making a fool out of me

For driving in circles

Through a squared entrance

Whoever invented time

Must’ve been real sick

Of not knowing

When to walk up, or when to walk away.

We are but empty bottles rattling with

Water

Begging

For a sip

Of the ocean

We neglected

When we were full

Peacocks lose their feathers

Their most important invasion of privacy

By ostriches

Digging their heads underground

And finding the secret music

To which these hypnotizing agents

Danced to, creating magnetic waves

That attracted

Both the poles

To whatever may

Without escape

Simple

Unapologetic

And yet

You want to keep parts of yourself

Like holding on to hot coal

And being happy

With burnt tattoos

That you give meaning to

Because you hate gaps

You want to know

Which degree required the lasting effect

Of your works

The smoke we filled our lungs with

Let us live

It thought

‘Why destroy someone, busy destroying itself’?

Such were loaded guns mistaken for words

From a tongue that spoke with lisps

Till it outgrew

Its silence

Such were the fates of men

Horses tied up

Picking dogs instead

Swords latched onto boats

Using arches instead

Risking the two steps

That ceased to let you think

Of more than

Eyes that saw the corners of your soul

And so my pockets, drew some holes
Accumulated coins, now kissed the floor

Because the burden of all I’ve wrecked

Now wanted to wreck me

Useless verbiage

And qualified vocabulary

Couldn’t mold my sapphire

Into silver

Now could it?

I painted my fingers white

And my eyes yellow

I rub them against nights

so they shine beams

of the alright

and show me the way

I cut my hair four inches short

So it didn’t get in the way

Of winds stroking my face

With clarity

So it didn’t disturb

The peace I felt

When I recognized something real

Can you invent a syndrome

Of the chronically ill with disgust?

Caverning in caves

One for each

So that solitude

Reminds the sick

Of what they missed about the depths of their selves

‌‌

Why are people so afraid of imprisonment

When they have created far more within their heads?

Too little too late

For realizations my friend

Spinning in the tornado

Looked like it knew what it was doing

Better to burn out that fade away

How low?

I just threw away the memories

Flushed ‘em down the drain

In two seconds

What a relief

No wonder waterfalls never stopped flowing

Nothing and no one is worth pausing life for

But hey,

What if it did?

What would you do with a stuck waterfall behind your shoulders, anyway?

Would you flatten the land so it flows ahead, instead of below

See the irony?

Let it die