*artwork- via miscellaneoushi.com
Tiny seed of longing
Was planted in me when I was two.
I’ve never been asked for a permission
But nevertheless
I’ve taken care of it relentlessly
Fostering it into monstrosity
Letting it
Weave its branches into every supple cell of mine
To keep me buried under
An unrestrainable jungle of thoughts
To sentence me to an infinite
Trial
*artwork- “wound” by pejac via artcollectorz.com
When I pick a scab,
Tiny echo of ache,
What do I wish to feel?
Quite simple.
To feel.
It’s yearning for yearning.
An infinite plowing through barren fields
Of terrain so hard and frozen.
Burnt.
Forsaken.
Orphaned.
No woman’s land.
My enslavement to pain
Never loosens its grip.
Devout hostage to sour lump in my throat, I am.
Won’t ever spit out
Won’t ever push in.
That’s right. For
Being tormented is of rarest value.
*artwork-via www.houzz.com
| he was the lamb wishing to be the shark, years of struggling, and he did get there, but i never came, trying to get rid of myself. given to the hands of curiosity with nothing to remember but this empty street and deserted man, it was easy. playing in the same team with my own nature, we spent meaningless hours sprinkled with random talking about books. suddenly, it occurred that he was so near, and for almost a year i felt these warm words followed by cold drops of closeness. twice i was a coward: being colorblind, i waited for so long to share, but he was the one who took my colors, giving none back. already colorless, i was fleeing and he let me taste this black and white soup, it tasted like happiness. into the wilderness, i got lost, and fell down ,slithered, for he was the snake. and he was the snail. and again i was sinking into the goo i wished to produce, even though on that moment he was sticky and sweet and melting like sugar. soon on a night of exhilaration i was the one to hold his hand on a way home, and we laughed. then he was beautiful, tearing my skirt he wore, so frozen and distant, i felt. so that i needed to escape into engineered world of scheduling and brushing the teeth after every meal, it couldn’t last. on the roof top we drank sour wine and spilled out well known secrets, he knew how to surprise my feet and tickle my heart. i wanted my heart un-ticklish, but it refused to obey, because he was so upright, and so small, and so much larger than i could ever imagine or bare, so i let go. just to see that he was a red head pirate, fighting his own demons, he could not fight those mine. on that moment he became roman, forever turning jerusalem into sanctuary. i got caught up and it all turned into a big mash with a guitar music dressing. i needed to breath, so now he was showing me his paintings and i was breath(ing)less again. that’s why he was young and his hair was big, he played saxophone during nights and i was smiling. wearing beautiful dress, and smelling like me and like everyone, i was talking to him in the dark, and my lips were touching his skin. i was hiding in holy jerusalem, when he came again, and took me into his pre-planned world of tomorrow, we never celebrated the moment. so i ran away, and then he was worshiping Buddha and climbed mountains, while i was sad. so he came straight from his own reality holding that mirror. he wanted to pull me in, i preferred to fade away. into what used to be sacred jerusalem, but only closer to the polluted sea. all of a sudden, i was near holy heights again: he was another lamb, hiding in god’s lion skin, digging out secrets buried in earth, so delicate and warm, he was, i thought i can breath for real, but i was suffocating until i managed to leave. for long nights i waited for the moment when i could go back dancing on my own, and barefoot bear put me under the spotlight and into the game. satan was lurking just around the corner, making illusive southern desert look like luxurious oasis, it hurt deliciously. so i chose to try out north, the heat was strikingly immense, but little black eyed demon was as cold as marble. |
*artwork-“le regret” by charbel samuel aoun
| another kind eyes decorated with a smile to celebrate all the good things that are out there, made all the bad things that are in me rise. shamelessly. enclosed in my own self i laugh out loudly waking up all the demons, and scaring off all the angels, who guard no more. i laugh out loudly, watching loads of instances of choices that were never made dancing, swirling with the dust of chances that were never taken. |
*artwork- “impostor” by leslie ann o’dell via leslieannodell.com
being displeased
tiny bug bites within
feeds on disappointment
eats frozen invoiced words
wormish sleeky tales
of illusions that won’t ever bring light
unfriendly friends
sly enemies
hello, i say
when they come so close
i can touch with my bare hands
feel through steely hearts
look into their eyes
inhale their lies
this stream of hollow promises
destined to die quietly
but my stomach
holds hope, in the farthest rooms
of the reddish matter
that’s called intestines
i like to show it off
and to pretend
being the fair one.
*artwork- “relativity ” by m.c. escher via blogs.cornell.edu
| i did forget. beloved Cortazar, how funny does it work. three lines by genius and it became so vivid…that chilly summer night in holy city. i wear long brown dress so dark and infinite to match the mood we share we slowly walk, with nothing more to say so miserably lost two accidental strangers then the shelter of a bar, protecting sounds of jazz i hide my tears in smile you are unmercifully distant i sipped the shame. and swallowed. and now, forever since, how powerful it seems. now. |
*artwork- view of the exhibition “Powerless Structures” at Tel Aviv Museum of Art
| what was i when was i one of these …imprisoned on white islands of metal solitude on each – imperfect youth so early broken, nearly left in it together so painfully alone. perverted arc,
|
*artwork- “anguish” by darren johnson via saatchiart.com
| between third cup of coffee and unimaginary anguish i try to escape from my own prison words echoing in my room said and unsaid as i walk around, lost in my own fortress not recognizing this space, i am a stranger to my own thoughts, so familiar, so i pushed out and away, me or you, ————————————- ————————————- |
*artwork- “red couple dance” by naxart studio via fineartamerica.com
| still. walled in comforting fears my fruitful quest for rejection won’t stop. i’d not give up on you so sweet, slap after slap every word tastes like leather belt on my skin leaving red marks that i collect and keep carefully cataloged and maintain them thoroughly. we move, altering egos of cowardice. my faceless men your nameless women, an endless fuel for our dance of hurt and solace. |
*artwork- drawing by kosta gurgov
| deputed beggar spotless junky getting no share. i am gone. hungered by anger that’s who i am Greek tragedy… |
on my way up 