Plunged into the blue waters, where we’re unburdened by the gravity of our landward lives. We are weightless and free all the children of the sea. Loaded with pockets of air the barrel of my head forgot how to breathe; I sink to atmospheric tides that serve me with fresh shots of oxygen. The gas trapped on land got too stale for me to breathe. Slowly I pass through the threshold of 15 metres under the Dibba Rock and my air-sick ears didn’t take long to adjust. I stay naturally buoyant suspended between this world and mine, I breathe life between the ocean bed and surface line. Here is the kind of place where I could put down my roots, live out an idyllic being, imagining my life in a coral townhouse. But for me to stay, would be severely fatal. I’m just a visitor and my visa is about to expire, I look back one more time as my head breaks out to the surface and the sun stings. I blinked.
Running my fingers through your mane, for once you felt someone really call your name. Time decays the years in passing, And although your body fades, his soul still fights on; And that’s what sparkles in eyes like these. Glowing with brilliance earned over many years; piercing deep he had the power to speak, a language I hadn’t known. His eyes were like coffee-coloured almonds dipped in honey; he saw a world through eyes like these, ain’t that funny?
In a lucid dream it stayed entrapped,
Selling dreams on a string my mind unmapped.
Bring me your dreams and the powers it renders to be true,
Hang me by your bedpost and every web within me will catch you.
A circlet ornately adorned, trailing feathers billowing light;
this dream catcher put my nightmares up to a fight.
Awakened am I as the nightmare roared,
I didn’t even have a chance to use my sword.
Enough! You no longer visit my dreams,
Finally a dream catcher that’s on my team!
You are the morning sun and I’m the afternoon my love, and the twix between burns our saddle. When the clock strikes twelve, we meet my love. Your eyes and mine shall meet within that same hour. Aren’t we a twisted mix? A look of fear as this love twists us tighter, a thousand cuts we bare tortured by the girl in the golden cover. The edges of this world rolls right off our lips, begging us to jump off from higher cliffs. The chaos in my head is never calm enough and my demons whisper: “Now! Ready, set, jump…”
He left her hanging, so she hung herself on every word he had said. Her mind had been compromised and she couldn’t form sentences in all the jumbled up mess; of the broken words that fell out in the sun with meaning far less. She broke her nail trying to untie the rope, her face displayed what it was to lose all hope. Swallowed some pills and let the night take her out, no one could tell what ’twas all about. A different colour for everyday she bled, crying through florescent lights with signs of dusky red. She could have been a constellation, but left a tangled mess of veins as her consolation. Her fallen grace had nothing lacking, she hung her sins out to dry maybe laughing. On gusty days when sheets are snapping, the clothes line did a harmony of cracking. One stubborn clothes peg stood triumphant on the line as the last sock flies away sublime.
What would happen if you took two galaxies and mixed them together?
Two galaxies merging and creating a partially blended mix of stars from each galaxy in the process. How stellar is that? It takes a million years for it to happen though.
When you look up at the sky at night, don’t you wonder if love uses the same logic that we named blunder. Stellar things take a million years and he waited for her for two! He wrote an entire book about falling in love with distant constellations and about how he would start with her all his conversations. Mocking his belief for the luminous dust, his heart was blamed for being silly about falling in love with a form of rust. All his writings had one thing in common. They were sad, but not in a way that will make your heart weep; it made you think what’s wrong with this guy, what does he grieve? The greatest tragedy of his love was that it held him to a ransom, for someone who wouldn’t save him even at random. Knowing this broke his heart, one thousand thousand chips more than the bursts of the galaxies in parts. And he used every shard he had to rip open anyone who tried to love him again. That’s the trouble with the ‘Big Bang’, we never saw when one universe started by ending another. There’s always a storm of rupture creating cosmic dust so he avoided the bruises that love cast upon him and started the warfare.
In the afterglow of the ‘Big Bang’, gravitational waves and magnetic theories, she showed up to each one of the wars and wore the scars as proof like poetry. She showed up. She didn’t get thrown to the space wolves simply to forget that she was an alpha that wrote the omega. And this is why she showed up, to life with him.
What is the worth of a wild sward that grew with only water from a friendly morning dew? What is it’s worth if the only heaven it’ll ever extend to is up to the soles of your shoe? Bred by no one, uncultivated it stood. Upraised to be hard, outstretched to be rough, cutting its edges was all it was for due. No shelter to shield against the winds that blew or the scorch and dirt of the rain it knew. Every time there was someone who stepped on you, you got back up like the very few I knew. You weren’t called a blade of grass for nothing! Short stalks bend beneath the feet, side lined behind the flowers on the street. But who will tell stories of vigour, they will not know anything of your rigour. The feeling of a wild grass that will live with no worth, dying each day you stained the earth.