sediment
sifted and deposited in shallow,
pre-Cambric seas
descendant of
sand and starfish
I am that veined rock
awaiting an artistic hand
to carve and define
me




art - http://mailer.e-flux.com/mail_images/1150684017bernimage_web2.jpg

Who am I?
This is not a rhetorical question
I have been peeled and stripped
divulged and then redacted
dissected and analyzed
sifted, separated and discarded
subsequently, gratuitously resurrected
I have been refined and molded
chopped up in a myriad of pieces
then reprocessed and repackaged
for acceptable content
I have been the unwanted frightened child
blossoming but then acceding
to irrational hormonal induced decisions
donned overtly, the garb of acceptable society
been compliant and complicit
in my submissions
only to rise up in a sudden revolutionary rage
arriving
here
and now
to wonder
who am I?

I scream my pain
I whisper my despair
I screech my rage
I sigh my tears
You doubt my words and emotions anyway
If I deny my love instead…
Will you finally listen?

I am tired
tired of being tired
tired of life
tired of me...
the me I no longer want to

I look at myself in the mirror and realize that I am faceless when I speak my lips move but no sound is heard just another voiceless sexless non-entity when I was small I dreamed that I would be tall and thin and blond and blue eyed and articulate and witty and intelligent and strong and wonderful and brilliant and live happily ever after one of the beautiful people and someone, somewhere would love me hear me but then I grew up looked in the mirror and realized that I am faceless voiceless and sexless when dreams die they die so fucking hard and with a finality.

if the eyes are a window to your soul
why do I see a bleak emptiness
sense an ancient horror?
that you keep hidden
from the world
if eyes are a window to your soul
what secrets languish in you
fearing the light of day?

All I ever wanted
was to be worthy
of me
to grow and nourish
my secret longings
spinning silken songs
carbon dated
diamond
riches
of my hidden soul
prismatic
delicate
crystalline
musings
that refract
my true reflection

Spicy peppery provocative biting thoughts,
Diversity, duality nuanced contextual nature,
Rich butterscotch freckled aging skin,
Rounded mango once exotic middle aged flesh,
Sharp tangy tartly witty repartee,
Hazel golden jaded tinged eagle eye gaze,
Laughing fighting shared memories sibling rivalry,
Warm milky powdery protective Shalimar perfumed mother,
Privately G-d fearing secularly godless, ritualistic breaking,
Confidante close faithful comedic chosen sister/friend,
Grief stricken bleak joyous tribe-less ethos complex sapient,
Empathic outraged defiant middle finger upraised writer poet,
I am.

I stand alone,
my thoughts, naked and exposed to you
finally.
I had attempted to dress myself,
in your clothing of socially acceptable mores,
beliefs, myths and theories.
I cloaked and draped
zipped and buttoned
myself in your mannerism, cynicism and roboticism.
I wanted to fit myself into
your narrow minded, parochial society;
but the more I tried
the more my isolation grew.
And now
I stand alone and naked,
waiting,
divested of the artificiality
denuded of superficiality,
for what
I do not know.

My mind processes and captures,
things, occurrences and people
in snapshots, stills,
carefully contained portions of information,
jigsaw puzzles,
bits, bytes and pixels
I arrange in different combinations
and juxtapositions,
capturing four dimensionally,
life’s occasions, dramas and ordeals.
Some are grayscale gravid episodes
like the death of someone dear, the ending of a love,
events requiring walls and compartments,
sequestering the horror and the pain.
Other pictures are vibrant, flamboyant,
moments of pure unadulterated joy.
The birth of a child, first tentative steps,
jubilant festivities and celebrations,
memories to have, to recall and smile.
So, I say to you,
if a picture is worth a thousand words,
my snapshots are worth an entire lifetime.

There is a stark beauty in simplicity,
an unpretentious truth in brevity,
unvarnished revelation,
in succinct conclusions.
There exists a harmony in simplicity,
an elegant exactitude in brevity,
it aids in the removal of excess baggage,
of verbose intrusive verbiage,
that teeters on Occams Razor,
eliminates speculative answers like a laser.
Perhaps,
There is a touch of the divine in simplicity,
paradisiacal integrity in its brevity.

Is thinking,
not the human perogative,
to have the ability to,cogitate, review and change,
stances and closely held beliefs?
If not, all our actions,
are reducd to instinct.

Sometimes,
words are never enough...
Sometimes,
I hear but won't understand,
see but am blinded...
Sometimes,
I can't figure life out,
pray but receive no revelation...
Sometimes,
I feel like an endangered species,
drugged insensibly out of my mind...
Sometimes,
I can touch the essence,
but can't feel the tangible...
Sometimes,
I raise my eyes to the sky,
but can't see the brilliance of the stars...
Sometimes,
My life is so intolerable,
and death seems preferable...
Sometimes,
words are never enough...

 

 

you can ascertain my antiquarian years by the ears

as i aged, they elongated

weighted by the eons of listening

and like an elephant

i remember everything

the burdened cartilage grown coarser

from the revelations

secrets i shall take to the elephant grave, unrevived

still

the state of my elephantine ears

are a revelation

in itself.

 

note:

elephant graves - The theory of an elephant graveyard comes from the findings in Asia and Africa where the remains of several dead elephants are found within a certain area of land. Elephant experts argue that old elephants approaching their end usually resort to their legendary graveyards. They support the argument with the fact that you rarely find remains of a solitary elephant in an area unless the death was unnatural. It is also a fact that when an elephant is dying the others in the herd surround it and try to revive it till the end.

 

we stare at each other
bound strangers
claiming our designated sides
the space in the bed looms between us
like the Serengeti Desert
our love lays as a desiccated corpse
in between spaces
once permeated with joy and pleasure

asleep and dreaming
I reach out and to touch your skin
you are that close to me
repelled, you flinch and turn away
even unconscious
our love tastes of silica
running through the hourglass
of our lives

 

 

thanks Jonea - this poem was inspired by you...lol

having rendered filial piety to my parents

undeserving though they may be

maternal love and life to my children

definitely deserved and lovingly tendered

friendship and companionship to friends

faithfully and joyfully returned in full

passion, love, and tears to lovers

some foolishly chosen, others poignantly still loved

power and money to the various obfuscating craven Caesars

extorted legally, reluctantly and grudgingly given

more money and questions, always questioning the various holy men and their mythos

answers irrevently and mockingly disbelieved

I wonder

what must I render to myself?