Things I Probably Shouldn’t Be Posting (But Here We Are)
Your girl considered everything. And she means it. She has about 30 poems that could stand to bear witness to all that thinking. However, she would consider you to be of the mediocre kind if you falsely believe that she is anywhere close to being done with the Thinking.
I do, however, in complete accordance with her, believe that one cannot leave some lovely, wonderful, and diligent readers hanging onto mere scraps of these threads. So, on popular demand (of a lot of my own thoughts), here is a minute excerpt from something that may or may not become a chapbook of its own should it reach a whopping 50. Provided, all the stars align with my very important thoughts and churn within me a kind of courage that I did not possess in 24 years of breathing in and breathing out.
P.S.: Do me a favour and hit play before you read. Love Ya!
Poem No. 22
In the songs that play on the radio,
In the faces who pass me without a glance,
In the strange sounds my stomach makes at night,
In the quiet, broken breaths my father lets out in his sleep --
You’re there.
I tell my sister to strum the guitar harder,
just like you used to say--
"Feel it, don’t fake it."
I still tell people how boring
An all-knowing life would be,
Your words stitched into mine.
I check the air in my tyres twice --
Once for safety, once for memory.
And still, I listen to Nilaaave Vaa on repeat,
Like a ritual, I forgot how to stop.
I’m falling in love with the ghost of you.
He lingers like breath on a mirror,
He shows up everywhere,
quiet, steady --
keeping the one promise you made
that neither of us could control:
Staying.
He loves me too,
without words, without doubt,
softly, like a memory.
And maybe that’s the only kind of your love
I get to keep.
~d
And in case even one of you felt uneasy after having read this, please know that there are 29 others like these, or worse (I like to think) that I'm not torturing you with. Yet. You are most welcome. Thank you.
Your words are beautifully haunting, and I can feel the weight of every line. But here’s my question . if love stays in the form of a ghost, is it really love? Or are we just holding on to something we’re too afraid to let go of? Maybe the real question is, can we truly love when we’re holding on to something that isn’t really here anymore? I’ve been thinking about that about how love can either anchor us or let us float freely
ReplyDeleteHello Mr. WittyMan, I do believe that the process of 'letting go' has devastatingly different faces? forms? for each one of us. If you have a healthier coping mechanism than reigniting the long lost poet in you and channelling this new found energy into self depreciating tasks that may or may not prove to be beneficial to you in the future, then I am genuinely so happy for you. You should share the knowledge. Toodles.
DeleteAh, there it is the poet defending the poetry! Fair play, m’lady. You’re right, letting go does wear different costumes: sometimes a tragic ballad, sometimes a meme at 2 AM, and occasionally, a gym membership you’ll never use. I’m no guru my coping mechanisms involve bad decisions, overpriced coffee, and pretending I'm wiser than I am. But hey, if heartbreak turns you into a poet, and me into a philosopher in denial, maybe we’re both winning in our own dysfunctional ways. Stay legendary 😄
DeleteOkay yes to all of that. especially where you call yourself pretentious and all. but just so we are clear... not a single cell of mine is giving up or 'letting go'. some call it delusional. i like to call it Legendary. ;)
DeleteFair enough. The world’s always belonged to the stubborn ones who refuse to let go. Call it delusion, call it legend either way, it’s a kind of madness worth watching. Stay relentless, m’lady. Toodles :)
Deleteroger that!
Delete