Your unique fragrance
perceptible to all as unique
sets you apart when you are lit.
Your uniqueness transfers to me.
Or is it vice versa?
because only I’m a romantic fool enough to love you.
The sweet taste you leave on the lips
Is sweeter for its forbiddenness.
Yes, you are mostly harmful.
My lungs will perhaps not survive you.
But what is the point of living anyway
if one cannot enjoy it while life burns out.
Don’t we return to dust and ashes anyway?
So, let me smoke you health-freaks and naysayers.
Let me burn along with it,
’cause burning without it ain’t worth it.
I think cats feel that doing one’s business is embarrassing. I say this after observing some of Simba’s mannerism when doing it. The look Simba has when making a number or the way he covers it up or even when I go near his litter tray to clean it, indicates to me sense of shame at what he has done. The very fact that cats leave ‘gifts’ around if their litter box is not clean, also shows that they are very aware of the ‘dirty’ aspect of poop and pee. And just why should a cat’s litter box must be placed in an accessible yet private space?
This is a cycle.
I do something.
Or maybe I don’t something.
I usually have no clue what it is that I’m doing or not doing.
I don’t know the repercussions of my action or inaction.
I’m kinda clueless that way at times.
But then by that action or inaction, I end up hurting someone.
That someone is usually a good friend.
Even a best friend.
But that friend doesn’t tell me.
By that point the hurt has probably brewed.
When I’m told, it hurts me.
I didn’t mean to do the thing or not do the thing on purpose to hurt them.
Do they even realise how hurt I feel for having unwittingly and unconsciously hurt them?
Can they not forgive me because the sorrow is not false or pretentious.
But it takes time for that hurt to get by.
On both ends.
By that time I remember how I’ve easily forgiven the other so many times in the past never once revealing how much the other person’s action or inaction had hurt me.
But why should that matter to the friend?
They are hurting.
Because of me.
I’m never a victim.
Always the bad guy.
And so I push people away.
If they aren’t ready to be as forgiving as I have been, should they be in my life.
This is the cycle.
How to lose friends and alienate people.
Where is the lifebuoy,
Where is the boat,
Where is the object
That keeps me afloat?
“I have only one thing to do and that’s
To be the wave that I am and then
Sink back into the ocean…”
Stealing lyrics I cannot write,
Lyrics that wrote my soul,
Writing words that have no value,
Except filling that Postmodern hole.
Wishing that I had that voice,
which like the waves on rock,
crash and haunt the body
with goosebumps of shock.
(a poem incomplete, inspired by the title song of The Affair, performed by Fiona Apple)
I am an island,
A lost planet,
Floating in the sea
of forgotten outer space.
A constellation surrounds me,
Brighter and more beautiful
Than I could ever hope to be.
But those bigger, brighter, beautiful stars are so far, far away.
And I am so completely lost,
Tossed, submerged, drowned,
In the murky waters
of the Milky Way.