Deliberative Contemplation

Image
Emma Florence Harrison ( 1877–1955)

Pride is her sin

Bless the revolutionary road

The youthful dreams churning within

Haunted by ghostish whispers

In a fictional world of her own creation

Had she mastered the bliss of humbleness

Conquest of wisdom would have been her daily ritual

A free spirit she is

Pushed the freedom button, lit crimson ambition onto her records

Diven into the jaw of the monstrous sea

Sailed away on a lonely journey towards one of the coldest wests

What easted east and wested west

One man lied to geography and so history followed

Music is her wine

Dancing in the flames of endless joy and pain of choices, and the in-betweens

Oh, how painful are the in-betweens

Misguided in the realm of endless doubt

Between right and wrong lies an eternal drought of faith

Bound by fate …. an untiable bond

A fateful obligation to utter submission to …. fate

Who can escape their fate

Fate or destiny or God, can we differentiate, before the end draws near,

Can we negotiate what would our fate become, before clean slates are definitely erased

A mountain of deeds hides underneath her troubled conscience

Good or bad, even when intentions are resolute, actions deviate

The good, the bad and the ugly reside in every particle of human race

Are choices predetermined or free-willed, our thoughts tirelessly race

Pride is a sin among many others

The old man said: “unsheathe your sword in the face of temptation”

“Against your heart, ignite a revolution”

“Remember, repentance remains the man’s sole road to salvation”

Whether atonement for wrongdoing is a predetermination or choice

Forgetfulness stays a curse and a solace

There’s an insatiable curiosity about the purpose of man’s existence

As men fall for their causes – soon she’d fall too

Perfectionism is a myth when death hour strikes too soon

Advertisements

In the Grip of a Gypsy

 

In his mind she is the unmelting iceberg ~ the unconquerable highland ~ insanity wrapped in a cloak of a doomed fate ~ the arrow unleashed into his heart ~ she’s a woman ~ even in the wildest of his fantasies impenetrable ~ untraceable ~ untouchable ~ unlovable. He is alone in his strife ~ can’t help but fill the vacuum of his infatuation bubble ~ he is in love. True or false ~ this he fails to prove ~ yet he waits and waits and waits. Wait is time ~ time is patience ~ and what do you know about patience or time or wait ~ only words may fill up the vacuum and suck out the life of boredom ~ the man is always honored to seek martyrdom ~ in a love he sees a sacred mission ~ she is not holy ~ yet her holiness has a differing definition. In his heart she is a desert rose ~ a desert storm ~ she must belong in the land of chonic drought ~ yet her chastity quenches his doubt. She is a gypsy ~ stole his heart on a shiny morning ~ danced with bare feet in his heart ~ unplanted his heart away from its veins ~ wrapped in a blazing fear of losing in the sweetest yet sacred of warfares ~ she is still colder than cold ~ her resistance rages like a cold wind blows on a northern land. In her heart he is a man of words ~ his passion draws a lustrous flicker on her virgin walls ~ vanilla smells sinful on her skin ~ derails her unblinking resistence ~ yet his love she defies ~ singed beyond repair ~ brutalized in a not so distant past ~ recreated a cell of well-engineered bars of doubt ~ erasing pathways to where her land is sought by lovers and thieves of a heart so sad and tired. There’s a lump in her throat ~ her bitterness revives her wounds ~ she is a loner ~ lonesome brings her the brightest chirps ~ yet he vows to mend her quirks ~ bring  joy to her smirks ~ feed her drought with his unwavering faith in her city’s stingy skirts.  

May K.

Water

If I had the liberty to choose prior to my creation – I would be water – the liquid, the term, the definition, the force and the feebleness.

I would be abundant and scarce – steep and deep –  rain, hail and overwhelm, contain – never contained, rush and sweep – shallow and deceptive – enliven and kill – freeze – melt and boil.

Only time controls me – temperature never withhold me.

I would run in the fields racing against the wind – challenging the heat of the sun to hurry immerse the lands before it dry up and ruin the tired man’s harvest.

I would drown the traitor and float the believer.

There will be times I am pure and times I stink. There will be times I am smooth as silk and times my roars frighten the king of the jungle.

There will be times I’ll be greater than any other creation on earth, even the giants of mountains I bear them in my boundless belly and eat them, slowly.

Man knows its only a matter of time.

I’ll be the intruder, the earth’s indispensible partner.

I’ll be the world’s hooker quench whoever pays fat and better.

I will fail to live up to my end of the bargain, I dry, I disappear – they shed their blood over me and I keep vanishing,  as much as I will flood far beyond man’s capacity.

I rush – keep rushing to where those thinking creatures can’t trace me or detain me or drink me or bottle me or pollute me.

I am free and shall remain that. The only reason I can’t satisfy them is I’m bloodless, soulless.

I am only water…

May

The Forbidden Dance

In love with two men – a man of god and the devil’s imposter – two faces of a coin – salvation pressed in eternal slumber beneath the grip of human-like-monsters –  accuse me not of cursing converts – I had listened well to their murmurs – all for god or so they pretended – forbidden fruit is what they made of me – chasing my scent in every alley – strayed by desire from piety – murdered innocence by their dysfunctional self-righteousness – I am taking the blame for my choking affection – they suffocate under my velvet grip – they confuse me with redemption – criticize my imperfections – omitting the holes of filth in their humanly characters – perhaps I am drowning in the realm of my imperfections – what does it make them – holy ghosts floating in translucent justice? – I’m a forbidden mercy on the land of curses – the vapor condensed in their merciless weathers – I cry them silence in north facing rivers– end up crucified on ice bergs and mountains of their unforgiving creed / unjustified vengeance – they hate me so much when I’m only a dancer – forbade my swaying in spaces of a risk diver – took my hands like a lady in a ball room – suddenly dressed like fighters – whirling in circles of my self-loathing frailty – in a total collapse of honor left a heart so mournful – the wait is so bitter – aging patience beneath my organs – turning ancient like the biggest of the pyramids – it is not the wait rather my honor – my pride – my heart – my youth – my GOD I am only human – I am a soul forbidden to love by their command – who has the final word on this land – I know I am tested – those prayers were never answered – thankful as I can only be – a solitary dancer in an audienceless theatre – the happiest of endings it must be – than hovering around happiness with love gangsters and Hollywood hero-wanna-be’s.

 

Inspired by the soundtrack of the turkish tv series “Forbidden Love”

 

 

A Captive Shelter

Pack your memories… and leave, for I am tired of putting each memory to sleep every night so they do not resurrect from their eternal slumber. I am motionless under the rain…it is pouring on me, and I am soaked in my rags without a shelter, left to dissolve into the particles of mud filling the pathway to where my home is. I am creeping…I am creeping slower than a fading reptile on the coarse asphalt of your weather’s cruelty. I creep back into my bones and I shutter into million pieces. O, I wish I was the real Adam’s Eve; I trust he would re-build my pieces and restore the dignity of a proud beauty I once were. Yet, do I find a shelter? It is cynical to believe you might have stolen it among my belongings. Do you belong at all? Do you belong to anything…or anyone? Are you the beast? Or maybe more than a beast…I hope you know that even beasts have their ways of communicating gratitude. Makes loyalty possessed by evil in your dictionary.  Remember the time when you were lost in your own map and I torched your way to your destination? You nearly kissed the back of my palm, on your knees, thousand times, like slaves do when set free. An image, alas, won’t uncaptivate the memory, so I swiftly see the Saharan’s prideful hospitality to the blue-eyed colonist, back in the days when peace could slip through the corners of war and hope reincarnates in every passing moment.

Moonlit Land of the Passionate

 

 Into the desert saluted by the ethereal brightness of the moon in its full parameter, gently they blurred the silence knotting the surface of the arena, driven by the magic of momentful desires and wishes for a future ripe with their togetherness. The wind vowed its dance would not shake the human phenomenon, but only for their amusement. The earth stood still, mesmerized by the two lovers in rapture. His eyes met two sparkling moons; the eyes of his beloved. Out of his shell he ventures to hold her hand, his touch ambushed in her warmth, felt every tissue of her brown creamy skin as a destination to where his home lies. Her misty black hair comfortably seated on her shoulders framed a face that never in his life had his eyes beheld such beauty in his bitter cold land. His piercing gaze transcended reality, a million stories unfold in his head of her; a lover, a partner and a mother of his children, filling the silence wrapping their moonlit passion. Not a word uttered, yet she read all the chapters of his power, his pleasure, his pain, frightened by the unknown if it did them part. Her eyes wandered desperately like a dying soul awaiting heavenly mercifulness. Their grip tightened, troubles mounted and sealed with droplets of joy and hope filled his eyes and went beyond resilience making her sudden weary solitude finally soothed.

 

White Pearl Bangle

She lays her velvet fingers on the bangle feels her heart swinging in her chest like a boat racing against the darkness to tame the raging waves of the black sea. Dreading the softness and feel like every pearl is one inch closer to the bottom of desperation she had been dwelling in. Bitter wind of a landless escapee seeping through her bones frosting all residue of common sense. The slippery edges fraying her undying faith in reviving any hopes for survival in a world, its humans, instead of making peace with the wildest of earthly monsters, stealthily devoured all animality inhabiting the universe and deprived them monsters of their right to live up to their nature. Whirling endlessly in a rounded shape of glowing boundaries, enticing her existence to appear, possess the hollowness, my friend, the very core is full of it, like a lonely cloud hanging amidst a stormy weather contemplating suicide before the wind vigorously bleeds it dry.