Orion

In the light of the day,

I fear we are

Much too far,

You and I.

The charcoal waits to erode graciously,

Like a sugar cube on the tongue, 

In drawing the curves of a cat's tail

Or a still eyelash of the same girl

I've drawn since I was five. 

Instead, I pretend that the paper 

And my dusty, grey fingers are

Much too far,

Like you and I.

But when I raise my head

And the sun has set

Leaving no embers

Like my crumbling charcoal, 

I draw a line from my heart

Shooting straight into the sky

Where stars have waited for all of eternity,

One for each of our hearts.

And one for us to meet halfway.

So when the dots are joined

On earth and in the sky,

There we are,

Not so far.

You and I. 

Drift

Who breaks away

In forgetting that there 
are two untouchables born
every time touching you 
becomes a taboo.

For I become one too.

Like the side of the glacier that
has thawed too soon from the
rest of the mass,
So thaws a part of me, too soon.
And wrenches away.


Who breaks away

and measures how great
is the fissure that remains,
for it will take looking back.

In acquitting oneself from the whole,
two untouchables are born -
But who shall grab your ankles
and help you wrench away 
From the drifting two?

For I become one too. 

today

Is the blinking of your eye a greater task,

today?

Is it because the world is too much to take in,

today?

Is breathing ,is  walking, is the beating of a heart - 

the clockwork you forget about,

an unfailing companion from the start,

is the beating of your heart close enough

to ripple your jaw today?

They say the world will not end

with this and that,

not with failing the gargantuan examination,

not with the itch of predestined disease,

not when someone shakes you out of your delusion.

Heck, the world will not end

Even if you do.

But yours will.

What we grow from day to day

is not a new heart or younger eyelids,

We grow memories in the magnitude

that only memories can grow in.

And they become a mirror of

what we want

and what we want no more of

today. 

And only memories are visitors

when there will be no visitors tomorrow.

And when tomorrow will be the same as

today.

And beauty is and youth is

a scandal of 

today.

And if the look in someone's eyes

is bribe enough,

what you want is yet not

a memory.

Beauty will follow purpose,

and the time is

today.