Birds

I see two birds
And wonder, if
I will find that happiness
Be it a lie, or a dream

I look around, for
Someone to fall
In love with

I yearn for, simple
Intimacy, but mistake it
For lust, and baser
Desires

And if I take off,
Will my flight be alone?

Lost

With you,
I’d gladly lose my way
Lose sight, of
The things ahead, just
To gaze into your eyes
And say, nothing, because
Nothing needs to be said
And, nothing, can capture
This moment, save
Your smile, and
Being, lost
With you.

Fault

Perhaps it is my fault that it has come to this. With what I have spoken, I arrive here. With the words I have written, I have built this trap. Each phrase that I ventured has pushed me into this corner. Empty promises of places and times that did not exist have filled me with their same, fleeting quality. There is nothing left. I grasp vainly for the air. There is nothing left. I struggle to breathe. There is nothing left. I burn. There is nothing left. I die, inside, and there is nothing left.

And it is my fault, my fault.

Same

You, elude, me

And tomorrow

It’ll be the same

And again

When the night

Closes my eyes

And you, fade

With the sun

It’ll be the same

And three hours

From waking

Three hours, from here

It’ll be the same

You’ll still be the same

You, elude, me.

Air

Your skin and mine
The clothes we wear
And the air between

My skin and yours
The clothes we wear
And the air between

Your clothes and mine
Our skin
And nothing between.

Carry

I carried you
I remember
On my back
We were running round the track
For some reason
Or another

But all I recall
Is your heart
Beat, steady,
Next to mine
How your hair
Brushed my face
Your voice, in my ear
And your breath,
On my neck, as we
Laughed

At our silliness.

Boy

There is a lost boy,
Somewhere,
Hungry and cold
Unsure of
Waiting, watching
Or to have something
Done.

Vigil

Midnight vigil,
And perhaps,
I will meet death
As I sleep,
Waiting/Dreaming
For you to come.

Mono

“And perhaps one day, some day, I will be able to cover that distance. But in the meantime, it feels as though I have nothing to hold on to, not the air in my hand, not a gesture, or even a turn of phrase. What, then, am I looking for? Some part of me believes that a smile might resolve the issue, maybe a tear will answer the question. Till then it will burn, quietly - leaving me unable to breathe, gasping for air every now and then. I can’t remember the last time I lay in bed with an uncluttered mind. I have lost each dream the moment I woke, save for the one I had while I was not asleep. I wonder which you belong to. I guess what it really boils down to is that I don’t know. Uncertainty certainly makes an interesting bedfellow.”

Horizon

In this scene, it’s simple.

He sits, amidst the rocks, just beyond the reach of the water. Behind him, a lighthouse, abandoned, empty, in ruins - there is no light, there never was any light.

You can see his bare feet, as it rests on a rock, and wonder why it seems he refuses to touch the water. Each wave ends just short of his toes, as though reaching, but never quite getting there.

He doesn’t move, knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs - perhaps the night is cold, with the occasional sea spray. Perhaps he is just weary, tired. Perhaps he contemplates, you cannot tell.

Cue the sound of the waves, rhythmic, ceaseless. The quiet whistling of the wind through the rocks. What is it he hears as he stares out to sea?

And then you hear it.

A voice. A song.

A siren on the other shore.

Yet all he sees is horizon.