We could be pirates

This patch of land is for us to conquer. There are trees, forests. There are rivers, waterfalls. There are people, villages. This will be our own kingdom, the place where trees will bend to make way when we arrive. The beasts will instantly become tame once we set foot on the luscious white sand. This land will be our island, palm leaves fanning the insecurities away. Parrots will land on our arms gently, almost silently descending from topless trees. Snakes from Amazonian paths will straighten themselves to make our way easily accessible. The way we will charge forward. Unabashed, almost ecstatic from the long senseless journey, beading sweat rolling down our temples, clothes worn and mind puzzled from the intoxicating chance, the inexplicable chance of becoming owners of plants, animals and men alike. Masters of wondrous creatures, obediently subservient, magnificently different, unexpectedly humble.              

I already know what you are going to tell me. The moon is full and shines a brassy look onto your sunken cheeks. The words need not hit the drums of my ears. They need not be formulated by your worried mouth. The heavy air of dusk covers the distance between your eyes and mine. Predicting the next move, holding onto the moment until it comes and destroys the hope that we have been keeping. Just a little while longer. Just a little longer for both our sakes. Below our feet the gaping valley, the mesmerising waterfall, the vapour and the light breaking into distinct colours of the rainbow. This is what we must leave to travel to new lands? This is what you will leave to find new pastures, new companions, new winds to set your sails in? I already guessed what you were going tell me. Could you tell me tomorrow?

This is the moment when all the moon’s golden rays shine on me. Around the rock where I stand the night creatures are gathering, chirping and thumping, clinking and silently swishing with their wings of astonishing magnitude. This is your unsuitable leader, your captain of little knowledge. This is your guide without a compass, this is your true voice without chords that could churn out songs like songbirds often do. In this night, the first night of so many, brace yourselves! Brace your wings and hoofs, your legs and beaks; brace that space in your hearts that allowed a hapless fool to charge your forces forwards and onwards. We are the pirates of the night, we are those who make the day wish to linger longer. For us the moon rises sooner, the sun stays to wink each time it slowly sets. The horizon turns orange then blood red and we know. We know so full heartedly that our time has come. We must hold ransom the thoughts that arrive to paralyse the able mind and body. That haunt the soul and trick it into questioning its own right. We must chase and intimidate the lurking thoughts of self doubt. Like true pirates we must seize and capture, forever make these cold uncertainties disappear. Take the fight and settle with the thought that we might lose an eye, might leave a leg or a hand behind. We might come back limping, surface with permanent battle wounds, scars that will take almost all our lives to heal. Like a shield we must stand as one, protect our soft parts, deflect the approaching aches, repel the spears that aim to nail our spirits, our wings, our fearful tentacles mercilessly to the ground. 

This land is ours, for now we roam it you and me. The words you speak hurt me, then the hurt turns to longing and before long to love. Sometimes you leave, some other times I do. We take our hearts with us, seldom leaving them to older chests. When the cool breeze comes to signal the arrival of the starry night, we hold off on the words, halt the thoughts, stay silent and unteach our parrots these words of goodbye. For a little while longer, to prepare, to ready for the battle. Just for one night stay silent. Just for one night do not say the words. Just for a little longer stay the way you are and please, could you only tell me tomorrow?

Something brave from your mouth

I wish I could show you the joy in mending. I wish you could see already, believe it whole heartedly. Know that breaking in two is necessary to build a straight back. Shedding the skin that grew without much notice. Shedding the past that left an imprint inerasable. The lines on your face become a testament to the myths you have seen. The deep wrinkles that surprised you carry the burden of pain. The sight is no longer sharp, the heart no longer firm in its aperture that sets the vessels in motion. Your soul chipped, lies on the pavement, careless passers-by trample, flatten, unexpectedly liberate. Moulding into the cracks of the concrete, the spirit learnt the most necessary: the world is much too dangerous. See yourself mostly unequipped to face the evils that turn out to conquer.

You look to her with teary eyes and ask: how will I know? He looks back and starts off with a story. This to you is familiar, the characters are sweetly innocent, the setting reminiscent of a time you remember to be perfect. She seamlessly wipes her cheeks from the cold tears that trickle down to arrive with a salty sensation at her mouth. He hangs his head broken. The ending was never as imminent as it was that afternoon. The winds whispered through the yellow leaves of the trees outside. The window fogged up quicker, the sun barely made it through to the living room floor. The cups are now clenched with both hands, the steam sooths the lies that leave these young mouths. Insincere and hurt, painful and injured inside and out. Piercing words are thrown, civilities are forgotten for the moment, places are changed, something as simple as boys and girls gets lost or tossed all around in the world. In this world. The memory has the sole power, the force that softens the parting words. But the hearts are hardened and unable to open. Wishing to never have to share sideways glances, never have to share the future, never have to share the past. Only these toys stay to remind, stay in the room that is empty, stay cold and lifeless, untouched for years, decades, unloved eternally. His head hangs in inconsolable sadness, she whimpers endless.

I stand outside looking in, baffled by the things that you talk of. The pain that hangs above your head is gaining a visible outline. I can see its colours, the shapes it takes. Futile to comfort, unable to wipe the sadness from your days. The nights are the worst, they bring a cool breeze that no shelter protects you from. Those nights torture me also. Confess but there is little relief. Drench your body in the cold ocean but the waves cannot wipe the past clean. You are left with your mistakes, I am left with mine. The girl in your dreams is left unable to mend her ways. The boy that you think yourself to be is left misplacing his ways. Then I watch as you collide, the past with the future, the girl with the boy, the sorrow with the pain. Wrongful in its judgements, the hapless love examines the circumstances. Only descends when fate is looking the other way, descends on hearts that are unready, lives that are unformed wholly. Gather much wisdom for there is oil spilled on this fire, there is scope for an imminent crash. Fatal meeting of punctured souls. On the table where you danced you will lie in torn clothes, begging me to swing you way back south, begging me to sing you something brave from my mouth.

 

And I will. This is how you will know, I will. In that instance the truth will show for a moment. You will see how quickly you can break then mend painstakingly. I will watch you with a straightened back and readied heart. You will need to reach for the harness in my hands. When you are ready. My sole desire to show you truly. Show you uncovered. Reveal in its full glory, trumpet the triumphs of its long journey, uncover the blemishes and shout to you with all my conviction: that there is joy. Joy in the mending. These are things brave enough to sing from my mouth. Now they should sing from yours.

The Day is Done

To the remnants of history. To those who subject then doubt. To these endless days that fool us with cunning trickery, with treacherous truths that are unloaded boundlessly. Truths that become devious lies in instances unregistered with these snail-paced hearts, these elephant like brains. We are sinking low, sucked in by a spiral. Unintentional submerging of the soul into ice cold water, into clear smoke that covers each day. These must be the days that leave silently, that become unnoticed, that start off with the want but accept the muted fate. This is how easily we have become remnants of history, pieces of no importance, irrelevant footnotes on pages that are soon to vanish from existence. From this is where we must start. And when the day has ended, this is where we must end as well.   

Your story began, goes by way of sorrow, sometimes luck. The lonesome traveller waiting to unload the burden of solitude, to find refuge in the cracks of hearts shut tightly. Hoping to encounter a kind soul, a rising spirit of devotion. You set sail on a raft in the endless desert. The quenching heat, the trying coldness of the night, the scorching sun, the easterly winds blew against your sails. You were ill prepared, unequipped with paper and pen. The stars could not have played a better trick on you and your raft. The sand moved quickly, the heat soon broke you, the blisters halted each effort to send a message of help. Still, your raft moved along. You found clothes to wrap your useless skin in. The pain slowly subsided, the sun became predictable. Rain you waited, rain never came. The wind changed only so often, you learnt how to navigate. They all laughed when you set off without a compass, but the desert needs no compass to sail. The sand is not easy like water, the night sky is not the sea turned upside down. Soon you realised. The dear north pulled you and you could feel the gentle nudging, feel it growing stronger each day. Every so often a mirage gave you false hope, how you cursed the day you had to leave. Seemingly unavoidable, you would rather have chosen a wintery day to skid on the backs of grid like fresh snowflakes. Then you would have known which way the earth moved, where you would find your soul. The summits of terrible cliffs, the paths ventured by beastly creatures and the evergreens to line the way. These you would have known, these you would have found familiar. Out here in the golden desert is where you cannot be anything else but lost. Diligent in your efforts to survive, disciplined in the wait for the dear another.  

The account you gave is accurate, there seems to be no other path. We take each moment as it is given, churn it until it fits slightly, only just, to loosely cover, to hide the blemishes that appear at an alarming pace. If this weary pilgrim is to be given the rest deserving, then the journey must echo the fitting reward. Then you must merit the reward. After years of searching, there are no definites is what you have found. Sands taking you to waters, ice plates sailing you to mountain tops, trunks of rotting trees flying you to tightly hanging constellations have succeeded in showing you the beauty, teaching you the value of the wait. You now understand the fickle nature of the moment, how unstoppably miraculous it can appear. Each day filled your soul with heavy sorrow, each night lifted the weight. Each cloud reached to pull you from the wreckage, each ray of the majestic sun pushed you back onto your raft to continue. Every detail of your journey enriched your spirit, every instance taught you to atone. The meeting of the other is urging you to continue, set off once again. The fear of disappearing, the fear of losing is ushering a new beginning. To secure to be a remnant of this day, you will hurry and find, you will travel and hope. You will scorn and hurt, you will battle solitude and hate. You will guard off evil and embrace fate. You will roam in heat and cold, you will chase rocks and hunt motionless prey. You will welcome strangers, you will forgo all niceties. You will hold out your hand and wait for the stars to guide you to that dear another.

In the silence of the heart

This is how it was, touched by a lesser love, I threw the chains my past life posed. Threw them with haste and vengeance. Threw them with great force and depth, away from the imminent hope, towards the long gone darkness. The deafening sound from the abyss crept after me, echoed the braveness, mirrored the bereavement. Here was a life tossed, here was another newly budding. The burden cannot ever be shared, the pain that twisted the spirit can never be lessened, the memories burned into the soul can never be erased. There I saw the reflection of that crippled soul, maimed by the meeting of you. Maimed by the meeting of your soul, destroyed by the clashing of our souls. There in pieces, washed by the salty sea, dried by the unforgiving sun, there in the orbit of this magnificent planet, hovering on earth’s wondrous moon, there in stillness and weightlessness is where the chains from my heart shall remain. Freed of you, alone amongst the stars, circling the future and never seeing clearly the past. This is how your lesser love has crippled me.

Once there were days that outshined all other days. They held more minutes than physically possible. The seconds overflowed and the hands of your watch would not turn for hours on end. The lake we chose filled overnight, the moon played with its light on the surface, chasing waves to toss tiny ships our way. The trees covered my blushing cheeks, the tall grass hid our childish desires, the carpet of leaves kept our secrets. The very creatures of the fields promised to never laugh at our plans, never grow larger than what we imagined they could. Then you spoke of your dreams and I took those words to be set in stone, the words of my future, the pictures of your dreams would be my future. Then I spoke of the places we would see, the places that would change us to become strangers to only meet again as young lovers do. Those were our moments and we collided like comets rarely do. From the trap of the heart there seemed no way to escape. We whisked each other away, cast a spell on our souls.

I cannot describe the time to you. I cannot describe the time that I have lost, that I have given to you. I have willingly offered, you have scrutinised then taken happily, unknowingly. Your words became some else’s future, your promises whispered to someone else’s soul. My words rang dead in the echo of your greatness. They were left at the floor of the valley between your heart and mine. The minutes on your watch raced forwards, the hours of my paralysed soul got trapped in a motionless halfway house. Feeding off of the crumbs, the pieces you threw so carelessly towards the unsuspecting ether. You were there and I was unable to move. We crashed, you made it out with a scratch. I fell hard and broke most bones. The bruises healed slowly, the scars will forever remain. The heart is meeker and weak, unable to fully allow anyone else to ever see its real beauty. That is still being saved for you. For someone like you. I find my heart silent, I fend its return to its former glory. I used to hear your beating heart through the words and clatter. I wait that maybe one day in the silence of my heart, you will speak.