Trev. Not sure what he did with this one. Translated from the original Hynerian.
If I could go within
and know why I do
the things I do
why I cause the pain
I cause
I would mine that vein
as mining for gold
If I were to strike
that gold
I would bring it to the surface
in the broad light
and I would show
and share
for in the hoarding
I am drowning
Within me is a weight
breathing becomes difficult
thinking circular
seeing, impossible
and I know nothing
if not this
I alone am lost
I cannot not find my way
I sit within my quarters
the beauty of the universe
my stage
and upon my table
a solitary cup
and I wonder how
what should be two
is only one
I watch the chair
opposite mine
and the image of a bird
a solitary winter smudge
thumbed on the white canvas
puffed in cold
alone
suffocates my vision
I think of a moon
forever fated
to be close
but not to touch
an orbital prison
embrace in sight
and it circles
and circles
helpless
powerless
alone in the cold blackness
watching the colors
of life below
Imagine life is a storefront display
Paris, holidays
and what is artifice
is real
and what is not real
is you
and you stand
and watch
from the outside
of a world that seems
perfect
laughter
happiness
but you are not a part
of that world
And in that world
standing before glass
reflections of light
and joy
coat pulled tight
you reach
instinctively
for another
for the arm your mind
says will be there
should be there
and in the reaching
there is no other
no warm body
no loving smile
no kiss on the cheek
no shared joy
or hands held tight
or shoulders touching
or plans made
of a dinner to be
of eyes in candlelight
and attentive waiters
of eddies of couples
each in their own world
private conversations
over white plates
and shinning crystal
imagine you know that world
have tasted that fruit
have held the child
and felt the tiny heart
and all that is left
all that remains
all that will be
is the scent of memory
the aroma of a meal
you will never eat again
10 comments:
Can we miss what we have never had, the answer to that would be in the affirmative, at least in our imaginations of what the having would be, but to have had something, something precious, and to know, or at least suspect, that it is lost forever, to know precisely what has been lost, could only be more difficult, a subject spoken of by others before, but I doubt ever so eloquently or with such novelty. I absolutely love the first two stanzas, and the very first lines in particular, If and Why, pregnant, substantial, from that very first If a tone is set that continues throughout, like the beginning of a story where the end note is already echoing in the distance. I want to continue embracing the whole of this for a little while longer before I look at individual parts, and so I will be back, but my gosh, one thing that will cover it all for eternity and a day is beauty. Am in awe, again, more, always.
Such torment, such sadness...
Kimmie, I've hardly scratched the surface of Trev's torment. As my skill increases, knock on wood, I'd like to think I can do justice to his pain. Still a long way to go to find a way to put into words what he is experiencing. :-)
Sunshine, ROFL, and I thought the first two stanzas were the weakest. :-D
The aloneness is palpable, that it comes not through choice but because he does not know how to be a part, at times he could perhaps pretend, at times he may even have found, as with Em, some sort of anchor, something that ties him, a link between the separateness of his existence and what he seems to see as everyone and everything else. What must it mean to feel apart, isolated, excluded, orphaned in this manner, to watch the happy diners inside with a belly full of hunger. Both longing and accepting, time having taught the lesson, it does not lessen. And the expectation, when others care, that he can, stay, be, remain, though perhaps expectation is not the right word, at least not in their minds. I imagine the quiet, building panic that must ensue, knowing the time will come, when faces will have eyes, eyes that cannot understand the retraction, eyes that assume it is something he knowingly does and not something that he is incapable of stopping, at least this is what I imagine, of him, of his outsiderness. And the pain that he speaks of, of causing, is more than his having his own to contend with and in that contending becomes unaware of his influence on others, but more so it is the above, the lack within to affix himself. The feelings of being lost, of drowning are so arresting in their description, the unawareness and the desperation for awareness, so that he might find his way, not back, but for the first time, so appears it to be, something that he has always felt, and when he speaks of memory of having known the scent,it is only this, the recognition that he had been as close as he had ever been. Perhaps that is all nonsense. And so to continue on with what is written instead, the passage on the moon fated to orbit the darkness alone, watching the colours and life below is impressively poignant, sealing the imprint of his isolation, of his great sense of bereavement, his despair. If and Why, but for those. Astoundingly brilliant, ingenious piece of writing. Am still waiting for words.
Merry Christmas, dearest tree.
All geniuses are tortured souls...
Merry Christmas Loving Annie. I would hug you if I could. And maybe a few other things too. :-)
I think of a moon
forever fated
to be close
but not to touch
an orbital prison
embrace in sight
and it circles
and circles
helpless
powerless
alone in the cold blackness
watching the colors
of life below
What a powerful statement this is!
Gosh! How could I have delayed reading such art!
But I guess it is best to read it at leisure...feel each word...and every drop of pain...
Passionate pathos... Tree, you don't just write, you bleed your words...
(((HUGS)))
Mona, I'll take those hugs; and a good hot, spicy curry too if it's not too much trouble. :-)
I am touched that my writing means something to you. I often wonder if the moon wishes it could come down and play, dress in color. Lonely it seems, up in the sky, always distant, always silent, but always seen.
Chandni raat mein phir aag lagi hai dekho
Phir bohot der talk aaj ujalaa hoga..
Raakh ho jaayega to phir se ammavas hogi...
Look, the full moon is on fire again
Again it will give a lot of light...
Till it turns to ashes
And then once more the night will be moonless...
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