Every day I capture my silence on a leash
and audaciously walk on the streets with it.
Every day it tucks its tail under my feet,
the chain grievously rattling down the pavement.
Famished, barefoot, insolent, unfortunate -
the words are sheltered under the tip of my tongue.
But I keep quiet and within this silence
frightful storms and world wars are breaking out.
Siren
Nobody bears indelible scars
on their left side from me.
The memory of me, even vaguely,
pays nightly visits to no one.
Perhaps I should have
written braver,
hurt deeper,
left suddenly,
and behind me-
only slammed doors and ashes.
There is no one left waiting
for me in their thoughts.
Even though unspoken,
even though in secret
for me to be the bright light
like a lighthouse into the distance
which calls out sailors to the shore
and then my poems -
like songs of a Siren
condemn them to doom.
Past Tense
Take me back to the old housefallen into decay
with the rusty fence
that we used to leap over fearlessly
to seak out those shabby ghosts-
our stories of unfortunate love
between these walls on which
we used to carve our names
with the car keys
but we wouldn't find anything
except,maybe, ourselves
and we drank with resignation
there, in the middle of the ruins
of someone's dusty porch.
At the station
Brought together by phone-
This city is incapable
to fit both of us in.
On telephone wires
we're ruthlessly stringing
stolen words
in different languages,
recklessly pulling
the cords of a guitar
while separation
mildly lies between us..
Separated by ocean,
Brought together by phone.
Every stranger at the station
discovers themself.
Saviour
Insecure lovers make you wish you could
mend the lonely wrecks of their hearts
and sew them on their sleeves again.
To become their savior,
stand up to their demons
and all of their accusers
who rarely happen to be anyone
other than themselves.
But as you so foolishly fight on their behalf
you should know,stupid,
they tend to love their misery
and never had the intention to part with it.
I don't mend,
I don't sew,
I don't fight,
and I'd help someone
to part with noone but me.
Then again...
nobody has ever needed my help for that.
The Endless Departure of Ships
It's almost sung, this blackbird's song,
but the occasion is demanding
to write once more before too long,
to savour every word like brandy.
My letters are what letters were
back when the heavy palms were waving.
When ships were parting with the shore,
my precious words betrayed me.
The miles are my new nemesis,
your absence is my anguish.
A ticking clock is all there is
my torment to be vanquished.
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