Sudden Magnetism

Unexpected magnetisation

i realised i was iron ore

commanded like a puppet

willingly under magnet

she was inadvertently

radioactive, bathing in

pure electromagnetism

and I spun and spun,

poles switching

like blades,

positive and negative

and furiously so.

 

And somehow,

my charge

became complete opposite to

her the moment those

electric blue eyes

caused fire on me,

my whole body internally,

turned haywire and some

part of her did too

so we started the

dance of polar attraction,

forward, backward, contraction.

Souls grasping at each other

from afar.

 

She pulsated the whole

truth of the

universe on me like

a madman, yet discretely like

flashing light

came in for a carnal

embrace (it was all

but human) rather,

supernatural for in

that moment

something ancient became

aware of itself,

realised its one-ness,

born for re-uniting in

self-awareness.

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Walking in the Forest

Walking in the forest,

I tore my shoes off, coat off, past off,

irises merge into aquamarine fish

swimming from eyes to chest:

now a nest of soft dew between the cracks

of tree barks,

fingers edging on backs of

beautifully bumping roots.

Hands turning,

squirming,

into fledgling pepper green moths.

Naked salt-skin opens up like

undersides of leaves.

 

And the trees

whispered me these things:

“We’re wise, and old, yet still sons of this earth,

you too have been birthed

from this mother.

This is your womb, just like any other.”

I listened to them hum, these

old folksongs delivered by wind, like drums,

each word, a mellifluous golden heart

lulled by the her petrichor sweet pitch.

My footsteps followed to the beat,

attenuated tones of riverbeds and creeks:

I listened and listened like a child.

 

Walking in the forest,

she pecks me on my cheeks with sun,

lathers me in the buttery buzzing sounds of bees,

blankets and bandages my toes with primrose.

I thank her in profusion,

she shakes her head in confusion,

poses before me, and says,

“Welcome back.”

People Problems

People absorbed in

people problems

pointing fingers at

palpable projections

“please prove me

right”.

 

Portray and pose, like ancient greeks, gawk and

perpetrate this poetry.

Dilate and prompt

my pupils open with your

purple prophetic prose and pink

paint.

Proprietor of prominent

proximity

problems

missing prosperity

in our own pools so

we become

prawns prodding

other realities upstream,

prying open possibilities

that prick our own proud

skin.

 

We practice prowling

like tigers in

public with primroses

between teeth yet

the precipice lulls us

in prams like prats

as we preach

forever – prone to

primitive premature

problems.

 

Pronounce your

name and proceed…

Pixelated

You’re musical miles

away.

I listen to your

monochrome

mixtape,

the songs are vivid

yet somehow pixelated,

blurry versions of us,

balancing between

accurate and inaccurate,

between a wall of

silicon…

 

Actually

not a wall,

but rather a featherlight river between

us. Untouchable.

Flowing electromagnetism,

quartz connections,

optic fluctuations that

determine connected

between offline,

sometimes I just need to

check that you’re

still alive,

existing three minutes ago.

I’ll take a shattered breath,

 

for the past

seemed all too good for me,

a walkable garden of eden

has been nurtured:

you were the sun that made the

flowers bloom, and I was

the moon that gave the world

rest. Our magic worked perfectly

in purple, palpable darkness

and dawn.

 

But in the end, we picked

different apples,

our toes were then

banished from

the garden of Eden-

Adam and Eve, fell on different

ends of the earth.

 

Now we live in a world of new

equations,

new robotics:

three typing dots equate to

three faint heartbeats,

the ring of a phone

equates to her calling

my name from across the bed.

 

Yet,

her smile

her voice

her words

remain the same,

lips and gaze still soft like

braiding hair underwater.

Smile still growing symmetrical

flowers in my chest, all the same.

It’s all just some tiptoes away,

this world won’t close,

it’s just a nose away,

in the waiting room

 

and while Adam and Eve

scavenge around earth,

charged with terror and love,

the garden grows of immense dimensions,

now a pool of vibrant haze,

flowers of immeasurable blaze

and with time,

there, they shall reunite,

taller and brighter,

and cross eternity again.

Ends meet

Window half

open, letting

a bear breath of the

world in,

swollen dark

lid

oozing out obscure

waters.

 

Ends meet in

airplanes, your past

bends its back,

cracks its spine and

stretches out, mews

for your milk.

Feed me.

Feed me.

 

So ends meet,

yesterday, today, last year, next week

shake hands like

wives meeting ex-wives:

horrible yet necessary and

completely unavoidable.

 

Tugging at my scalp,

my unhappy

nagging children:

fostered with my love

and attention

now over-dependent

clinging clams of

past versions of my identity

meeting who I am now.

Ends meet,

and I’m helpless staring out

the airplane window,

seeking for some

motherly nature in

clouds.

 

Ends meet with who

I am, with future craft,

scraping past remains,

my brains (but before) meets

my brains (but now).

Dots connect it all,

it’s one big murder investigation

and I’m the missing

person.

 

This issue is getting

quite

repetitive, I might say.

bip bop (lonely) future

stip

step

boots

stampeding

over

plastified

cellophane

faces

 

blip

blop

ro-

bots

you forgot

the smell

of books replaced by

blink, blink,

blank

screams

blank ego

inflation

(followed by deflation)

bright

light

bite my pride

like my fluorescent

lies.

 

scrip

scrap,

wrap

the world up

with

me

me

me.

 

mommy where are

the fish?

(the ocean seems

far too empty)

oh honey,

no matter,

only we exist (now)

scrip

scrap

the rest.

 

it’s only

us

us

us

and maybe

a bit

of

bip

bop

ro-bots…