12312011

i will not measure

or tame or deny

the brilliance of joy

or sadness.

i will let it glow

while i sit inside it

and say,

i am here

. . .

i am here

. . .

i am alive.

what is more gifting than that...
and the presence of your love, my love?

12302011

after a truth:

you cried…

the tears fell

from your eyes

like droplets

of liquid glass

and i…

i wiped them

with my fingers

cool fingers…

singed

by the heat

of the agony

dripping

off your face

warm heart…

chilled

by the frost

of the storm

raging

in your soul

12262011

another unsent letter…

Dear W.,

You told me your darkest secret. And now you won’t look at me. You’re avoiding me, and it’s disturbing. And it’s surreal. 

I didn’t ask for this confidence. I didn’t know. It was that intimate moment we shared, wasn’t it? It was that thing that happens when two are together in a silence that holds them and binds them with invisible glue. The closer they come, the less they see one another.

You could’ve held your tongue. But you wanted to tell. Needed… to tell. Your secret was too heavy a load to bear. You needed my arms so you could stay afloat. Or was that just a desire for you to share the burden… the blame?

Now we exchange hellos with measured degrees of regulation. I, with a halting smile. You, with a tremor in your hands.

Will I never glimpse my smile in your eyes again? Will your fingers always rattle at the sight of my approach? Will you never acknowledge that I might forget? Maybe? One day?

But, the harder I try to forget, the stronger your confession rings inside my bones.

Yours,

N.

12232011

she said,

do you remember when we . . . ?

i said,

i don't.

she chattered away

about one memory 

and the other,

her voice fluttering

like the wings of

a disoriented moth,

trapped within the

confines of what 

it does not know.

she said,

do you remember when we . . . ?

i said,

i don't.

i thought how sinister

how odd

the feeling of oblivion,

like a blind foot 

misplaced upon

an unyielding crack,

voluntary or not

but obscuring, always 

the sanctity of memory.

but, what delusion!

i tell myself now.

there is no such thing

as oblivion.

there is no such thing

as a seamless seam.

there is no such thing

as sweeping things out

and shutting the door.

there is always a keyhole

a peephole

a crack.

12192011

for the alleviation of angst:

take one deep, conscious breath.

it is that simple, yes.

key word to bear in mind:

conscious.

this is where the difficulty lies.

12162011

we came together

one last time with chocolate

cake and breakfast tea beneath

a dripping awning on the big town square

and it took me a stretch to comprehend how

fragile the moments, like looming

mirages, and we, like tiptoes

navigating quicksand

12122011

tonight

i'll nurse my kiss-bruised lips

with yours

12092011

i drove home last night

while humming to the sound of the wind.

some existential elation held me high.

and i stayed inside it

while it lifted me higher,

and swept me along

in invisible indulgence.

and last night,

i slept!

and today i write about that slumber

as if it was an event.

it was.

after countless restless

sleepless nights filled

with reading

with thinking

with writing

with breaking life down

into miniature fragments,

exhaustion drew me

into her arms,

pulled my eyes shut

with pillowed fingers,

and said, sleep.

sleep... and then awaken.

and i slept

and awakened

and understood:

only the awakened

are free.

11292011

yesterday

and today

and tomorrow

new intentions

like many before

like many to come

touched

by the hope they will not falter

by the hope they will not shatter

by the hope they will not be compromised

setting new priorities

yet knowing the truth

and knowing

yet still denying

11272011

on this glimmering night of late november

while you undress yourself with ceremony

my eyes lock upon the undressing of the sky

her breasts undulating in quiet certainty

(radiating in their own breathless awakening)

her sex pulsing in rushed request

and i glimpse how you stretch out your naked body

to receive showers of falling energy

falling

from me

falling

slowly

falling

like the suddenness of nightfall

falls

and leaves you howling with elation

while i flaunt my nudity

and we grasp for more heat

and we dance

naked as wild beasts

beneath the edifice of undressed night

and how she reclines above us so shamelessly!

and how we whimper

and shimmer beneath her lust

our legs prized open with hunger

our eyes clasped shut with excess!

11192011

he said,

you’re a beautiful woman.

i said,

i know.

in the face of ignorance,

arrogance.

11162011

i brought her flowers.

i held them out

as if making an offering,

an offering of… support,

where arms could not be found.

i bit my tongue

for fear of saying

the words that sang my heart.

i withheld warmth

and delivered earth

and hoped the gift would suffice,

while knowing

it would never do

for me.

it would never.

11142011

at the end of a day

we fall asleep one person

and awaken another

11112011

maybe… just so

i will stand at our window today

this white window that knows our shadows so well

and through the dapple of morning light

i will watch as you go about what you do

and think how

sometimes

when we are not bound

arms and legs and mouths

there is still the splendor of you

and its ring inside my senses

like the vibrant chime of a bell

rising

arcing

falling

upon my eyes

waiting

for them to open

to receive

your breath

as if for the very first time

and i will watch

for your ghost

to find our white window

to wander through my body

like a yearning spirit 
wanders through an empty house

11062011

i love the seasons. i love them dearly. they afford an opportunity for change. an opportunity for newness. there is a special delight in seeing new colors. touching new flowers. smelling new airs. there is a psychic explosion of sensuality inside me when the present season departs and the new season enters my life.

but. once upon a time. once. long ago. i lived in a country with no seasons. i did not hate living there. i loved it. i loved it so much, i didn’t notice the missing seasons. life was lived one season all year long. and there was nothing to think about. that was just how it was.

now. many years later. i think about that experience as though i was a victim. as though i was missing something, back then. i wasn’t. but sometimes memories bring with them a certain feeling of wanting to be the victim. just like sometimes they bring with them a certain feeling of wanting to be there again… doing it all over again.

today. there is the feeling of wanting to be the victim. poor me. i lived in a beautiful country with a beautiful landscape and beautiful people… oh, but… i didn’t have my seasons.

let me be the victim, then!

if that will feed something.

just for today.

i will be the victim.

i will be the masochist.

just for today.

i will sit inside

and think about

my no-season life

with self-pity.

and outside,

the leaves will turn,

and change color,

and fly away.

11012011

she told me about her falling dreams.

i listened as she walked around

a clamoring evasion.

and then, right before she left,

a doorknob confession.

one of those,

oh, and by the way…

as if we would not meet again.

as if she owed me a truth

she did not owe herself.

10292011

you sprawl 
above me

beneath me

around me
inside me
you sink

like a meadow

dressed with flowers
you sing

and why should i

object or complain?

but i have questions

inside my head

you see…

i want to know about the blue hue

that colors your longing at night

i want to know about the way

you balance necessity and desire

i want…

there is so much i want to know

but you know… my mind…

it can’t soar across the wilderness of you

but still…

i want to know what clouds your head

sometimes

and what about

that icy feeling you have

when you remember

suddenly

things?

and what about these thoughts

i have of you?

and what about this burn

you have for me?

and what about the echo

your flesh chants

beneath my skin

when you are not near?

10262011

that certain day

that certain moment

a moment keening with truth

i started to write something

but my gut said,

close this notebook

and i saw how

that beautiful moment

was not about words

it was about silence

and stillness

and the transformation therein

10212011

a couple of weeks ago

my love said to me,

nevine, you look exhausted

nevine

nevine

without princess or preamble

and i said,

i do?

as if i didn’t know

as if i didn’t feel

and i looked at myself

in the mirror

i looked

without having to look too hard

and i told myself i had to stop

for heaven’s sake

(no… for mine)

stop

or else…

because

i caught myself running

and struggling

to catch my breath

i caught myself

heaving with exhaustion

at my own reflection

i caught myself giving

to others

giving care

and nurturing

and support

bearing their burdens

while they crumbled

beneath the weight

i caught myself

giving to others

but not

giving to me

and which crack

i wondered

had i slipped through

which crack

while pondering self-care?

where did my foot slide

beneath me?

when did my arms

not reach out to catch me

as i fell?

but i did slip

no matter how

or where

or when

i slipped

and found myself

falling

slowly…

into self-love

because who else

will love me

as i love me?

and i caught myself

at the last moment

i caught myself

by my very arms

and wrapped my arms

around me

and told me to

hold on right here, nevine

and while wrapping

i remembered

when i was a child

always running

through the woods

so i could hear the wind

sing in my hair

and while holding

i realized

i am no longer a child

and that running

through the woods

means never getting

to see the trees

10102011

i have been running

and running

and wanting to pause

while asking myself,

shall i stop?

shall i stop

and wait

and listen

for another’s footfalls

on the floor?

they might tell me,

i am here

i am here

but the footfalls

of another

would never suffice

only my feet

can lift me

can move me

can shift me

from here

to there

to here again

only my feet…

from that

to this

one footfall

and another

one breath

and the next

one touch

one sanctuary

and here

i rest

10082011

it rained again, last night. it poured as if the sky were angry at the earth for not wanting more. and what could i do but sit there in the dark and listen to it all with wonder? more decadent than the falling of the rain was its sound. some kind of secret language of lovebites and kisses, 
the pitter patter

the gentle caress of

warm lips on yearning skin

the complex lust of need need need

more eloquent

more furious

than the simple lust of desire

earth and sky

earth and sky

earth on top

sky below

the violent drumming

of primitive storm

the gift of sky’s furious hammer

and the earth unfolding

sky on top

earth below

absorbing, ever so gently

the sky’s ejaculation

how they have burned for one another!

and how i have burned

and waited

. . .

to watch, like a voyeur

their sweet release

in the ubiquity of night!

10052011

she asked me,

what do you think

of these chance encounters

of ours?

and i did not know

what to say.

i am not a believer in chance,

you see.

i am a believer

in the non-existence of coincidence.

i am a believer

in providence.

but still,

i challenge it.

and what troughs i drink from

while journeying

from ambition

to realization!

10042011

with the closing of a chapter
comes the turning of a page

10022011

last night. an odd exchange.

i.

faced with a situation. an unexpected situation. unexpected… and evil… and cruel. faced with that situation: i feigned ignorance. i played the fool.

and as i did, this truth washed over me:

feigning ignorance allows moments of revelation… followed by a sense of gratification. and not just any gratification! The Uncontested Gratification. this is the gratification that follows our allowing others to lower their defenses before us.

here was the other, before me, thinking, she’s an idiot. she’ll never be on to me! he thought this to himself, and i saw him think it! i saw it in his eyes that flickered, ever so briefly, with the delicate brushstrokes of deceit. and he so quickly… so readily… shed his false airs while thinking i wasn’t paying attention.

and all the time, i was watching… so closely. and seeing… so precisely… just what he would do next. and divining… as if by incantation… just what he would say.

and he said it! and i smiled. but only with my eyes that flickered, ever so briefly, with the delicate brushstrokes of gratification. that his eyes could see just what i wanted them to see. and he saw!

and after he saw, we parted.

09292011

i live life

inside the blur

of perfect geometry

09272011

it’s been too long a time

since we walked these woods together

you said

and i thought

more than long and longer than time

and the trees reached out for us

remembering our presence

from that other time

back before time

pleading with us

do it once again

sleep in our shade

and wink at the sky

through the brown-green

dapple of our leaves

so we slept

my head on your stomach

your fingers in my hair

the smell of life and earth and heaven

kissing our skin so tenderly

and you said

look at the color of the sky

is it real, or is it touched by magic?

and i said

it’s real

and you said

when was the last time we did this?

and i said

last spring

and

why don’t we do this more often?

you said

and i thought

because if we did

the magic would flee

09262011

another unsent letter…

Dear O.,

I’ve something to confess. I caught myself reading something I shouldn’t have been reading. I caught myself reading your journal. I came into your classroom to cover for you, just for a few moments. I came in to watch your students while you ran down the hall. And my fingers couldn’t help but touch the open pages sitting on your desk, so white and naked, colored by the outpour of your thoughts.

And I read something that made me stop. I read this: This is my dream job. And this one sentence, among all others, was written with such flair! It was written with pride, and joy, and fullness of spirit. And my first thought was: I wish I could make that statement and mean it. But my second thought was: I soon will.

Following this was a sense of urgency, as if I had to do something immediately, right now. Something to remedy that first feeling—an antidote to the dissatisfaction. And that was when it registered in my head that, scary as it may be, and time-consuming as it may be, I have already made the right decision to pursue my true desire, so that I might also have my dream job.

I am leaving this place in a few days. I will be gone from this hall… these halls… forever. I will leave these halls for other halls, where someone will be standing at the door to welcome me, rather than the other way around. And believe me, I will never look back!

But… before I go, I just have to say… I apologize for desecrating your privacy. But, this is something you must understand. This desecration of your thoughts was an impetus for mine. Not that that was ever a good enough reason for me to read what was so profoundly yours. But then, you left the open pages, like a blossoming rose, right beneath my fingertips. And what could my fingers do but touch, and brush, and caress? Do you know what I mean? You probably never will. And you will probably never forgive me. But I will thank you forever. Because your joy was my momentary misery, before it turned itself upon its head and reminded me of my joy, as well.

Yours,

N.

09242011

outside the gates

that wall off this garden, you.

but, look—

i’ve still got my smile.

this is the smile

i once thought you bestowed.

and

now,

when i glimpse

my own reflection,

i recognize

its grace.

09202011

once

long ago

when i was a child

i watched through a half-closed door

a woman shed her shimmering hair

like she was shedding her skin

she sheared it off

one lock after the other

and tossed it with lyrical abandon

while her daughter

a girl with conservative curls

pled with her to stop stop stop!

but there was no stopping her

and poor child

unable to bear much more

switched her gaze to the wall

stared at her reflection

in an age-spotted mirror

and wept ever so bitterly

while her mother cackled grotesquely

my ears will never forget that sound

my eyes are branded forever

with the little girl’s tears

so black with longing

so choked with desire

so rabid with regret

but, today

as i remember this

so many years later

i ask myself

(because i must)

the meaning of

this memory

i ask myself

why this?

why now?

while fearing instinctively

that i will never understand

09192011

tonight...

while driving home

i hummed to “la notte”

and counted the stars.

oh, mystical divinity

too sacred for words!

09172011

this morning

i do not force myself

instead

i listen to my body

as it expresses itself

i sit by myself

in green grass

beneath living tree

mist kissing skin

and flesh

and soul

and i allow my body

to speak

to confess

to complain

i allow it its agonies

i allow it its revelries

this is a solitude

i must embrace

as long, as winding

as it may be

i do

because

there are

no elegant shortcuts

09152011

and what if

he never returns?

she said.

and if he does,

i said,

what will you do then?

09132011

tonight

thinking thoughts of writing

something about something

or something about nothing

i tell myself to pause

set my pen down with intention

close the journal upon my words

and decide quite staunchly

i will read the words of someone else

some nights

there is more nurture

more tenderness

more warmth

more care

in the thoughts born

inside the churning

of another’s marrow

09102011

if tonight

you offered me

the moon on a string of gold

and told me it was mine to keep

would i believe you?

should i?

09072011

another unsent letter…

Dear M.,

I see you after… how many years? I make it a point to look at your face. I look. I understand one thing: You are the incarnation of Desperation. You are the discarded lover gone mad. You are lonely. Alone. Feeding on long-lost memories. Holding my name between your parched lips. Murmuring it secretly, so it sounds like the squealing sands of a violent desert storm.

You can’t erase my absence. You can’t erase my presence.

It is not because you hate me that you wish to make me suffer; it is because you love me.

Right?

But, no. This is not love. This is Obsession. Consumption. Insanity.

I want to say, You are pathetic. I do not want to make the effort.

I recall how you loved listening to your own voice. I recall how no other voice but yours mattered. Now, there is no voice inside your throat. Your desperation has petrified all timbre.

I recall how you gazed at your own reflection, so lost in self-love. Was what others lavished on you not enough? But for you, nothing was ever enough. Yours was always the need for more.

I recall… it doesn’t matter.

As I close my eyes over these memories, a persistent question saturates my vision: What is a word for who YOU are?

I have no words. Or, rather. I have no energy to seek the words. Or perhaps… I have no desire to expend the energy.

One blink, and you are black tar inside my eyelids.

I discarded you, so long ago. And what I discard, I never recover.

Sincerely,

N.

09052011

tell me about the cinderella complex

you said

and you flipped over on your side

one arm between us

the other around the backside of my heart

your face up close to mine

so we were

nose against nose

lips against lips

teeth against teeth

and i had no breath

as i said to myself

it is me with you

it is my secret desire

something i can never tell

but a truth i know so well

it is the destruction of my fabricated self

the degradation of my false modesty

but i did not tell you this

nor did you wait for my response

instead, you said

you have such delicate ankles

such fragile bones

and how clenched you were!

how in battle with yourself!

and solid gold probed divided rose flesh

oh, to be impaled

so exquisitely!

so… inside!

and outside…

only the sound of crickets

09012011

there is a broken being out there

(who i can hardly call a man),

messed up and insecure,

who invents brothers,

who invents sisters,

who invents sons,

who invents daughters,

who invents lovers,

(and what they do to him,

and what he does to them),

who invents the entirety of his life

(and its nuances, in tow)

and who invents praise to himself,

while inventing, also, those who deliver it.

and all of this

for something that belongs to him

no more than he belongs to himself.

in a world filled with imagination,

there is always room for more,

yet,

one must ever keep one’s finger steady

on what’s real and what’s not.

and so…

i wrote it in a story before,

and i will say it here, once more:

“if you tell the same lie enough times, even you start to believe it.”

and here is where solitude begins.

and in the kingdom of solitude, madness reigns. 

08302011

she comes to me

in the dead hours of the night

she comes

and not for the first time

she has been coming to me

telling me things

telling me truths

telling me fictions

filling me with words and thoughts

of who she is and what she wants to be

answering my questions

while i sleep

while i wake

while i do

whispering to me

bring me alive

i feel her urgency inside me

this woman who has been living in my thoughts

for days. for weeks. for months.

i feel her urgency to be born. to emerge.

to be released

limbs of flesh and blood and bone

splayed across both earth and sky

i birthed her last night

and this morning

on a new day

she inhabits pages of script

beloved and bled

from agonizing mind and quivering fingers

pages bled in the blindness of night

and she tells me she wishes to inhabit

more and more and more

what can i do but oblige?

i am alive

and

she is alive

and

i am her creator