Mend

So what now? 
What happens now, 
Now that the darkness, 
That you let take root inside, 
Starts dripping out?
What happens now,
When you can't let, 
The one you love the most, 
Look at you, 
Fearing that her light, 
Will only reveal, 
The murk of the abyss, 
A part of you flails about. 

How do you mend this?
It's either been make, 
Or break everything,
That is falling apart. 

How do you sew this together?
This, this pit in your stomach, 
This hole that is gaping, 
Showing her everything, 
That you'd rather not.
Who gives you the needle, 
The thread? 
To pull the seams closer, 
Stamp the darkness out, 
That rears its ugly head. 

---

Mend is a word that,  
I need to learn. 
Mend is an act that, 
I haven't done. 
Crash and burn, 
Turn and run, 
That's all I do not want to do. 

I want to stand upright, 
And look her in the eyes, 
When I tell her that I love her.
And when she looks at me, 
I do not want her to seek out, 
Traces of what has lurked, 
Long enough in my bones. 

Mend, mend, mend, 
Mend is what I have to do, 
Mend my bones, 
Mend our hearts, 
Mend the tears, 
Mend. 

The New Gods

The other day, 
I caught myself thinking, 
Wondering whether the old Gods, 
Still walk this earth. 

Do they anymore dwell,
In the din,
Of our shuddering cities? 
Or is the fuel for the fires,
The flames in our engines, 
All that remains,
Of their lifeblood we drained?

In the dust, ash and grime,
It is hard to find, 
Marks of the divine, 
When these desolate lands, 
Like the bent broken backs,
Shells of their bodies, 
That still stand. 

Maybe the old Gods are lost to us, 
We've been left abandoned, 
To perish by the torments, 
Of our own devices.

Yet we need to hold on, 
To hope,
That hiding in the breeze, 
And the shades of trees, 
In the gurgle of a cool stream, 
Are the new Gods, 
Gods who will rise to reclaim this earth, 
Gods who will heal the creation we've hurt, 
They who will lead us to rebirth. 

Love, Undefeated.

This time, last year, 
I'd been writing about love, 
As something that could only be, 
Spoken about in abstractions, 
A feeling which, I feared, 
I'd never again encounter, 
Blooming inside my barren heart. 

Love seemed to dwell in my poetry, 
Like a shadow that was just out of reach,
Words stained by the remains, 
Of what I ached for, 
And couldn't find. 

But now that I can breathe again, 
Feel the heart in my chest beat again, 
See my mouth open in laughter and kisses again ( Oh the kisses! ) ,
And notice her touch warm my blood, 
I know fortune has smiled once more, 
I have found what I thought I'd lost, 
I am in love once more.

The love that she has granted me, 
Makes me feel ageless and pure, 
I feel boundless when I look into her eyes,
Her love gives meaning to my life.

Prayer

Born as humans,
We've been given so much,
Like spoilt children though,
We still keep asking for more. 

Bent, bowed and begging,
Praying to the Gods, 
Craving, for just a little bit more, 
But forgetting,
What we offer in return,
Is all their making, 
It's all their own.

Perhaps,
We would be wiser,
To cease the beseeching,
Look at all that we've been given,
And start seeking,
To become worthy. 

Worthy of being human,
Worthy of speaking to the Gods,
To look them eye to eye,
To never have to stoop, 
Wouldn't that be a greater tribute ?

Revive

It's been a while, 
Since I've written some poetry,
And I think I know why,
That words now elude me.

Over the years, poetry,
Had become for me, 
A way to survive,
    The hell inside,
A silent scream for help, 
Words that hoped to be heard,
All the cries that they held.

I had learnt those words so well,
Words of sadness and pain, 
That when you arrived, and the hurt ebbed, 
I  was left unprepared and ill-equipped, 
Stranded with phrases that didn't fit. 

Can you tell,
That I am trying to write something happy?
That I am once again learning to smile?
And I am looking for words anew, 
That let me show you, 
The light and the joy,
That inside me rises once more.

I am in love, 
I have the strength,
To not drown in the deep, 
In the sea of darkness that I've let,
Lap on the edges of my soul.

I am happy, 
And I am alive, 
Maybe now I will find words that glow,
Write a little poetry,
With lines that flow,
To honor what you've made me see,
That I am revived, 
At a place where we can thrive.

A Broken World

When last I wrote,
I thought I could break through,
Stir something in you, 
Find the depths of apathy,
But maybe there's still some ways to go, 
Until I find the collective limit. 

Would it be more sad, or less?
If the other reason, 
Is that all of you are now just numb, 
To the pain,
That there's just too many words around,
Too much of the same,
And if that's the case,
I don't know what to say.

But that doesn't make the pain,
Any less real, does it? 
And those who can write about it, 
Perhaps they're the ones speaking,
For the rest of you. 

Tell me, we're all so angry now, 
All the time, aren't we? 
Pretending to care for others,
Acting as if we can feel,
Their hurt and agony,
Yet all the while, 
Unable to care for even our own selves,
All of us are in grief, 
Just beneath the veneer of peace,
There's so much hostility,
But surprisingly,
I find myself simultaneously,
Incapable of violence.

I think we're an angry people,
Living in a broken world,
A world of rising seas and burning forests,
Of tyranny and failing democracies,
And I think that you need to wake up,
Wake up to the fractured society,
Wake up and let yourself feel,
Because words are failing now,
Falling on tired eyes and frozen hearts,
Words are no more enough now, 
It's time we rose, it's time to move,

So what are we going to do?

Would Kafka Be Proud?

A little every day,
I inch towards certain death,
A worm eats its way,
A gaping hole through my head. 

Defenceless, I bear witness, to the hurt,
And the cold, cruel, unfeeling,
Hearts of the new world,
From which to flee,
I dream, 
        Of either my own dying,
Or I scream,
For destruction, 
The unravelling at the seams,
Of the world around me.

This darkness that I carry, 
                             I would shed gladly, 
This wall of words, 
                           I'd let crumble freely, 
If I was held today, 
Cradled by gentle hands,
Caressed, 
By a solitary sign of being wanted,
Onto the scraps, I would hold, 
                               Shreds of desire,
Swinging from the pegs of hope,
I could rest my shield, 
                                Quench the fire,
I would finally yield,
Walk away,
                  From the blazing pyre.

Alas, this earth is tired, 
Over us all a dismal, desolate shroud, 
If he knew, of the depths of my despair, 
Would Kafka be proud?

A Pile of Lines

At every hint of hurt,
And every sign of pain,
I've turned to poetry,
Turned myself into poetry,
Bleeding words, in meaning sparse,
Over and over, until a pile of lines,
Is the only thing sheltering me.

I haven't been feeling much of late,
The silence of my heart has been,
Disconcerting,
Shallow, dreary days, and the burden of fate,
Had me thinking,
There was no more to bleed. 

But I need the words,
I need the verses,
Today, I need every letter,
That I can muster,
To stem the torrent,
That threatens to flow,
From under the scabs on my heart,
Stirs raw, uncontained,
Grief from long ago,
Stains the links of the fetter,
That I so urgently strain against.

Words, fickle words,
To soften the blow,
I turn to poetry again,
To keep myself from going insane.

Silence II / Nornir

At the foot of the world tree, 
Sit Urðr, Skuld, and Verðandi,
Tending the sacred Yggdrasil,
With the waters of Urðarbrunnr, 
The wise maidens three.

The Norns, they're called,
Daughters of giants old, 
In silence they braid,
Weave and untwine,
And snip the strands,
When it's our time, 
Of the threads of our fate. 

It is said when the Norns,
Work two threads into one,
The lives tied, converge,
Their destinies merged.

My heart is quiet,
Of late,
Not from sorrow, nor from fear,
I converse,
But not in the words of haste,
In the silence of the empty room,
I listen to the sounds of fate.

For if the threads of our lives,
Are being woven with each other,
I pray the Norns work the knits,
Close together,
And fashion the yarn to last.

That in our days to come,
There is peace, 
That we seek honour,
There is hope, and joy, 
Our hearts kept safe from hurt,
Our flow of time in concert.

Grace

Someone asked me,
What are you looking for?
How do you want, 
Your lover to be?

I couldn't say anything then,
But I've been thinking,
The woman from my dream,
Who is she?

Here's my answer. 
Fanciful, perhaps,
Presumptuous, probably,
But this is a draft,
A very rough draft,
Of how I want my partner to be. 

I want her to be someone who understands,
not just art, but the importance of art,
the necessity of creation,
Someone whose life is art. 

The woman I love, 
I wish her to be attuned to the Earth,
Respectful of the natural way,
Who seeks to unite the knowledge of the ancient people,
Despite the modern life far-removed from the roots.

I would like her to be invested in the history of humankind,
The stories of our ancestors,
Because in those lies the wisdom,
That illuminates the coming days,
The right path, the good path. 

The partner I choose,
To be by my side till the end of our time,
Must have a conception of,
The greater purposes if being alive,
A woman who, for all the regular successes,
Understands that life should be lived to be fulfilled,
A person who seeks adventure easily,
And each day is,
Without regret,
Without boundaries,
Without compulsions,
Someone who prizes freedom,
One who is mindful of,
The indispensable liberty of the individual. 

I want to be with a woman,
Who has a touch of the insane,
For her to look at the world, 
And see it with a vision of her own, 
Wild, 
Divergent,
Unrestrained.

And most of all, 
I want her to have grace.