Skip to main content

If Only


If only

Life was resolved

In small moments of

Celluloid Clarity,

Where breakfasts and brunches and sad little lunches

Had small interludes, where we lived our lives

Where we were caricatures or men and women of certain types

All our flaws, all our smiles, all our little hopeless dreams

Would be resolved in time for dinner, with space left for small snacks


If only

Life was resolved

In tiny trespasses along

Alliterating allusions,

Where time and pain and all those little hurts

Would pass in a montage, set to silent soundtracks

Where ghost-quiet nights were woven together into magical quilts

Held together by the threads that were unknotted from latticed shrines

When the invisible returned from shadows of memories, to be whole again


If only

Life was resolved

In small moments of

Empathic epiphanies,

Where prayers and amulets and objects of unverified provenances

Had the power, to turn fireflies into starry nights

Where our messy little truths, no longer collided with our fictitious selves ‘

All our poems would find their own little ends, to wrap our stories with neat little bows


If Only.




-- 


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

For posterity

--- The following is for public record  for posterity and history  Let them know you were here  etch your names on these walls   Die in the name of revolution, Industrial, or  Agricultural,   Political or, Sexual,  Just find a cause  Don't decline this invitation to your private doom,  It is a limited-time offer,  For all sales must end     What utter madness is this? Why are you running away from this? On what list is your name on?  Who did you meet?  What did you talk about? Was it about me?  Am I sounding too paranoid?  A little insane  Ignore the glint in my eye, I take no pleasure in this  All I say is accept this love  After all,   whose love isn't a little tainted?  Whose name,  a little tarnished?  Spill out your silences now, I have shown enough love  Others here are much worse, Brotherhood and fealty mean nothing here I am here as your fri...

Zulaikha’s Lament

Blotted and Stained Like blood on apples, My reputation remains in tatters After these years But what was a woman to do? -- He had the face of An angel His shoulders, A sculptors dream His eyes, spoke a million languages his lips, like daggers driven apart -- I grew outside of Cairo Unloving father and sad mother Sold me for a goat and   A bag of gold To the first merchant who They came across -- My Husband, Kind, Generous man Made me his wife And put me along with Thirteen others -- My Husband, Kind Generous man Kept me happy Visited me twice a month Blessing me with His drunken kisses and Impotent rage -- I was never sad What more could A woman want? Lots of wealth and An impotent husband Sex was a chore The price of being so glad -- Then he came Chained and covered with dust Another man from the Slave traders den He stood at the gate Neither sad nor in jest Even at a distance...

The Empty Apartment

I draw a deep breath, An empty chair sits in the corner Hastily scribbled notes scattered Around the desk, abandoned Like lilacs in battle filed Wandering eyes rest among the Clumped clothes, a black sequined Scarf pokes pathetically from Among the ruins of our lives, Staring at me, accusing me A half-eaten apple still Sits on the top the fridge, next To the owl totems from the time We visited the dead shaman, You used believe in -- The movers are here, Walking up the narrow stairs Stomping feet leaving shoe marks, You so hate, across the Floor, Our floor The empty boxes laid in front of me Forcing decisions I never wanted To make, what to keep and what To ditch, how much luggage to leave For the insidious new occupants -- Tz