Sunday, 22 November 2015

Intimacy

Intimacy

Intimacy. Intimate. Close. Love. True friendship.
They seem so unattainable sometimes. 
Talking, not speaking. Hearing, not listening. 
Conversations stuck at the surface, floating.
Feeling defeated when you cast about for some way
To get to know this face.
'How are you doing?' 'How are things?'
A chat coming to a screeching halt after these responses:
'Fine', 'Can't complain', 'Good'.
You hate these responses, these questions
Yet you dish them out in equal measure, unable to think
Of something deeper to say.

We're stuck now. 
Looking at each other. Not knowing what to say.
We try on various attempts to get a meaningful response, 
A deeper answer. 
The promise of communion slipping through our fingers.
I'm chasing that intangible feeling of being connected;
maybe being close is for special people. Normality is meant
For mere existence.

We meet. We talk. Casual interactions. Nothing special.
I say what you want to hear; you interrupt only if
My body language and expression allow it. Weeks pass. 
I tell you the truth. I watch keenly as its taste, its effects
Register on your face. You manage to swallow it down.
Tomorrow you draw a line. You say I can be better than this.
I know you're right, but I insist on my wrong.
Slowly we move: from tolerance to grudging acceptance.
Time flows on.

Now we sit in companionable friendship. Lighter than the care
Of years ahead, more responsible than the times before.
The same conversation. With more layers and nuances than it had
In the beginning.
I now know a significant amount of your silences, their shades,
what they mean and when they mean what they mean.
I still need to be reminded of those I forget, from time to time.
With discomforting side effects. 
You know how to subtly disagree with me. Not too much 
That I leave in a blind rage, ignoring you and what you said
For weeks on end, but enough to make the point stick.
Still your mind gets the better of your mouth sometimes
And I fume for the rest of the day.

I've seen the good, the bad, the ugly. As have you.
Time continues its flow. You now speak your mind,
my reaction having dulled to a mild irritation, acknowledging
Your usefulness.
I no longer mind your silences; they're now natural to me.
Maybe I think too much, as you so often tell me.
But I fancy we got here because of time. We gave each other time.
To grow. To be.  


Magical, how people spend 30 years, but still very much in love; 
ten years apart, but resume their friendship 
Right where they left off.
How do we become close? How do we move past casualness into closeness?
It seems so sudden when we notice it:
a lot of little things added up to make this one big thing. 
The small moments that meant nothing by themselves, come together to mean something 
As a whole.
I suppose that, if anything, is the secret to intimacy.

Sunday, 25 October 2015

On Being Who You Are (Or A Letter to my Younger Self)

This poem was written out of the reflections I had on graduating and all the time I've spent at uni. Happy reading!

On Being Who You Are (Or A Letter to my Younger Self)

I've chosen to be myself now.
It was hard, not being me; 
It is hard to be me.
They said I was strange, weird;
I tried to change, lock myself away,
Gave them only what they wanted to see.
I'm leaving that behind; I'm going to be me. 

I'm going to be myself, I say.
Lay down my rules for living, and live by them,
Every single time. 
They may oppose me true,
But I'll shake my head and smile; don't mistake 
That for agreement. As Mr. Henley wrote, 
'My head is bloody but unbowed', I'll say quietly
To the pain inside. 

We all need that time in our lives,
To explore ourselves. Me thinks it a sad thing
To live life based on people's assumptions, views,
Beliefs, ideas, on who you are and who you should be.
Make mistakes. Grow.
Your experience should ring true to all who hear your tale.
Know who you are; separate from the clamouring and the noise
Of the voices inside and outside.

We are leaving tracks in the sand,
Our footprints quickly vanishing, too faint to follow;
A ripple of water that is gone, even as it comes.
Our monuments of today will be ashes tomorrow; new ones
Will take their place. 
Live. Not too much for yourself or for a legacy
Or for the applause of society.
Live, as a celebration of life. Try to be yourself, 
Who you feel with all your heart, all your soul,
You should be. 
Have constructive experience. Enjoy productive fun.
Be me.

Monday, 19 October 2015

The Bed Hopper

Here's another poem. Happy reading.

The Bed Hopper

Why do we hop, from bed to bed?
Is it because society has punished us
Has deemed us unfit to love?

Why do we hop, from bed to bed?
Is it the loneliness, the feeling we're alone in our desire?
For some it is proving themselves, over and over
being a better a lover.
Others say one person, whether man or woman, can never be enough.
For me, the experience of you is all I would want.

And so we hop, from bed to bed, 
Conquest after conquest.
Have you ever felt the adrenaline, the rush of desire
The fulfilled fullness when you someone in your arms 
Naked.
All the places you touch; with mouth, fingers, feet
Are pleased.
Owner pleased. You pleased.
Desire sent, desire received.
It's not as romantic as in the movies, but just as rewarding. 

Why do we hop, from bed to bed?
There are many who'll tell you: monogamy is dead,
Marriage gets so boring sometimes.
Forgetting the forest, we start counting trees.
Unhappy that our favourites no longer appear.
I tire of your complaining.

Has desire ever come to you unbidden?
Do you rollover at night, see my sleeping form,
struggle strongly not to wake me from sleep?
Has your restraint ever veered on the edge of collapse?
Mine has. I miss you longing for me. 
Sometimes we have an awakening, curiosity destroying restraint.
I yearn to know what makes you tick. 
I treat satisfying you as a sort of project:
I've written both proposal and budget; now I need your help with the report.

Why do we hop, from bed to bed?
Who does not want to be wanted? 
I figure we can do without love for a while.
I give of my body freely; my heart locked up firmly, beyond breach.
It's funny how people say they like you,
Their rejection written already in the small things.
It's just tolerance for the interim. 
Then they'll change you. Or get you to change for them. 

Why do we hop, from bed to bed?
Looking over your shoulder is a deadly thing,
Try not to see if the grass is indeed greener. Water and tend your own.
If it fails, bear the grass as it is. 
We're searching for something that can be found. Not in our lifetime;
We must leave it for those who come after.
I would prefer desire be answered by desire, longing mutual,
Not one-sided.
To be always wanted, loved, and never used.
To have the encounter of a lifetime over and over again.
Why else would I hop, from bed to bed?

Thursday, 15 October 2015

On being friend-zoned


Hello friends! Long time, no see. I'm sorry I've gone so long without writing anything, but creative juices can be somewhat unpredictable. Over the next few weeks, I hope to be sharing a few poems with you guys. I like to think of them as the gems of my solitude. Enjoy the one below.

Friend-Zone (Requiem for Love)

You are everything they need, on paper and in reality.
You did all the right things; dressed up nice, played it cool.
You were the shoulder to cry on, their umbrella in the rain.
You've wisely stayed silent, your ears shouldering the burden
More often than your mouth
You're right there. And yet, you're invisble.

You've been asking yourself lately what went wrong.
Why isn't it as clear to her, to him, as it is to you?
Are you somehow lacking? You've checked and double checked.
You are definitely worth it. You know people would kill to have you.
And that's not flattery, or your own arrogance bleeding through; 

It's the truth.

You've been loyal, you've been faithful.
You've left no stone unturned, no effort undone.
Secretly her friends wonder why she hasn't put you down,
Made her move. 
Quite a few of his friends think it's high time you made things official.
Still, nothing. Not a word. 
His glances toward you are too short, her behaviour too casual.
Perhaps they'll never see. 

And indeed they do not. 
You're always looking for someone else; someone who isn't me.
You miss me, wish for all the things we have, but you want them. 
I awoke. I opened my eyes. What I see is painful.
You don't desire me. I'm not what you want. Not what you think you need.
I wish it were like the modern fairytales, when after too many tries,
You realize I'm here. 
But that's just that...a fairytale. 
It seems you're right and I'm wrong. 
I'm hoping a square peg will fit in a round hole. 
You're detached enough to see it; I'm too involved to stop trying. 
The way reality looks these days, it seems I'll just have to pack up
And move on. 
Farewell. I hope you find happiness. 

Sincerely, the friend-zoned.

Wednesday, 1 April 2015

Thinking of You: Part 1 & Part 2

It has been a while since I last wrote a poem. Partly because I had been experiencing some personal turbulence, and also I felt I could not live up to the success of the Taxi poem I wrote some time back. The poems below are a result of the turbulence I faced, in particular the friends and family I am no longer with, and whom I miss dearly :) I decided to keep writing no matter how mediocre the results turned out to be. Happy reading!

Thinking of You: Part 1
 
Thinking of you.
Your eyes full with amusement ,
Lips lifted, holding out a smile. 

You laughing out loud, the Earth's joy
Flowing through your veins.

Thinking of you.
Open heart, open hands,
Always there; waiting for me.
Your humility, natural sense of style; .
I wish we would hangout again. 
I think of all the jokes I would tell you,
The way you would laugh.

Thinking of you
Dreaming even; a longing so full
I cannot always keep it in. 

For all the future times, for the present
That will never be. 
Happy, playing, talking, fighting
The times I would want to have and had.
Listening as you tell me the truth 
I never wanted to hear;
frowning when you think I'm wrong,
Your reluctance to admit I'm right.
My eagerness to press my advantage;
your hesitation to admit defeat too quick.

Thinking of you,
Your innocence, the soft core
I so often wished to protect.
It comforts me to know you are you
In this crazy little world.
It gives life a little more meaning,
some order to the madness we live in everyday,
That your goodness still thrives
No matter what. 

Thinking of you.
How much I wish to hold you,
squeeze, feel your warmth, breathe you in,
Smell or no smell.
So often that I no longer keep count
The kisses I always hope to give.
I fear so much that time will run out;
I will not be able to visit 
The days of yesteryear, with you in the present.

Thinking of you.
Memory and fantasy bleed into each other
What I remember, what I long for
All these hopes and fears.
Many moments I waste
thinking of you, over and over
Ad infinitum or ad nauseam?
It makes no difference to me.


Thinking of You: Part 2 (Online Again)
A green dot next to your name.
I've missed you.
So I type out a 'Hi' and hit 'Enter'.
Seconds pass; the dot never wavers,
Does not disappear. 
My 'Hi' remains. Alone, unanswered. 

I try to tell myself:
'Maybe you haven't seen it,
maybe you're away from wherever it is
you are.'
The green dot never lies
so maybe its you. 

I send a 'How are you doing?'
after my 'Hi'.
Just so that it doesn't get too lonely.
We all need second chances,
I mean let's give you the benefit of the doubt;
let me really show you I'm here. 

Seconds turn into minutes, minutes
Into an hour. 
I just let it go; maybe not today, 
perhaps another time.
After all we do get busy, every now and then.
Right?

There is so much I want to say
So much you want to tell me.
You're homesick; I miss you being with me. 
We smile together (or so I imagine)
at all the jokes we could have told each other.
The funny stories, the tears
The bad days when I really wish you were here
To cheer me up. And me, you. 

It is getting easier;
You fitting into your place,
Me into mine.
The pain fades to a dull throb;
the loneliness hardly noticeable these days.
We run out of what to say after the first few sentences;
I wonder how I can make you understand,
You only wish I could see. 
An awkwardness is creeping in, too intangible to fix,
And yet it lingers.

You're online again,
Green dot next to your name.
I had so much to say, 

I don't know where it all went;
I don't know how it is for you,
Wherever it is you are.
Something between us is dying.