My Finch
–
I don’t flinch;
my heart flutters like a finch in the day.
The sun pricks my skin,
I bleed in gold colors of yellow
and paint my skies grey.
“Where does it hurt?” they ask.
To conceal a self within,
while I pray.
Is hiding a sin?
But if the world knows,
then can I no longer be me?
I can no longer be free.
Is one free in hiding?
Some things are best left unseen,
for it is tiring to breathe in between
who I am and who I should be.
There are colors in my eyes,
and flowers rise from my veins;
every day, I am not the same…
I change… And flip in the wind,
like a dance, like a race,
like the finch,
that resides in this heart of mine
and tells me “i know it hurts here,”
but you will find a tree,
and wipe your tears with its leaves.
A lake will be your bed,
and I am your heart;
flutter in yellow,
and forget all this dark.
Returning Home
–
I have run out of sorries to say ,
somewhere in the way my mind works.
I am a mess,
trying to collect itself
every now and then.
I can amuse you with a joke,
but when you get too close,
you might be pricked with a few thorns.
The reason is,
that this house was never built from stone.
It was caressed by tree barks of a cypress,
and leaves tangling into each other.
You might not find the door,
but somewhere a window is always open.
All my life,
I’ve been returning home,
even though I no longer know where that is anymore.
“You are never satisfied,” – I’ve heard that one before…
I see years pass and seasons shift ,
Yet here I am… This rooted immovable being,
frozen in the same old mind.
Parts of me watch everything happen from the outside,
like balancing on the margins,
or on thin ice.
I watch love unfold itself onto me,
and this entity which so I craved,
which so my heart has yearned for,
suddenly becomes so far from my sight.
I want to reach,
to hold and be held,
to love and be loved,
to connect and be understood,
to see and be seen,
to watch in presence,
this unfolding.
But instead,
my hands are wrapped with a rope,
I cannot untie;
helpless,
haunted by the same mind
over and over again.
Will someone wait for me over that bridge?
Will I find them waiting for me
to come back home?
I hope so,
I really do…
And if not,
then maybe my fate was
to be alone.
The silent sentinel
–
I am your sentinel,
keeping watch of your silence;
watching as I tiptoe over this edge,
listening to the ghosts that linger
within the trees.
The wind brushes my hair,
and I hear the faint sound of your laughter
from the side I can no longer reach.
Your cries are loud,
and somewhere I see your tears…
I extend my arm
to grapple with your fear,
but you are not here…
And I have to be the ghost in the trees,
to float in between –
push the winds,
to disappear.
I have to become unknown;
another mystery in some book,
a forgotten note in some song…
But even in all these depths,
underneath the shades,
you will find me waiting…
Maybe an echo this time,
maybe a remnant,
but still your silent sentinel.
Where you used to wait
–
I walk the streets near my house,
and watch as the pines pine for you.
My steps are heavy on the ground,
and water gushes from a nearby stream.
I still hear your whispers in my ears,
calling my name, like a soft lullaby singing me to sleep.
Your spirit is a lingering ghost,
that follows me on this path…
From afar, I look at the window you stood at for hours;
that is where you used to wait for me.
You stood as age crippled your knees,
always waiting for me to come home safe –
safe from a world that stretches out to grab me
by my feet,
and pull me to its dark depths,
taken by the shadows of humans that only inflict evil.
Let me tell you, thank you for waiting for me.
But you couldn’t save me,
nor could I have saved you on that hospital bed.
I could only hold your hand
and count the days,
Mondays through Sundays.
I would count the hours,
mornings through evenings…
Only to realize we are all waiting.
Time passes.
Seasons change.
Clocks never rewind,
except in the hell of the mind.
So i walk,
and don’t look around,
and the trees have turned a shade of green,
fading with the wind…
I pine for you,
and all I have is this road home
and the window…
Where you used to wait for me.
