the heart's symphony

I watched him sleep to
Suite Bergamasque
It was then that I realized
Spring was coming
that moment became my
Raison d'être

good

when you write,
what do you feel?
are you proud that you can transport that thing in your heart
into someone's mind?

when two people are going through a difficult time
when their eyes are round and puffy because
exhaustion has filled them up with itself
it is equivalent to
a perfect summer leaf being split
perfectly down the middle.

the surprise gust of wind does the rest.

chasing daylight

So this might sound sad or even silly.
But you know how that internet activist Aaron Swartz committed suicide?

I've been reading about it, reading obits and people say 'what a tragedy, what a shame, he was only just at the brink of greatness'.

And...
I get it.
I get why he probably did it.

There is a strange sadness that has been lurking around...enveloping me and quietly residing without my permission inside my chest cave, and I don't know what to say to it anymore. I've been trying to define it, to ignore it, to even categorize it in order to try and understand it better, but it's just a lazy lump of intrusion acting like a road block in all of my plans.

I was speaking to S about it yesterday, while he was drifting to sleep and wasn't able to really respond to the deepness in my confession. I spoke about this clear divide in my life, separated by time. A sort of 'has been' and what is now a 'will be'. I'm looking ahead and planning and organize accordingly, but it's as if a huge chunk of me has just splintered off haphazardly, and it's floating in the distance where I can see it, but I can't touch it anymore. I miss it.

Whereas first I used to collide head on into blurting out my feelings through different means of expression...now I hesitate. I stutter. I falter. And I give up.

Why is that?
What happened?

is that a snake?
or an earthworm?
no matter,
for i am not afraid of anything.

The Arches of Summer

Bells are chiming
Singing in glee
For you and me.
And flowers bloomed
Defying the gusty winds,
of an island spring.
When everyone smiled,
their words were waterfalls
of honey and sugar.
They poured themselves
into our bodies of tea,
And the gods picked us ripe
to plant in their gardens of love
so that they could also know
what it was like to have
what you and I
Began.

you, you, you

the world is diagonal
when i think about how
you are mine forever
my heart is thumping
like a sea storm
inside my chest

eternal sunshine.

It was when the sunlight blinded me after I knew that snow had fallen the night before that I realized the wonders of the universe and how it worked were equivalent to our love. The crisp autumn snow lay frigid outside as the Stillwater sun beat down on your bare chest. My hand found yours as I watched you curve your perfect lips to sip the cider of the Plains. Love beamed, sitting upright on your back while you slept (so sweet) on your stomach. It became the wind in your hymns of surprise laughter, the verb behind your smile. It got caught like my hair in your fingers, my language in your tongue.

I remember when you looked back at me,
that fateful day,
when your half smile and focused chin
became the net that caught my butterfly heart.

I remember being a mountain
to your sky,
alone in the geography
of our borrowed bed.

My ballooned head
followed you around
as you pulled my heart made of string.

When I ate those marigolds that weren't mine
and danced like a Russian.
Or spoke in my mother tongue,
you understood,
because you knew all about

parampara
dil kashi
saadgi
jaan aur
jigar

It's numbing when I see my words wash over your wounds. Your feelings made of flesh hiss at the sweet balm of diction. You push my hair away when I'm looking down into the empty palms of our future. You sit behind me, so we're looking in the same direction but not at the same things. You push my hair away, you kiss my wingspan- my heart takes flight. It's strange watching myself turn into a listener, and you a writer. It's strange watching us (with such speed, since we have practice now, you see) create safe spaces in rooms we enter for which to put our love-we walk in, fingers intertwined, eyes large, biting the inside of lips- we don't even know we're doing it anymore, but it's there. The dipping of toes into water, the preparing of a corner in which to put our love in full and almost offensive view of others, so neither of us forgets for a single second that our threads were tied and knotted several times over long before we even knew the other existed.