Skip to main content

Resolution

 


I overslept on the cosy couch, 

Once again, 

I bet the bugs recognised me, 

The clock ticked on my time, 

The wind gossiped with the trees about my secret. 

I bet they would talk about my last 

resolution, 

Not to come here again, 

To visit him. 

But two bottles of island wine and some sweet talks at the bar

Made me come here. 

I read his eyes when he looked at me, 

There was despair and sleeplessness. 

In the air of intoxication and between the dimming lights, 

I tried to read his lips, 

I sensed the different alphabets 

trying to escape the choking

In his mouth. 

I remember strolling through the city, 

Amidst the happy cries of children

And honking of vehicles. 

At times I tripped and he held me, 

Telling 'I got you'. 

But he didn't, I tripped again

In front of the church, 

By the parking lot, 

In the sidewalks of the city fair, 

Where the horses of the merry-go-round mocked at me

While galloping around the center. 

My haziness overpowered my senses, 

Before I get here, 

To remember anything. 

But I see my framed picture 

Still looking at me from his bedside table. 

She seems to judge my weakness, 

Which made me, 

Stumble into him on purpose

when I shouldn't have. 

She seems to be a lot stronger than I'm now, 

But she is a beautiful stranger now, 

Lost in an alternate reality of happiness. 

All these walls and ceilings, paintings and draperies, 

Together sing a sorry song when I left

But please don't bother,

I can barely remember you and your ways. 

But I clearly remember him and his ways, 

Well enough to see nothing has changed. 


A. C

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Murmurings of Married Women

  I hear murmurings from the graveyard In the West of the town,  Of married women,  Dead and disappeared years ago.  I wonder what a time they had,  What a life they lived.  Their husbands weep and weep and forget them,  They praise how they looked after their women,  Covering in glittery gold,  Buying them silly silks,  Giving makeup for a make-over.  But still, the women murmur,  Their voices seem to break the edges of tombs.  They force the sun to dry out the flowers on them quickly.  I lowered my face and listened to the tombs,  It seems their lipstick was revolting,  Their eyelashes lifted to show the desperation.  They talk about the lies they had to live through,  In fear of strangers' pointing fingers on getting a hint on their unhappy marriages.  They call out their abusive partners,  Told me to look for the broken bangles behind the kitchen for proof,  The blood-stained clo...
Post a Comment
Read more

A Call for One More Summer Swim

  Dear Oliver,    Last summer was not only about freshly smelling grass and ripened peaches to me, it became something more than that because of you. Your arrival to help my father taught me lessons for a lifetime. It was you who gave meaning to my summer, to my days and its absurdities. When I first saw you, little did I realise that you are going to unravel the real Elio, an Elio who was so much in love. An Elio who was so confused at the choices of his love and who showed the courage to confront it no matter what. I remember when you whispered to me "Call me by your name and I'll call you by mine", the time when I felt as if the four lettered word Elio pouring out from your mouth is all I wanted to listen to in this entire universe. But sometimes life offers us a different path, away from what we actually want.  I still remember the fun we had at Bergamo, the way you kissed me secretly pressing against the walls, never did I experience that feeling ever again. Bec...
Post a Comment
Read more

Most Nights We are Alone

  Most nights we are alone,  Trying to form a shape,  Wrecking with the pain of a bleeding heart,  In desperation to flatten the lump formed in the throat,  Trying to keep it as calm as possible Not to wake our partners beside us.  Most nights we are alone,  Clenching onto pillows,  Playing loud music,  Pretending sleep,  While we writhe in pain.  Most nights we are alone,  Thinking of faces that promised company,  Faces of people we assumed would hug us,  Hands that we thought would caress us,  And talks that we registered would soothe us.  Most nights we are alone,  Peeling off our gender,  Searching for an identity,  Making sense of our essence,  Organizing our anger,  Revolting against the structure,  Living past the breaking point,  Storming a mysterious body.  Most nights we are alone,  Cursing the dreams we believed,  Blaming the instincts that spurred...
Post a Comment
Read more