I could keep writing for years
And never run out of words for you
But I don’t know how to put these mere alphabets together
To paint your eyes
And their transcendent hues
I don’t know if I can ever exactly describe their colour
And how they looked under the sun
When we were walking into the woods
And you smiled at me
I cross my heart
I wouldn’t call myself a poet
Until I find the word for it-
The tincture
that haunts my thoughts
With sunkissed horizons and sunset blues
Don’t break my fall
Don’t pull me up
I have been ripped and pulled apart
So many times
Dream, hopes and smithereens burried in dirt,
I can gather the pieces myself
Even if the shards cut;
Just tell me it’s okay to scatter
I am not afraid of love
I put it to sleep
in the chambers of my heart
and slit its throat
I am not scared of you
Your pretty face couldn’t be a nightmare
if it wanted to
You have no weapons
Just hearts and flowers
Those flowers will wilt
and the heart wont beat if I pull it out
I am saving myself
from the parasite inside me
and you think
I am running from you?
Oft’ I marvel at poets and their words
Oft’ I wonder,
If poetry is my escape
or an orifice that articulates my depth
Oft’ I dread that day when I might run out of words
or be spent of feelings
Wading through such musings,
Oft’ have I concluded –
Poetry is my odyssey to a parallel universe
which reckons no bounds
bounded within the frontier of fantasy,
Where I can be a bird, a tree
A desert,a sea
I can be a goddess or a whore,
The ghost of a lover,
A devil or a saviour from an ancient lore;
My words could be-
A bouillon of seduction,
A promise of love,
A lament of separation,
A war cry,
The theme of a funeral march,
or a jamboree of glee;
This cuneiform universe knows all my pains and sorrow,
Recognises all my lovers and haters alike
And like this realm of cruel reality that commands me
My hold on my words is as staunch as the depth of my emotions
On my call shall the galaxies here laugh or cry
Upon my wish shall I go where to I can fly
aphroditeanderson 