IBut . . . .
How I love winter! The cold does not mean hibernation! It means skin-shedding recreation.
Time for more metamorphic transformation!
The process of writing poetry is fascinating. I have a considerable amount of stream of consciousness lines to work on and weave into a poem. Nonetheless, sometimes the flow does not come so I leave them aside. This poem came from a tag on instagram for the hashtag #youneverleft.
I love how free flow poetry works. One line pushes another and there you have it. You don’t really know where it will lead you to. In truth, the last lines came first and I built my poem from these pillars.
Just a reminder: no one but yourself can make your dreams come true. But this line just alludes to the fact, there was a wish that was never fulfilled. 👇
A dream-not of you
The rising shine of morning rays
Tickles the eyes, hatching for the day.
The first thought and memory that delineates my mental landscape
Are not yours, they are mine to gratify and celebrate.
Finally, I achieve peace.
No more worrying, “does he love me?!” The focus is, again, internal
The breaths and heartbeats make this poetry’s symphony.
Our story will remain stamped on my cells, the body’s journal,
For the learning does not die, it keeps on coming.
Forever ingrained in the patterns of the unconscious.
Then, I realise,
You have never left, never really withdrew,
That is because you never came
To make my dreams come true.
Who said loneliness is not tangible?
It is the phone that doesn’t ring
Or the finger taps that don’t please.
All those people in your feed,
Shutting their blinds down
On your window screen.
So, I download that app and walk around
Hoping our paths cross around town.
The red light beeps
Like my heart beats that bleeds
It is not a notification,
But my battery that ceases.
Town is buzzing, eyes are crossing
Heads are turning, men are watching.
Ripped jeans and some fake tan whiff.
Going out for a drink?
Ain’t nothing better than this?
How about a bicycle trip?
The rhythm is faster than I would have wished. I just wanted to fit it all into 1min.
Sorry if it is a bit muffled but I am using my phone as a mic.
I am the face on this tree,
The face that all sees.
I carved our bleeding names onto it
And I circled it into a heart.
But I can’t find this tree no more.
I’ve been banned from that park
I am left to wander and look for parts
of memories left, in the forests of my past.
A date into the city burrows,
I saw the tombs where monks got buried.
I went where you saw Irish ship,
We kissed just right beside those trees.
Your dog was frolicking in the soil
The rain was pouring, but it was no toil
My feet got soaked, yet, you dried me
With lots of hugs and fleshy heat.
I look back and reminisce,
This was a real lived romance!
I then, wake up without your kiss
Was this a dream? Or just a trance.
I’ll let my eyes be on this tree
So it shall always look at thee.
Protecting you, when passing b,
Inattentive to my guise.
My poetry got wings, it landed in Edinburgh City
It’s cold, breezy and dark, it’s not, yet, even evening.
Where are these men with tartan skirts?
I want to bag their pipes, they want their bagpipes to be heard.
I want to see the Loch Ness erupt.
From swampy waters, undeterred.
So far it seems quite different, from where my spirit lives.
I’m reminded of this partition, when I need to pay any fees
And when listening to quirky accents, as Scottish people speak.
The modern toppled buildings, reminders of my previous life
Old structures elevate the neck, causing shimmers in the eye.
The novelty of all, that can be absorbed
Is captured by these optic nerves.
Be it windows, doors, graffiti.
Nothing here goes unobserved.
A new city tastes like the freshness
Of coffee smell on a morning rise.
As Nan Sheperd once said: “It’s a grand thing to get leave to live”,
So I’ll follow her advice.
I enjoy my holiday in the land of brave hearts.
Hearing kingfishers sing, as the moon makes her depart.
Edinburgh is a magical city and many birds sing through out the night!