My life is better for having met you

I was hiding in a little room,

In a land that spoke in strange tongues.

You extended a hand, dragged me to light,

And taught me those new, twisted words,

Not by bringing in scholars or masters.

You just spoke soft enough, slow enough,

That I saw them in a different way,

And finally stopped being afraid.

The mirror was showing me such monsters.

Before you, I never realized that

It was actually only broken.

You didn’t tell me that, but I saw you

Looking into it once, and you

Angled yourself in such a strange way,

Something I never saw anybody do.

So I tried the same, and I found

The little smooth part of the glass,

And suddenly I was beautiful too.

You never changed anything,

But that didn’t stop you

From changing everything for me.

You never did anything,

But that didn’t stop things

From happening to me anyway.

You don’t have to have done something.

It’s just the way you are,

And what I understood of what you are,

And just a whole lot of luck in between.

So through no fault of your own,

My life is better for having met you.

Thank you. For your simple existence.

For many years to come

Past paints our threads brilliant colours,

Stories of incredible gains and incredible sorrows,

And intricate knots to make the world’s fabric,

A little bit real and a whole lot of magic.

The pity, my dear, is that beautiful things

Need more and more colour upon their strings

Or the stories start fraying and becoming dull

An unearthly party can’t be followed by a lull.

But there’s only some paint, and my, it’s expensive,

And harder to find shades even slightly impressive.

We have to trade sometimes from what we have,

So we take our past beauties and those we halve.

We lose appreciation, but the image of us

Shines harmoniously, from greys to golds thus.

That’s the secret why things that burn brighter

Reach their end faster, too expensive the fiber.

But I’m hungry for texture, not mellow colour,

I have no issue to change one shade for another,

And make the design from knots, in relief,

Adding new changes to something too brief.

When you care less about being brighter than some,

The threads last instead for many years to come.

I need a friend

There are days when I really need a friend.
I need a friend who would show up at my door
With a pint of creamy icecream
And a tray of cookies just to be sure
Because he heard the inflection in my voice
And knows not to believe a word I say.
Who wouldn’t mind choosing the movie
And letting me rest my head in his lap,
Who would make me laugh myself silly
And choke on the cookies and tea.
Who I could kiss at that particular scene
And in whose eyes I wouldn’t fear looking
As we marvel at how meaningless it is,
And how the meaninglessness can mean
Quite so much for healing my heart.
I need a friend who would chuckle
When I start crying at that stupid ending
But would have no hesitation to hold me
When the tears start becoming the real thing
And I get to finally feel some relief
As I soak it all in his shirt and warm arms.
I need a friend who would force me up
Put me on wheels and push me down the street,
Raise my heart rate so artificially
Until I remember how to form excitement
That doesn’t depend on people staring,
Looking at both of us like we are crazy.
But in the meanwhile, being crazy in two
Is the best kind of crazy someone can be.
Could you please be my friend?

Jar of delight

Every being is a jar of delight,
Their flavours sweet, delicious and bright,
Even those that hide a sour bite,
A note of sadness or a taste of fright.

It just gets some getting used to,
Until you find their flavour true
To enjoy them sooner, I wish I knew –
It would have helped me while I grew.

I learnt thought that I should always try
And taste the substance of every lie,
See what they are without asking why
And keeping close those that keep me high.

So with my lips stained I walk now around,
With beautiful flavours that abound,
Friends that through taste I have found,
To whom forever I hope to be bound.

 

A/N: inspired by one of iScriblr’s many beautiful quotes (click here to see her post). Not exactly what I thought it would bring about, but it ended up in an impressive amount of rhymes!

Just tell

This may be presumptious of me,
The very idea that I could
Be, have, know something you don’t
A sacrilegious one.
But I just want you to know,
If there is ever anything
You need or want help with
And if there’s any chance
That would be in my power…
Now the saying goes,
You only need to ask.
But that doesn’t quite fit,
Because the act of asking implies
That there’s any possible chance
That the answer can be a ‘no’.
And we’re way past that point.
My answer to you would never,
Could never be a ‘no’.
So don’t ask for my help,
But tell me how to help.
Despite my best intentions,
I am nowhere near as good as you.
You always knew what I needed
And how to give it to me
Even when I wouldn’t have reached out,
Even when I didn’t even know
There was something I was missing.
So my apologies for doing even this
So awkwardly and stinted,
But know that whatever you need,
No matter if it’s as small
As picking something up
From the shop on my way home…
You only need to tell.
It’s not about trying to pay back
A favour that you’d call imaginary,
But it’s because you didn’t care
What the score between us was.
So, likewise, there is no score for me,
No limit in which you have to fit
It’s just a blank slate
For you to use at will.
Don’t think of it as a helping hand
Just think you have two more hands
That you don’t need to ask,
Just tell.

Sky and Sea

The sky unfolds upon the sea
As turbluent as full of glee,
Grinning at the hurried waves
Rushing, running from their graves.

The stormy gray of higher winds
Of dark and death does bear hints,
Hurricanes and swirls of air
Giving sea their black glare

Gray above and gray beyond
This is what makes darkness fond
But as end they will stay calm
Sooth to eyes and soul’s balm.

Gray on gray or blue on blue
There will always stay, those two,
Sky and sea, eternal friends,
Standing infinite of ends.

Numbers than names (part 2)

It’s easier to talk to numbers than names
When the number is the only one that matters,
A ‘one’ so special it needs no other label.
It’s easy to see the presence of other numbers
Shying away from his very existence,
Minutes dilating into hours, hours into days,
Flying away in an uncountable string,
Heartbeats jumping into and over each other,
Holding an infinity of feeling,
The concept of physical form starting to waver
When the two of you slip into one being.
I’m generally not a big believer into ‘the one’,
But whoever says mathematics is fixed?
Let it be a long string of different ones –
Just make sure than not talking to each
Is a concept as bad as dividing to zero.

Between the Stars

Between each of heaven’s stars,
Counting Venus, counting Mars,
Maybe it would go unseen,
One of them leaving the scene.

Maybe to the whole of sky,
No one notice stars to die;
To my little patch of star,
Constellation from afar,

One of twinkle would mean end,
Leading night into descend,
Slight of change could be so much,
Killing planets out of touch.

Maybe to the whole of races,
Billions to ignore graces,
Death of you would be a breeze,
A soft wind inside the trees.

But to me, to those around,
Those to know your sight and sound,
Leaving us would darken night.
Who would think one star’s so bright?

So for those to feel alone,
Look around, just at your own.
Universe is made of parts;
Care rule in yours the arts.

Pieces of you

We walk around with pieces of you,
A string of something that connects us,
Usually invisible. It only start to shimmer
With a careless gesture. An automatic word.
They are things that trip up our body,
Making us pause a second after we do them,
At the physical feeling of unfamiliarity.
But they are old friends to our minds,
So we suppose we must have imagined it
And we go on, none the wiser.
They are things that make others blink strange
Because in our place flashes another face
For just a split second of recognition.
But they don’t know why, don’t see the strings,
So they assume they’re just tired,
And they go on too, none the wiser.
I do know though. I’m used to standing back
And watching. Following the patterns.
So I can see it when the strings shimmer
And I can follow them straight back to you.
It’s strange. A little impossible.
Just like yourself, I suppose,
If you could possibly have so many pieces
To have so many to give away,
Plant them inside us, and let them grow.
Wait. That would make sense, wouldn’t it?
Maybe you’re not that impossible.
Maybe every piece grows by itself,
And we only need the seed of one each.
Because I’ve watched you too.
You have other strings, running the other way,
Pieces of other people that make you up,
Some of them that you gave to us too,
Connecting us to people we’ve never met,
An ancestry of similar strangers,
A family of unknown friends.
And surely they – they couldn’t have
Such an infinity of pieces
To pass on to you to pass on to us.
I like that thought. The idea that it won’t stop
And I’ll be passing on pieces of you too,
While I’m passing on pieces of myself.
That you’ll know people before you even meet,
And I’ll understand pieces of strangers
That follow a string of somebody else
That you connected me to in the beginning.
I should thank you – thank you for the chance,
For your strings, and for your pieces.
But most of all, thank you for letting me
Turn them into my own strings, and my own pieces.

Wildlife for a friend

A bottle of stardust
Will never earn my trust.
Lies thrown easy in the wind
Don’t make my life so fast unwind.

Your eyes are of a muddied gray
How could I entrust your way?
They hold only one left spark;
Glassy, evil, like a shark.

You, my dear, seem a cat
Chasing an unlucky rat,
Or a wolf, with glinting eyes,
Turning prey’s blood into ice.

Would you rather be a tigress?
Yes, you seem equally ruthless
Like the whole of feline line
With your nice and freezing shine.

To be what you like, you’re free
But I’m begging you to see
That I am in love with wildlife
But never more than friend or wife.

You’re indeed, so very cute,
But I’m in a slight dispute:
To befriend and trust I choose
Rather smoke and smell of booze

Under the form of a man
That can feel, not only plan;
A lot more than if I get
A beautiful and silent threat.