Memories

They are a tricky thing; memories. You hold on to them like a fainting scent of a passing stranger. You pray that eventually they will be revivied and with this they will revive all the people and places they took part in. You remember them in the darkest of hours only to get a compensation that there is still hope for a happy ending somewhere down the horizon. They slip through your hand, though, like sea foams, cleansing everything on their way and leaving an impecable void. Memories are made of our dreams and fears. They hold, within their fold, the colors of childhood, the wishes of adolensence and the almost mature emotions of youth. You crave memories as if you live on them. In years to come, you remember a certain day, a certain time, a dried rose left on printed inc, a smiling face, a fading kiss, a warm hug and a flattering word from a loved one. You cling on to them hoping that the kiss will wet your cheeks once again, that these arms will gently find their way around you once more and this rose will grow into full blossom before you.

They are a tricky thing; memories. Even the sad ones, you cling on to them. You remember and relive them to feel a certain blessing or to remind yourself of how harsh life can get. You remember your long-gone loved ones. You remember your first heart break. You remember your first wave goodbye to someone whose memory's leaving shadow you'll still see for days to come. You remember your foolishness around your first crush. You remember the laughs you had with the friends you no longer can call your own. You remember the losses as much as the gains and you sigh. You sigh, thinking that rememberance is a torture now. But you still remember. The first touch of a hand, the first eye-lock and the last tearful words.

They are a tircky thing; memories. They remind you of whom you lost, of what you lost, of how you lost them. They remain there to tell you what you did right and what you could have done much better. When you should have stepped up for something/someone and when you should have left. To whom you should have said "I love you" whom you should have bid goodbye.

At the end of it all, memories are all you got. Memories are all you'll wish for. Memories are all you can touch, hold, smell and bestow kisses on. Just memories. And memories do not tolerate regrets.

A Poem of no Title

A shout shattering a thousand stars,
Still in stand with a univerise torn,
A million souls, screaming afar,
In a sound so mystical, and forlorn.

Falls of withered leaves of tree,
Winters of a reddish sun,
The month of June called on with plea,
Yet answers came from noone.

Flags of places where we don't belong,
Colors that made up histories we mock,
Names made of letters we don't comprehend,
We say the names each day,
Names we never felt.

Quarrels and disputes,
Over a lost cause,
The crimson spilled,
On a stony road.
We stumble upon the dead and kneel,
Seeing they're long gone,
Their lives we steal.

We trade all their misery,
With a smile of perfection,
We kill them yet again,
With a Providence rejection.
We pray to God for ultimate deliverance,
We shed glass-like tears,
Yet token our hatred,
With firey feelings, of persistence.

We clash, we crush,
We break our bones,
And stand up on a crutch,
To fight some more.

It's Pride and Vanity,
Mistaken for dignity,
And those hearts and minds,
Depend on a play of dice.

Alone we stand,
At the end of the day
Obsolete, wounded, and in dismay,
The color-masked faces,
Are now pale white,
As we wait upon it to cease,
This endless night.

Untitled

A morning sun,
A wavering tree,
And a shout that wakes the dead.

The rival moon,
Has set its wings,
While its chariot lingers about.

The thunder ceased,
The rain is gone,
But grayness still sweeps the clouds.

A morning sun,
A dying sun,
And a love that has dried out.

A flourishing moon,
A pale-faced moon,
And after the rain, mud stains the ground.

Thunder hits,
Rain begins,
Grayness is all around.

And souls hide,
In morning's night,
And never heard a sound.

Electra

An Electra,
Black, broken and
With tears
Her christening
A hellish day
of sear
And for eternity
She roams with horror
And fear.

Oh Electra,
Let all prophecies
Fulfilled
Let all shutters unfold
And darkness,
Hover in.

Mistaken,
You were for a forgiveness,
And the angels,
Will no longer
Carry your burden,
Go, Electra, fly
With unfeathered wings,
And scream,
Till the end of existence.

She marches
With a step
Steady in pace
Clinks of her heels
Echo the empty place

Cold and stiff
Her reddish eye
Searches the world
With a piercing cry
Then a loathsome prayer
To the setting sun
That awaits on it
To fade
And peacefully die.

Crowd

I was brought to Judgement
By words of the Lord
And against my chest
The painful pounding
Is going quicker
For the siren's call

From above the hill
The rising crowd
Moves in a walk
Of a mournful sound

Faces fall
Wry, dry and heavy
And eyes glare
At a sound so steady

They move along
In a foggy trace
Their shackles making
Lines in the sand
Walking and waiting
For the final stand

I close my eyes
Then open them again

I find them all
Standing still
Wax-like postures
Of a handy drill

Their hands were reaching
Out in hope
Their mouths were saying
A word of plead
Their eyes now stare
Into the emtpy void -
A forsaken breed.

There were many
There were few
There was only One
Now they lie in the darkened dust
And then there were none.

Clown-faced

Can't you feel proud
Of your latest victory
Your newest add to the shiny collection

Can't you be happy
For being so poweful
So smart you did it without detection

YOur fanciful dreams
Now coming all true
Feel proud as you will
Have it your way, your mortal intention

Be as boastful
As a happily fired
Shotgun
There's no more need
For a meaningless correction

Now you smile happily
Upon your arrival
Your flowers, their bloody odors
Turn pale white upon their rejection

Clown-faces smiling
Watery eyes staring
And your freeing mission
Accomplished
With absolute perfection.

Crossing the World

A heavy sigh
Of worn out dreams
Hustling to redeem
A melting soul

Measure the words
This forsaken world
Keeps in hiding
Its spiteful curse

A walk in the green
Darker than it seems
And blown in the air
Kisses forming cries

A master of disguise
He crosses all the lines
A gentle touch of a hand
Turn it all to yellow
And everything dies

She stripped all her miseries
A milky-road of insanities
Waits there upon her
To cross
Before the water dries

And hopeful she solely stepped
One foot in water
Another in mud
The trees around
Suddenly become
Brisk and alert

As the world trembles
The heavy wall falls
Crawling in thick water
She turns around and hears
The weeping of astounded souls


*The poem is partly inspired by Sylvia Plath's "Crossing the Water" and Salvador Dali's painting The Making of the New Man which is shown below.