i
want to
come to you
when your back
hurts and skin burns,
and your eyes form rivers,
your nose a ridge where the
riverbed turns. The tributaries
of the river in which i dip my feet.
the river runs from the right of the left
eye and the left of the right eye-towards
the ridge-downwards-towards each other.
It isn’t gravity pulling the rivers down. Your
tears are heavier than gravity when they
fall down, now the weight of the tears
is burdened with emotions-emotions
heavier than weight, tears heavier
than gravity. And when this river
of tears will flow from your
eyes, making tributaries,
there will be those who
would want to stop
the flow.
Build dams.
Conserve the water.
Use it, when energies
will be over. But if anyone
will, I promise i will kill those
who attempt to built these dams.
For it will mean violence in emotions,
stored water, potential energies held up
for the future. But love, that isn’t you-holding
on for the future, planning days in advance. You’re
the maddening whirlwind which shakes roots, makes falls,
You’re the moment of the now, the light in the life. i’d
rather let your river flow and go. And i’ll wait
beside on the riverside with nothing but two
arms of which two palms shall seek you
when I see you in a boat flowing with
the flowing river. And i shall ask if i
can come to you or if you’d want to
come on to the riverbank. i shall
wait with nothing but two arms,
two palms which have learnt
only the language of
holding on. Yes,
this palm is not
about me
anymore.
This
palm is
yours when
you seek & when
you seek, this palm
shall reach you, and
this palm shall pull you
when there will be stories
pushing you away. In those
stories of now is the story of
who i am-confusing, flying, unsure
memories which pull me down.
Pushing you. i don’t have the
answer to the question-
how do i pull you now?
All i have is two
arms of which
the two palms
crave to
touch
you.
We
are now
lovers in the
river to later be
separated on the
riverbed, the two palms
of the two arms shall even then
crave to touch, shall not
forget the language of
holding on, awaiting
to be held and
touched by
you.
anthology of thirst... 