Labour

Giving birth to expression
is so difficult sometimes.
When I need most to unravel
the emotional knots
in the thread of my thoughts
I push
wait
then push again
panting.

I flinch and cry out in despair
I want to give up
It's too much
I feel sore
but no, I won't dare

and anyway pushing
is inevitable
so I push once more

I push as hard as I can
and the pain pushes me too.


But it's impossible to deliver this time -
not even for you.



Yet all the strength this entails,
the courage, the patience -
I know that I have them,
Be sure that I do.

It's language
that's blocking the way
for this revelation -

for this unspoken
unspeakable burden
to blurt itself out

to shape itself true.

 

mute explosion

When your thoughts and mine
unleashed
- though unrevealed -
meet somewhere beyond the atmosphere
in a wonderland
divine
a curious reaction takes place:

a powerful
- though mute -
explosion of desire bursts out
and we feel that the power of that language -
much as the words remain unsaid -
could make us fly
unite
or die.

But no one notices
(no one cares, no one pries)
you blush
and I go red


and we carry on with our lives.

Oxymoron

If we were single

we wouldn't be:

I would be with you

and you with me.

So alone

So alone
am I
There's a kind of itch

in my brain

a permanent
painful
inaudible sigh
on my lips


a thorough
vibrating
longing for yonder

a wonder before
this virtual pain.



So alone
am I
and so sad

So hopeless
and vain
So indecent as well
so indulging
in this futile feeling
so pathetic
- it's insane -


that I would gladly trade places
with a beggar in the rain.

Glory

Thrilled
Is what I am,
Not nervous.
Even though I may be criticised
for all I did not do
and did not say
or shouldn't have

despite the severe formality
of the occasion

and although it is a risk
to assume that glory
is coming my way

 
I must admit
I anticipate it with a smile
I rejoice in the perspective
of that day

when seven people I admire
for their wit and intellect
will sit and discuss
what I wrote
will offer my tiny self
their high attention
and - hopefully - conclude
that my work
is worthy of respect.

Specialness

I no longer try to capture
translate
the overwhelming feelings
inside me
your existence creates.

Still you do
fill my thoughts
you carry on
being you.
And whether or not
we interact
whether or not
I can express it
it is
at least to me
an inescapable fact:

your specialness affects me
despairs me
possesses me
releases me
fulfills me.


I am, thus,
permanently rapt.