Just a way to find the right sound among the cacophony.
I had the hardest time thinking about what to write in this one. It’s the last one, after all! How should it be?
Should it be a happy one?
A hopeful one?
A weird one?
A sad one?
A grateful one?
A special one?
Of course, I couldn’t figure out. So, pardon me for being a bit insolently happy that here it ends. Thank the fuck god.
***
I can see people looking at you
(Myself included)
I am busy finding flaws in the perfect shade of your lipstick
My jealousy refusing to admit my futile efforts in doing so
My weeping flats and your proud stilettos,
My over-sized jeans and your figure embracing dress,
My disheveled backpack and your ultra-stylish handbag,
My neglected hair and your pampered locks of ocean waves
How do I stop making note of these stupid details?
Of how I keep glancing through my nerdish unclean spectacles
At your insanely seductive and infuriating sunglasses.
You, beautiful witch.
*
Nom de plume
For escaping into being someone you wish to,
Or into someone you wish you weren’t,
Or someone you truly are
Or someone you simply aren’t
Or for those stories
which your name can’t associate with itself,
For your cowardice and enigma
Or simply for your general dissatisfaction against your original nomenclature.
Nom de plume.
*
We seem to have
For all those things that are actually important in our lives.
*
The cork
Parts of which lay tragically sunk in my wine
So, I use a sieve while pouring us a glass,
But even then you may be required to ignore the grainy texture,
And the weird taste of the cork wood
Which again I hope you wouldn’t mind
And instead take this moment
To laugh at my little stupidity;
How a seemingly simple opening act
Can go so horribly wrong
Like most of the things in life,
But we can still choose to drink the wine anyway.
And maybe
Even savior it.
*
The black ink
Printing an accidentally smeared finger on the page,
Visible from the dyes seeping into the corners of my nails,
Or the ideas lying uncovered by a few binary signals
Or simply an ugly scribbling at the end of the book –
Is the temptation, the treasure, the teacher,
the possession, the obsession, the expression,
Beautifully spilled
Over the paper
Over the screen
Over my chaotic life
As something miraculously turquoise.
*
Is what I would like to steal back from you
If only I could stop sulking in the corner,
Most probably unintentionally ignored
But ignored anyway.
And as you continue to let others drink on your stupid stories
And let them marvel at your amazing ability to hold their attention,
Which by the way, you have brutally snatched away from me in the process
Conveniently overlooking the fact
That originally I was the principal reason for this celebratory gathering,
I would like to curse you a bit more in my head,
While I get more champagne for you and the others,
Refill the glasses,
Throw a charming smile,
And say, “Cheers!”
Bitch.
*
So many hours
I might have spent walking, watching, learning.
So many observations, I might have made,
So many theories, I might have formulated,
And proposed each one of them to the people I know
Some nodded hysterically
Some threw a disagreeing smile
Nevertheless, I remained what I am
I remained what I was.
When it comes to it, I realize
That a bit of speculation
Or ideas inspired from various sources
can be called commendable attempts
But still
They can’t save me from being a Novice at understanding the world.
*
Neon isn’t the group of colours that blends,
One obviously needs to stay away from these weirdos,
Brighter than the brightest,
And too wild to match the class of pastels,
Who wouldn’t be embarrassed about their awful fluorescence?
Tone it down, Neon!
Why can’t you be a bit normal, Neon?
But Neons wouldn’t utter a word against your criticism.
These folks are not known for their argumentative skills, after all.
But accompany them to the kingdom of the moon—
Where all others transform into nothing but gray-scale,
When all others wander lost in the dark,
Neon glows
Luminescent as ever.
*
Is where I keep oddest of things
To retain most mundane memories,
It’s amazing how these little things
Otherwise known as garbage
Can transform into a source
Of such unanticipated recollection
And a smile
And maybe a few tears
Blooming beautifully out of the blue.
*
