Birds II

If i steal your pain,
- safe in your eyes,
with your unshed tears,
said the crow to the nightingale.
If i wrap sunlight around you
when the winter hurts
your delicate wings,
if i cover the past,
like frozen dew on autumn leaves,
with the intricate nest that oriole weaves,
if i kiss you where it hurts,
be your wings if you can’t fly
be your light if you can’t see,
will you give your songs to me?

Reposting it because the Crow’s question has finally been answered

Love was an afterthought.

Eternity is not enough
To forget yesterday
Obsessed by a memory
Of an aftertaste
Drowned in a pool of blue
A reflection of your face
In an impotent sun
Of a misty winter day.
‘Forever’ was the word
You told me not to say
As we dropped from the cliff
To a safety net
When your legs were numb.
We should not regret
That flowers died in May
When a March had come.
Love was an afterthought
We should not forget
When our time had come
To stand under the sun
Love was an afterthought
Not a priority
So let us pretend
We died, we did not fail
We drowned in the sea
Because we had no sail.

Dancing under swords tonight. [WIP]

Dancing under swords tonight
Hanging corpses lose their warmth
Staring faces will be warned
The plastic sun will burn fake bright
Dancing under swords tonight
Dry tongues retch with emptiness
Sand in wrinkles will soak up tears
Weak eyes will freeze with fright
Dancing under swords tonight
Bowing down to paper gods
Stones will now control the fates
According to the will of might
Dancing under swords tonight
The stars betray one by one
This night will offer nothing
Not even moonlight
Dancing under swords tonight
Dancing to the painful wails
Whirling to the cries from rapes
Chained ankles will not be light
Dancing under swords tonight

-Work In Progress. This is just something to start with.

History

“History is a way of learning… The historical experience is not one of staying in the present and looking back. Rather it is one of going back into the past and returning to the present with a wider and more intense consciousness of the restrictions of our former outlook. We return with a broader awareness of the alternatives open to us and armed with a sharper perceptiveness with which to make our choices. In this manner it is possible to loosen the clutch of the dead hand of the past and transform it into a living tool for the present and future.”

From:William Appleman Williams, The Contours of American History (New York: Norton, 1988, pages 19-20):

Please LEARN something my stupid people.

Somewhere.

Sitting under the shower with a blade in his hand, the car turns right, ubiquitous familiar orange lights, blade in his hand and he was alone. Slummy apartments with laundry hanging out of the windows, cheap clothes, people and people and people, shoved tightly together in small boxes upon boxes upon boxes, with little holes for air and sunlight, and they see outside through laundry. He was under the shower with a blade in his hand, sleeve rolled up. He was walking back through the fog now, and suddenly he was back. Smoking in the car, night and orange lights around him, staring at endless rows of packed apartments, trying to make small talk, he was really here. The stars are always there when you look up, unless there aren’t any stars, like there weren’t any that day, or were there? It was cloud or just fog? Chances of rain? Coming back alone in cold, shivering hands rubbed together, trembling hands lit cigarettes, he was back there. Walking back. He was under that shower with a blade in his hand, not running away from pain but embracing it. The stars. The car turns left and right, somehow the slums disappear, but only the road is visible under the orange light, going on and on. Under the shower and he counted, one two three four five six seven eight nine ten. It feels light after pain.