The Wings I Use to Fly

When I was young, I knew how to fly

Until one morning, my mother and I

Sat down to cut my wings

And talk of imagination and other things

That were not real.

We picked up the feathers, and watched them disappear

As I learned of things I shouldn’t do and things that I must fear

“Ground yourself,” she said,

“Tame your heart and use your head.”

And with tiny thread, the wounds of no more flight were sealed

I forgot that once, when I was young, I knew how to fly

I held my shield with pride

As I tried to make my way, stumbling from side to side

Made friends with duty, found religion and in it the Almighty God

And built an armor of rules and orders

Around my heart I built a million borders

And like jewels I wore the do’s and don’ts

Until the chains reached into my bones

And I sat within my prison

Justifying to my heart the pain

In the name of blind, misguided reason

Then I grew older, and I knew

that I’d forgotten how to fly

And I whispered to my heart

that I remembered how we grew apart

And I let myself be weak and scream and cry

Until one day, my mother and I

Sat under a blooming tree

Weaving dreams into our wings to set us free.

Game of Hearts

 You shall admire me from a distance,

From within a dream,

For your heart is an established coward,

Hide-don’t-seek—a well-established theme.

You will not build castles with my name,

Or decorate their walls with our story.

You will not write a library of our adventures,

Time well-spent and endless glory.

You shall not venture into fiction,

Where you are the hero, I—the plot.

You shall keep me at a distance,

My image—absent thought.

Then, your heart will return from exile.

Pleading.

It will take your hand and lead you

Into moments it claims are yet to come.

It will open books of history of the future,

And show you all that which we could once become.

And you shall sit there, reading,

In my castle, lit by my dancing flame.

A monument of admiration.

Upon your lips, a declaration of my name.

You will sustain this blissful state

Until you realize, once again,

That your heart is playing

It’s familiar game.

Your heart—a creature, lost.

By choice.

Was never mine, no longer yours. 

Imperfection

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Marvel. Stand in awe before this imperfection.

Don’t avert your gaze, pretending there exists a treasure of greater value.  Admire the oils of this painting, where the brush was confident and where it fell to its knees in a breathless gasp of surrender. Surrender and let your eyes be free to roam the landscapes of my being. Cherish every detail and remember every secret within the creases of my palms.

Don’t hide your face behind words that swell with meaning; don’t play me symphonies of heavy verses and loaded phrases. Close that book that lies of laws and rules of how to master silence into music. Let it be.

Fold away the maps that guide you through studied alleys and shorter routes. Make it an adventure. Blindfold imagination and let it see what there is for what there is. Tame it; bring it down to earth and let it learn, admire, stand in awe. Let it learn how to create a world of imperfection.

Sit back and watch me. Watch me stumble across perfect surfaces and reincarnate elegance on broken floors. Listen to me laugh at nothing, and watch me lose the essence of a joke. Hear me sing prose of passion, and hear me say it wrong. Watch me dance in perfect step and out of beat. Watch me sway to falling rain.  Listen to me debate your logic, and watch me confused at what to wear. Watch me cry with characters of written words, and then listen to me tell you of their stories. Then, take that imperfection—a waltz of colours, an orchestra of sounds—and put it within your eyes, so that you can marvel. Stand in awe.

First Impressions

Photo by Thana Faroq

I looked at you and thought: "What a beautiful girl." Then you started talking, and I changed my mind. 

My soul tore through and whispered: "Keep looking." And so I did, but I couldn't see past your words. 

My soul tore through again and whispered: "Look closer." And so I did, and past your words I saw your heart. It might have been beautiful, but I couldn't like it.

My soul tore through and said: "Look deeper." And I searched and searched, until I found your will, but I didn't speak to it, and it didn't speak to me. 

My soul fought through and wept: "Look deeper!" And so I did, and deeper I found your past, and in your past I found too many reasons for the present, and I didn't like it. I looked away. I couldn't watch it, chose not to. I looked away and you started to disappear.

Then you held my soul and said: "Stop looking." And I did, and then I saw you. 

Senseless

Photo by Asyah Saif

We read between the lines and failed to see the obvious. We saw the meaning behind the words but forgot to look at them within the context. They screamed, pleaded and begged for our attention, until we couldn’t hear their whispers, erasing them from all existence. They fell, they crumbled; they turned from divine dialect to hollow letters, twisted, crumpled. And so, we read between the lines of nonexistent phrases.

We listened to the music and broke it down to Do, Re, Me and You. We forgot to hear the melody behind the notes, forgot there was a violin crying its story, a harp drifting into sleep, a flute repeating: “I’m sorry.”  We wrote down the notes in ink on paper, not in sound on soul. And so, we listened to the music of instruments that played no more.

We looked at paintings and saw hues and values, warm and cool. We saw colours interact; muted pushing forward that which was too bright.  We didn’t see the brush strokes, afraid but hopeful to create a message, an image of the image in a timid mind. We didn’t see the lines that joined into the shapes that told a tale of souls that never met… two souls that knew each other but never saw beyond the colours of their oils, wet on wet.

We touched, but we didn’t dare to feel. We wore the veil of pride until its fabric became our skin. We didn’t let my skin upon your skin break into our hearts, reveal that both of us were frightened, holding back, holding breath. A handshake stronger than informal, a hug longer than friendly. A smile deeper than happy, a glance slower than curious. We didn’t let ourselves touch each other beyond our skin.

We were afraid to be blinded by beauty, deafened by beauty, brought to our knees by beauty.

We were, were we not?  

Stay Still, In Motion

Photo by Asyah Saif

Sit still, just the way you are, the way you always do.

Sit still and smile, pretending there are no monsters rummaging through your chest of memories, of what has been, what never will.

Don’t move, because we know that if you do, you will break into a million pieces reaching for the past.

Don’t break. Stay still.

Sit still, but breathe, and in your breath, I will hear the symphony of a thousand cries tearing through the walls of pride. I, too, will want to join them, have my say. I, too, will want to break you… but I will hold my breath, I’ll wait.

Sit still and watch as I peal away the layers of your disguise, the heavy armor of strength and valor. Let us discover your bruises, find those wounds. I will not heal them; the sword that cut you through was mine. But you must see them, and so do I.

Stay still… but convince me—I beg you!—that you are in motion. Convince me, not by showing me the smiles of others, not even yours. I don’t want to see the map with routes that you have taken, paths discovered, roads yet to be travelled.

Those forsaken and forgotten—show me those.

Why erase them? I can see your pencil marks, feeble dents on fragile skin. Take a pen, choose the brightest colours—mine are gold and sliver—and put them in. Put them in, in words and lines and shapes and shades of colours. Put them in, and show me that you are in motion.

Convince me, that you have moved on.

 

A Morning Dream

Dream-catcher. Photo by Asyah Saif.

Today, I will decide not to wake you, not to pull the blinds apart.

I will lie down, listening to a slow breath, trying to catch up, catch the rhythm, be in sync. And when I succeed, I will smile, then break it, separating from you; my breath my own, yours only yours.

I will watch your body move, up and down, slow and calm. The young rays of sun, still fresh and eager, could have played with your skin, forming shapes, changing colour, playing games. But not today. Today, they shall live another life, find another special someone; this morning, you are mine.  

I will put my hand close to yours, barely touching, almost. Your skin—a shade darker; the sun has played its part, left its mark. It’s smooth. But I will not touch you, will not feel your warmth; this morning, I will let you sleep.

I will close my eyes to see your breath rise to life and die into eternity. Warm and heavy. I will listen to your dreams and, slowly, quietly, sneak in, join your world. I will walk beside you, looking through your eyes, letting you see through mine.

I will open my eyes, afraid to find that you are just a dream, that I am nothing but yours. Then I’ll see that you are still a dream and I—still yours; and I, serene, will close my eyes again, knowing that, no matter if I stay or leave, we will be a dream.

I will admit—a bit proud, a bit ashamed—that morning is my domain, and lying in bed, even if asleep, prickles me, tickles. Not much, but just enough to turn me evil; and like a little devil, I will fold my wings, hold my breath, prepare to play. I will wave my hand and watch the shadow make its journey up and down the hills and valleys of your face. I will wave it faster, to see if it forms a hurricane of day and night within your dreams. But that won’t wake you. I will blow a little air on your forehead and watch your hair sway helplessly under my spell. I will try harder, to see if it creates a fog of autumn leaves swirling within your dreams. But that won’t wake you. I will raise my finger and, with a hidden smile, barely seen, I will want to poke you. But that will wake the saint in me, and I will stop just before intruding, forgetting my vicious schemes, my selfish wish. I will lie back and let it tickle, because, if I concentrate hard enough, I can hear us laugh.

Today, I will not wake you. I will watch you sleep.