#2

Define necessity:

the incessant need to put one foot in front of the other
in an effort to pump blood into the organ
always giving, hesitant to receive.

Define clamor:

the desire to unfurl sails tattered from carving paths in mighty waters,
time and again, to catch almost glimpses of colors
swirling on the opposite side of the sky.

Define rebirth:

the sound of a body stripping bare of clothing,
condemned no longer to consume its own love, daring instead
to rearrange its bones into another poem, a saga.

Define truth:

the relief of flying, buoyed by the arms of the wind,
no longer imaginary,
making my way home.

---
Belated 2nd. 

I love being #KadiriInLoveWithYou

The few and far in between I give in to writing in such a rambling manner, I indulge, indulge myself immensely.

If you've been following this blog you can probably count the number of times I've written journal-style in one hand. Never a big fan of the whole dear-diary-this-is-what-happened-to-me-today bit, reserving that for good ol' journal writing with a pen and a notebook.

But today is an exception.

It's rare for me to write simpering prose and poetry laced with happiness, joy brimming at the edges. Very rare, in fact, that I believe the reason you stumbled upon my blog is that at one time, like me, you've felt sadness -- no, sorrow -- glorified in ways that "pluck the words right out of my heart" so says one reader.

I love glorifying sadness, holding on to sorrow and hence, what we have is most of what's written on this blog. And yet as of late, I've been driven to write about the light of love, its resplendence and burgeoning promise. Or to be more apt, the love I've been blessed with.

I have been happy - and this is the part where I must apologize to past loves - but I have never been THIS happy.

The long and short of it is that everything has fallen into place, everything just clicks.

I'm at a point in time where things are neither hard nor easy, there still are complications, dregs of the past I'm trying to reconcile with and I'm much more harried at work but I must say, her presence grounds me. Her being life's grandest surprise. Not too long ago, in jest I said to a new friend, "let life surprise you." Little did I know that life, blindsiding me one after another, was yet to deliver her biggest curveball.

And it was beautiful. It still is. So to her, who inspires me, who holds the highest distinction of making me write in ways I have never written before, who has made me beautiful once more, my muse -- you're crazy.  Absolutely crazy and I'm absolutely, irrevocably in love with you.

You were expecting that, weren't you? My declaration of love laced with our own brand of humor.

I'm starting to know you, really know you -- maybe in ways that creep you out, like how our minds seem to work in unison or how I seem to read you quite well -- and I'm loving every bit of you I find peeking from the folds of your skin, your soul. I pick them up one by one. I love gazing at them resting, delicate in my palm, torn between the desire to hold them securely because, my love, I fear there will be no letting go (so suck it up, crazy, you're stuck with equally crazy me), and the urge to see them soar.

I love you.
I love you.
I love you.

Because you are at once, both the clamor and the quiet of my heart.

#1

Let's drink --

to the sun which is setting and to the stars in heaven which are rising.

-- because it seemed your eyes, the ocean of which I have often gazed upon as if they could reflect the beating of my heart -- and how could it be -- our very souls?

I love you

Take these words,
see their delicate tendrils
wrapped around my heart.

Take my heart,
ball it up in your palm
until you can fit it into a fist.

Now unfold your fingers,
loosen your grip. Find
that there it stays rooted.

My love, 
allow the gentle unfolding 
of fingers, finding that it was, 
after all, unnecessary.

---
Of good mornings and of finding for certain that nothing has ever felt like this.

Wear my words

Go on, love, drop your anchor in the sea that is me.
Let me be your sanctuary and I will claim the vastness of stars and sky
to be the warmth that lets you dream.




---
Welcome home, my crazy. How I have missed you so.

Cloudburst

I will let your light
shine through the broken
cracks of my heart.

I will let your light
make it whole.



---
Nary any doubt. Oh my.

I am making us lists

Whimsy dictates: you were immortalized on her person
before the first rays of the sun illuminated the city.

Taken to heart. Really.
You are akin to a very large body of water in my veins.

And while sleeping trumps everything,
sleep is a small price to pay
to get the conversation going.

"I have to pause to take your words in, to let them envelope me, and I swear,
they almost feel like the way you run your fingers languidly across my skin.
For a moment there, I can feel you right next to me."

What is returned, when one extends something
far more generous that what was agreed upon.

You say
I say -- hey.



---
Here's the thing about writers (no matter how tiny) -- they rarely forget, enforcing what they remember or try to retain, with a few words here and there, a misplaced poem, little missives of absolute adoration.

I don't know if you should count yourself lucky. 

Untitled I

So you are given time
on days spent confined in a space
running on a bolus of conversation.

Shifting beside her as a light flickers
on and then off, perhaps signaling a move on,
you cock your head in question.

She meets the question with a smile for an answer,
as if saying "I'm okay," having taken the prescribed x number
of sleep needed to make the weekend worthwhile.