when I cannot sleep

I cannot sleep; the dust of it rounds my eyes
into separate spheres, a sea in each
dipping night’s ink like a chance of lead
into the silvery apparition of a reflected moon
cradled between the sinews of a hammocked brain

there is a long sigh, a long echo — followed slowly by a song
tethering is a lullaby in glades of sun and shadow
day hinged and riveted like a solarnaut in crucial voyages

and my mind sits there, ancient, stubborn — like a shard of shell
fossilised and unmoving, indifferent to the throes of sleep
and voyeuring on the agonies of silence.

I know I wasn’t a tragedy; I knew it seemed so
after the hallways laughed menacingly
and the bells that chimed once in my favour
grew to sand in some lothario’s hourglass of moves
glued to the stationary casket of time in motion
faster than sound and faster than quantum

it aches my head and bones; not my heart
she flutters still like some newborn butterfly
doing her pilgrimage of movements, she never tires
when I do — there lies the problem and the sanity.
I am sleek with the covers, I am armed with the pillows
salient are my eyebrows playing tic-tac with particles of skin
and the dreams that are coiling to these feathery antennas

I will sleep soon
then wake to conquer the seeming
unconquerable
for I am too
a shade of moon
encased in an hourglass of night
measured stably by a rush of adrenalin
in a spoon of reverberations.—

confession (i)

I didn’t know that studying abroad would be a lonely experience. I am just into the experience so I am not sure how the entire experience will be; yet. And I notice people have more boundaries than me. There are a lot of cool White and Black people – people of Asiatic origins and such and I desire, hunger to talk to them. Talking and intimacy has always been an integral part of me. My being cannot resist it. It gravitates towards it as its gravitas.  People are just good at hiding or at bearing shyness. I cannot. I do not know silences that stretch due to stranger strangeness; due to anonymity. For me, I feel everyone is an adventure waiting to be explored; a university of individualism wishing to be learned and interacted with. Human to be humanly and humanely encountered and understood. But I know many people will seldom look at others this way. In a sea of bodies I am just well, just another body. Not even an attractive one. I am new. My freshness stinks like cleaning soap, disinfectant, like some form of ripeness that has ripened with the irresistible tug of the green. The men and women here are beautiful and presentable. They look healthy, fit, accustomed to walking. They have developed really clean and well attired aesthetics. I saw a woman from East Asia or East Asian origin with painted full lips – colour of poppies and blood crushed into the metaphor of richness and life. I envied here. I am plump. My skin breaks. I am not a beauty. My hair is the wires of a mess, cables of neural electricity refusing to find sockets or comfortable patterns. The climate here is colder. More foreign. My skin has broken with it. I am a noob. The gamer term encapsulates me and my personhood perfectly. I am a noob and it reeks off me like dying fish on some forgotten sands.  I have no sense of direction. Today, I was a bit in shock at looking at an official registration form that asked for my sexual orientation. It was a well definable space; a well defined definition to a sexuality. That hasn’t happened before. It was beautiful. But also a bit difficult to process. Then I giggled like a teen. I am in my 20’s. I am older than most people in my dorm or my class. But compared to them I am stupid. I am a social invalid. I am always at awe at how beautifully people do day to day things. I can’t do anything like that. Not yet anyway.

I was spoiled. Sheltered unreasonably. But where I am from many middle class or upper middle class people are like this; so are high class people. We don’t count money fast. We don’t know how to cook. We don’t know how to clean a bathroom. It just is. It just was. Imagine me. A sheltered weird creature among people who already know what they want from life. What they need in life. How to carve out their individuality. How to carve soul and identity into both paper and flesh. You may be disgusted by it. Rightfully so. I apologise for being so incapable. So immature. Yet, it was so fostered into me. So ingrained. I knew it was problematic but lacked the means to obliterate it. I do not know what sort of creature I am. I am not aware how to live. I am lesser than a baby. I am like Kyle XY without the brains. I am just me. A stupid. But I love the city. I love the openness. I love the liberalness. Love the scope of magnitude of chaos and harmony. Buildings here astound me. I am from such a backward land. I am not really even acquainted with online ordering. I have had so many privations. They are not so private or public. They just existed. I walk so much now. I love it. I wish I could share the walking with a beau. I wish I was beautiful enough both inwardly and outwardly; more strong enough, more efficient enough to be a proper human being. But I am not. And I am sad I was made into this half-formed thing. This failure. This tragedy. This inconsolable invalid.  I wish I could love more freely. Be decent enough to love.

I am like a carnival attraction. I am so carnivalesque. Maybe I look odd to others. Today I wanted to shake hands with a girl in a lecture. She seems uncomfortable and uninterested; she had bright red hair, coloured as a cherry. She spoke on Jeanette Winterson. On gender. And I didn’t impress her. I was just there. I was just an odd person. The guy who sat next to me just walked away not caring of me. And my flatmates don’t seem to think I am great either. I feel like the fool. The jester everyone encounters but is so scenic that no one would really pay attention to know. I feel so inadequate. In brains. Beauty. Aesthetics. Brains…I just feel kinda lost.

I don’t know if I am good. Or even decent. I just wish that the “me” I am can change, can evolve, can adapt and become better for myself. Also, for others. I just feel lost and the wideness of this urban wilderness both scares me and tantalises me. I wanna be found and rescued by myself. I wanna meet my spirit, my animal, my spirit-animal. I just want to be more than what I am now

Do I have things to talk about?

Contrary to how the world perceives content I think everyone, human or nonhuman, have a story to tell. I know that that story will be translated into a human scope in mind or human politics but still it’s a story to tell or write or something. A great point in case is the fantastic but not non-realistic novel called Black Beauty by Annie Sewell. Now though Black Beauty is the first novel I read I can say heartily that Black Beauty can beat Harry Potter and challenge Lord of The Rings easily. Though I love the latter two as well it’s just Black Beauty as a horse protagonist exhibits so many feelings that we don’t always see Harry or Frodo nor Bilbo exhibit.

 Frodo comes close to it but as his life in the books is shaped so much by the rings we do not always see him as anything other than the ringbearer (though I give props to Tolkien for making the generic “ringbearer” of legends who is akin to “best-man” in weddings have a heroic and versatile dimension). In contrast Harry is actually very generic at times; he doesn’t do much without an impetus and like a lamb accepts too much than he should. No, this isn’t about Harry in his Uncle and Aunt’s house it’s about Harry as a person in general. Harry is well pretty complacent about too much (fanfiction Harry is more well subversive in a harmonic or disharmonic sense mutually so). I mean he never understands Voldemort. I mean Rowling speaks of Voldemort as a villain but I do not see Harry understanding (not to say he should accept which he shouldn’t) why Voldemort hates Muggles so much. One may easily say its the difference or opposition but that is too simplistic.

You know a show that tackles this problem maturely albeit being a “children” sort of show is ironically My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. Despite some of its obvious childish stuff it shows four species of horses who can harmoniously live together if not sanctimoniously. The earth horses are well without wings or magic but they are so crucial to the world of Equestria this is so distinctively shown in Pinkie Pie’s character. Pinkie Pie stands out because in battle or even in normal scenes she actually never trots normally (rarely she does). She hops as in playfully jumps and like some metronomic dance but also “chaos” she keeps it very poised and balanced. It is something actually difficult to do but she does it with class. Thus even the so-called non-flight or non-magic ponies as in pegasi and unicorns are still very important.

This was discussed in a Youtube channel once (I forgot which) but Muggles are valuable. They can do stuff that wizards cannot and can at times triumph over them. I know Voldemort as a child feared muggles much more than he let on. This fear was shown but Harry never ruminated on it. It felt kind of sad that he didn’t. I wished he did. In contrast Black Beauty thought a lot about things. He always thought about many things: both the horse world and the human world. He understood why humans and horses needed coexistence but also thought humans had no right treated horses as slaves. Also he never discriminated much against humans or horses at times he envied the so-called weak. When he and Ginger are not able to follow their families because they are too bigs and Merry Legs can, being a dwarvish pony, he does show that each size has its importance and place.

The reason I put up so many examples is to percolate the fact that boredom may also be in the eyes of the beholder. It is true that my life is not interesting as Aussa’s nor John’s nor Sarah’s but I think it has something to tell which in telling may become important. I know that the world prefers traveling or the spectacular but I can only give what I can give.

My honesty is my arsenal. I hope you readers prefer it too.

censorship boaerd

 

sometimes my heart feels broken
by the avoidance of the cracks of perfection
but by my constant tutoring and coerced adhesion
to a smoothness that is deemed, fit and proper…

shrouded and glared by an apotheosis of tears
rather than an apotheosis of blood, sweat and spirituality
— my teachings from religion squandered by the petty
fashions of a society neither democratic in a minority
nor major in its humanistic promises — the orthodox pulpit
has been now occupied by vulpine commerce, manufactured agnosticism,
manufactured gnosticism, and manufactured awareness and manufactured
subconsciousness concentrated by an artificial orbit by a mental probe
which preoccupies you in Jamais vu and Prosopagnosia or Fregoli delusion
as easily as one matches oil with a match flicker; immolation and Sati by a consumer
demon that plagues the moors and rain forests of a dialogic individual.

the virtues of a society and its ethical bond make Shylock shirk
for even a fleshy pound cannot secure the torments of an eviscerated persona;
there were promises that abnegation is the liberty of self — no it was not religion or
spirit who taught me this  faux-cursive — it was social hegemonic anxiety in its dress of
piety that told me so. If you are away from the herd you are the wolf or the boy
who cries wolf — no one chastises the boy’s boredom or loneliness; though fibbing
is wrong is not ennui wronger? I am just an economic index, a social index, a census —
my body and mind and sex censored and clipped by a stool pigeon on some GDP rat race
to God knows where? I knew that life, here and hereafter, has to be full and green and ripe
—- but, what is this “ripeness”? When I am told to go after Frederic Jameson’s Postmodernism than communicate, pray and/or study am I not as vacant as the policy of freedom that tortures Free Speech and decorum without, as a person clearly stated,  an agency of my own, a privacy, propriety, property, proficiency and practices that are my own?

each ideology popular in this era feels dry as the carcass of consumerism — I saw that I was afraid to tell who I was ,for a Muslim is to exploited and hurt like muslin; kept only as an objectification but not any skill or talented principles of Soul and Thought and Life. It is hard to be coloured too when Whiteness and Fairness is the metaphor of absolute salvation, absolving, solutions, clarity and ablution; even if White is beautiful as the clouds the clouds
that are rainy are a bit coloured thus can we only say one is good and the other bad? Can a Manachaeistic or Cartesian lifestyle really only elaborate all that this world keeps in its belly and breath?  Binary matter only matters when it can be cyclically contextualized and understood deeply as not only oppositional  and complementary but rather in some cases two roads leading to the same river or tree for we incorporate a “Yggdrasil” as a metaphor for a branched leveling and connotative deduction of a world both suspended in space but also engaged with it.

the world being flat may have just been layman tongue for a ground waiting for plants to grow and seeds to be sown and plucked and discovered. In a world subtracting metaphysics and multiplying the material the greenhouse is flat is layman tongue.

I have said many things. I have done  a cathartic crying or weeping if you may say to avoid alliteration fallacy or fondness. I am a scribe to myself as each person is to themselves — so even if history erased the journals-memoirs the psycho-emotional historiography will eliminate its own manufactured extinction. ▬

Your heart was once your friend

You are saddened by an amber frost
it froths and spins a lot in a dash
and putting forth a night petal
you wanted to see colours come out of it

It, that it, that was once your pal in arms
your comrade to sign off
instant message and massage the bones
you are confused
because it hurts now and sometimes skyrockets
into some fast, hazy lane
philological, psychological becoming so detrimental
and you say saying it out loud that I don’t wanna hurt
this mental play exhibits dirt and dearth and death of reason comes along
hand in hand

my body needs a friend not a fuck
I am trying to hurt less now
but my heart won’t let me
reminds me at intervals
how lonely I look
as I pass mirrors
with only my shadow to assist
the definition that I exist
it’s like a double bed with a bone in between
crowding the lungs,  my heart can’t breathe
harken it’s broken sigh and a soft cry that I despise

I am not being moody I just want to be loved
don’t you?

selfish crash of a being you doped up high on affection
so your narcotics deny my satisfaction
I want to walk around and scream and yell in an open grassland near a beach
that’s my love — love that I treasure — I crave it on my lips not sealed only with a dainty kiss — hear the mellows and bellows of the twinging-tinging blades of grass — do they dance only for an opal when ether can be scanned into a ring around the middle, my rib cage needs that fleshy jewel

my love is yet to be realized._▬

Wedding beasts

The young girl knew. Knew well that she was fourteen and she was to marry. But she did not want to marry a thirty-three year old man and decided that she might escape. Though she had grown up to be married. Dressed like a lady and told to wait patiently for the first menstruation she had hardly been happy. Most of her life had been living outside of the world. As young bride she was told the world would spoil girls and that her beauty would be spoiled too and she was always simmering with nervousness and anger. She did not also like that she was told that she could not meet any men and that men wpuld spoil her aside the one who was her husband and that her father and her brothers could only see her. This attitude caused the young princess great pain and she would scream and cause havoc and break things and try to escape but then she wouls hit a little by her brothers or by her parents and locked up in a tiny cellar and told not to make a noise. The young girl heard of God and prayed and thought one day she would be dree. Then she was told her marriage day had arrived.

God had listened. Even if one does not believe in God one must know of opportunities and miracles. A spirit named Ezel had escaped a prison most deadly but had come in search of shelter and happened to come upon the princess’s window. The princess was at first shocked and scared but fascinated at this dark like creature who was wounded. Ezel spoke her tongue thus was able to get food for his troubles and some balm but as the wedding day had arrived and the princess asked if if he was a spirit of night then could he transform. Ezel said he would but like always he can only do  so with complications that means not for long and because her life is on the line a part time product might be surfacing because of this. The princess transformed into him as they traded each others blood through their arms but as she did she saw she had a cataract but with the blurred red vision escaped.

Ezel had become a princess but his body now a mirror to his had a dark blemish near his right toe and the temporary hymen collapsed and he wore his wedding dress with the blood stains. The man thirty three was angered calling the princess a whore and said that Anna was a whore that is why her hymen has collapsed  for she had had intercourse surely. Ezel laughed as the blonde man with blue eyes and fair skin cried out and kept on raging that his golden haired and fair skinned princess had gone away and that the parents were responsible. The parents and brothers reasoned that the girl was not even taught to read and write much because he wanted her dumb and only pretty. Ezel then laughed and ran with the  a blade towards the man thirty-three and stabbed him in multiple places.  Laughing Ezel said he was a fool to think true talent and brilliance can be impeded by a manufactured inhibition.

Though the so called prince did not die his beauty was ruined and he was retreating. Ezel then slashed the parents of the princess, Anna, and her brothers telling them they are a horrible family.

Anna cataracted went hungry for three days until she went back to her original body but by these time she had been hearing the wind and wondered what the world was like. Though it was dangerous she also found it beautiful. And that is when she met Sethe. Sethe was a huntsgirl, a year younger than princess, she was dark haired and dark skinned and she knew to fluently write and speak many languages. Seeing the girl Anna made her both compassionate but also angry she decided as Anna was recuperating she would teach Anna to hunt and read and write. Anna was very bad for the first few months. Scared of even butterflies and not seeing raw organs and meat and vegetables made her scared. She even could not understand much of wind and water and sounds. She knew of birds and insects only and small rodents. Even horses scared her and she could not stand much work for long hours and cried long and hard. But Anna was happy because this labour was for her and her alone no wedding guise or ruse and soon her body became healthier and fuller and her hair which she cut short more radiant than her long. She now loved using daggers and staffs as but loved mending the bows and arrows used by Sethe. Sethe and she both used swords too. They kept company of a small village where Sethe was apparently princess and they protected the terrain.

Of course in these excursions many young men proposed to both. Anna hated men now as most men in her life had hurt her and so she preferred only few women as most women had also hurt her. Because of her past she had a  hot temper and could not fathom the feelings of others. Unlike Sethe who could be very empathetic Anna was angry and resentful. Sethe decided to teach Anna  to be more negatively assertive. Also a contradictory habit of Anna;s is she wanted attention and Sethe understood it was very hard for Anna never growing up commended for anything. But Anna commented and loved and fawned on Sethe a lot.

Sethe had been a princess too. Both young girls were raised so differently. Sethe had read books and was orphaned at a young age and assumed responsibility for a whole village.  The thirteen year old princess made a lot of decisions but had also left for the peripheries of her village to escape a weight of egoism and bias for her youth and the fact that young royals were usually forced to get married. She preferred small company as most villagers did not like her as she was young and sprightly and could not fathom what she wanted to do. Sethe was suggested by elders to marry but she did not. The rejected prince had promised a war but she beat him in a duel and his scorned pride was not given due. Sethe knew the dangers of arrogance and try to prepare for it.

At this time Ezel had confessed love to Anna and Anna was wondering if she should be with Ezel. But she knew little of Ezel and decided that they needed some courtship and timing to be able to seek each others’ more intimate space. Anna was wondering how love with a spirit would go. Ezel had told that in his kind trading small drops of wax outlined quotes are a good way of exchanging love and Anna had started reading that humans like outings for romance thus they went to small fields and studied flowers and wrote each other quotes from famous authors and places, some of their own things as well.  But Anna wanted to travel more. Sethe couldn’t at but said that she would like to make peace with the prince she fought because though he was an arrogant bastard her people might need it and if he violated the rules he would be a tyrant to his own. So, some talks proceeded and it was decided another duel may end the grudge; this time a draw happened and the grudge was partially over. Sethe and Anna traveled a bit more and Ezel stayed over the village but when on his own excursions. On these voyages the hard p[arts for Anna was meeting her brothers who were married to shielded women and frustrated and anger at her and she just ignored them; coming to realize that her family was not her family she decided that Sethe was her family and that God made her strong and though it took time she learned thus she shone more than them in both knowledge of books and swords and fighting. She had fought with Ezel and at times she had beaten and at times he had beaten her because they were both strong and evenly matched and they always were trying not get their pride and get in the way of theirv loses and winnings.

Sethe had tried to do the same with much and Anna realized that Sethe felt lonely and suffocated because her people were at times tricked to want to just sit aroumnd and look pretty but Sethe had aim and ambition. One of them was that she wanted to make a library a vast one in amongst the trees near a forest glade near her village and that everyone could play, fence, read, study, eat and relax there. But people preferred her sitting on marriage or helping a husband have these noble goals. In fact a suitor too wanted to help her build the library but then he was thinking too much on himself and her as a aide rather a partner with the same vision which hurt Sethe so she had to tell him that they could not be together. Anna had decided to try help with the library by always trying to get books. Ezel the spirit of Night now asked most gently and understanding patience if they should remain friends. At this moment Anna realized that Ezel and she were good for each other and that they should stay together and possibly marry after they were twenry for Ezel said that though he looked a bit older he too was the same age as she. Ezel had been in prison for the people of those parts thought all night spirits were evil but Ezel was always a good young man.

Soon after they were thirty-three themselves and Sethe thirty-two the library was near completion and though Anna and Ezel were traveling and Sethe was soon to join them we hear that after a marriage of over ten years Anna was expecting their first child and it was a miraculous event of God for half night spirit and half human children were rare but Anna and Ezel may have more as it was shown their first born was going to be firstborns; twins were to be expected. Sethe looked at the collection, she had only recently fell in love with a librarian Vigil, who was younger than her and he too was of the fairy tribe and had presented her a diary of nice craftsmanship and she presented him a sword — both presents were made by each other and they both delighted by them.

“A true gift, a wedding of two souls perhaps…” thought Sethe as she saw the trees wide limbed and with books and saw many races working together…

Don’t trust —

 

— who act as they know everything; but when the delivery arrives
never arrives for you, muddled bones and sausage tongued
barely defensive but defensive on the prowl — telling you they are better
in so many ways and telling you that they deserve better
but would not wish the same for you; patterning an apology
yet hierarchical on the sorries as if you pushed them for this

don’t be quiet on this sodomy of your soul
front or back the choots did this because they think they are
yes, better at being non-human. _▬