Time Eater

​Twisting and turning

In my sleep

While the ghost of my memories

Hold me down and don’t let go of me

 

They sing ballads of the past

And the future

And

         Judge everything 

                                            I do

 
Marble is softer

Than the most honest embraces

And the the truth serenades lullabies

That I choose to ignore

 

Promises that I’ve made to myself

Would have been followed

If only I spoke them out aloud

 

The same mistakes

Would have been avoided

If only I could scatter away the remnants of my past

 

Truth’s perception has been corroded

It’s been called a bitter pill to swallow

It has been said to sting the ears

 

But truth 

Is the sweetest of concoctions 

Its beautiful honesty will make you blush

Its genuine talks will move you

 

I know this

Yet I do nothing

 

I eat time

And I devour souls

Till my hunger is satiated 

And all that is left in my mouth is ash

We Exist

Today is the tomorrow we were promised yesterday

Today has come and gone

And our inability to stand up against unrighteousness 

Has been taken advantage of

 

We’re to blame

If we silently watch

Atrocities being acted out

And don’t speak up

 

So speak up.

 

We will disappear

Into nothing

But the words we speak

Will rage on for eons

 

So say something beautiful

And change the world we live in

 

We won’t be

We can’t be

Silenced

And we won’t go quietly 

 

Let the walls

Shudder from our chants

When we come together and proclaim

‘We exist’

 

Let the wolves of the midnight hour

Howl in unison

As our chant grows louder

‘We exist’

 

Let the foaming seas

Change the course of their tides

As we fill the air with our chants

We exist

Veins of Teal

Once there was a girl

With hair that flowed

Like the teal river of zeelandia

 

The valley of unrest 

Is where she goes

For the silence is a blessing

And solitude she seeks

 

The forest calls out to her

Echos words not discernable

To none, save the ones paying heed

 

She listens, but pays no heed

And spends her travel decrypting

The songs of the forest

 

For she too wants to dance 

In the moonlight like the flowers

She too wants to shine like the water

Under the gaze of the stars, which lead her on

 

Her limbs are coated in a sheen of sweat

And dust 

A testament to the distance she’s covered

 

The valley

Stretches out to the horizon itself

And she gazes over it hungrily

She has arrived

 

The valley is still

Where time appears to have stopped

And the wind doesn’t thow her tresses into a mess

 

A pool of water

Its shade deepest of blues

Is where she washes her weary limbs

And tired mind

 

Her tiny feet

Walk past trees

That seem to move without any sound

 

Her dusty hands

Clutch rock after rock

In her pursuit to climb 

To the top of the cliff

 

She arises amongst clouds

And cautiously walks to the edge

Of the highest peak of the valley

 

A bunch of lillies adorn a rock

Covered in veins of moss

She bends forward, and breathes in deep

And fills her lungs with the scent of ol’ perfume

 

She sighs

 

A sigh

 

Which echos

 

Throughout 

 

The valley

 

Drumming her hands against her thighs

While bobbing her head

She sings softly into the valley

Where no other sound is heard

 

Once there was a girl

Who sung the songs of the forest

Whose meaning eluded her no more

Litla Dimun

​He tied his boat off and started to climb the cliffs. He knew that no one had lived to tell what was behind the cloud, but still he climbed. His weary limbs, an exhausted soul, an aching heart, and a mountaineer’s backpack were all he had carried. He had smiled at the villager, when he pushed the last of his money onto her hands and bought the boat. He didn’t need money for where he was going. 
Once there was a boy, the ocean was his soul. He searched for someone to tame the storm within. He knew, nay, he believed, nothing would bring him happiness. A new car, a posh condo, an attractive wife?  Was that true happiness or just a shade of it? “If you weren’t happy before you received a thing, you’ll never be happy with it”, he mused. The words he spoke turned into pearls, and plopped onto the ground for being too heavy. Those words didn’t reach his loved ones, so he left. In search of a land that didn’t exist and for an answer to a question he didn’t know. The lands he travelled turned into inky blots, and the people he met turned into dust. Three years since he embarked from home, he found himself in a coastal village in Denmark, partaking in the local dive bar. Dimly lit with candles, he drank deep from his mug. “You don’t seem like you’re from around here,” commented the owner of the bar as he cleaned the mugs with a dirty rag, “Are you here to try your luck with Litla Dimun?”

“Lit-what now?” He slurred, as he wiped the drool off his chin. 

“The island-mountain that every idiotic tourist thinks is worth a visit like the damn Easter island,” said the bar keep whilst shaking his head.

“Island-mountain, eh? What’s so special about it?” He asked, already losing interest.

“Aesthetically, it’s beautiful cause of the cloud that perpetually covers the mountain’s head like a blanket, and only that nobody’s ever been there, and lived to tell about it,” he said in a matter-of-fact way.

He raised his eyes, “whaddya mean? Too steep?” 

The owner laughed, “Maybe, there’s just no way to tell since no bodies have been found. The villagers will have you believe the mountain’s haunted. So many stories have been cooked up about that damn island, I don’t even know what’s true anymore. There’s just one thing I believe, if you make your way to Litla Dimun, either you’re goddamn stupid, or it’s your only option,” he said in all seriousness as he placed the last mug on the stand.

“Well, if I wanted to say something cheesy, I’d say ‘I’m a lil of both’, but I’m not that drunk,” he said as he stifled a yawn and counted out coins for his drinks. He placed them on the counter, thanked the owner, and found himself walking down the lane, flooded with moonlight. The kids flung small pebbles after him, the drunk foreign stranger. He didn’t mind, he was leaving soon anyway.
He stood at the base of Litla Dimun, and exhaled deeply. Surveying the area, he found no evidence of anybody having even ventured there. No ghost of a person’s attempt to make it to the top. Nothing. He wasn’t comfortable with this level of solitude. Is this how his life would turn out to be? A barren beach with no sign of the colourful, tortured life that he had lived? No proof that he walked on this earth? Being a nihilist was something he denied, regularly. His train of thought suggested otherwise.
He began his ascent, and watched the gentle blades of grass bend against the wind’s breeze. The slope was challenging and steep, but nothing lethal. He glanced back, saw his boat rock on the waves, in the distance. The boat looked tiny, and it was a testament to the ground he had covered. The blue ocean, glinted in the sunlight and filled his heart with a pang of longing. He wondered if the villager’s stories were true. He wondered if he’ll ever get to ride the boat back to shore, and tell the villagers his tale. Well, his choice was made, and he sort of knew what lay ahead of him. So he turned, and continued his ascent, with a frown upon his brow.
Choices.
He chose this life, and not another. He chose a life of loneliness, one where he doesn’t get to rear his own kids. A life where he doesn’t have a companion and luxuries. He chose his life. And he never truly understood this until that very moment. The ascent became too steep to walk, so he tied a rope around his waist, and began climbing. The climb itself was torture for his hands, but he tapped into his adrenaline and found himself at the top. He peered off the cliff, and steadied himself. The air was thinner than he was used to, and the height gave him vertigo. 
A meadow lay in front of him, which led him into the cloud atop this island-mountain. Walking into the cloud wasn’t at all what he thought it would be like. It was damp and cold. He felt eerie. Shapes of ghosts and witches were being imagined by his brain. He walked. He walked, but he was worried he’d walk off the top. After a while of walking, he was convinved he was in the afterlife. This was a portal to reach your end. Was this how he died? By walking into a cloud? Not as grand as he hoped it to be. Before he could scourge the area for angels with harps and halos, he saw a massive towering structure in the distance.
Intrigued.
He moved towards it, apprehensively. The shape grew larger as he walked closer. Its size wasn’t fathomable. If he had to venture a guess, he would say it was a tower, or God itself. He found himself at the base of the structure, and saw himself looking at an ancient oak tree. Its spindly branches towering over everything. The knotted trunk thicker than 5 tree trunks. He placed his palm upon the tree, and shivered with goosebumps at the thought of its age. He ran his hand over the trunk, until his fingers chanced upon an engraving. Somebody had mutilated the trunk. He knelt, and read the engraving written in an elegant handwriting:
The Girl Of Litla Dimun


Once there was a girl

Whose eyes burned like embers

In the night


She searched for someone

To fan her flames


Until then


She shines

Brighter than a thousand splendid suns

Holding on to a peice of paper

She waits



He weeped. He sobbed. He howled. 

He sat in front of the tree, cross legged. Tears streaming down his frownless face, he closed his eyes. After a long time, he finally felt the happiness he had been searching for. So he kept his eyes closed. He let the zephyretta tug at his hair, beard and clothes. He didn’t care. His eyes were shut. 
And he waited.

Away Away She Flies

Away away she flies

Atop the ship’s mast

Singing away her sorrow

Her words lost in the wind

 

Her tears glisten

In the moonlight

Her heart years

For her motherland

 

Waves crash upon the shore

Bathing the rocks with foam

A gale of wind, from the west

Blows away a young man’s hat

 

She keeps an eye upon the horizon

A single cloud adorns it

The smell of sea salt,

And fishes fresh

 

The ship sails away

But she has eyes only for one

She searches but sees naught

She longs for him

 

Tears adorn her face

Her spirit remains maimed

But her eyes shine brighter

Than any star ever would

 

Humming deeply

She turns her back against the shore

Her tiny hands, clap softly

To the rhythm of the sea

 

Away away she flies

Atop the ship’s mast

Singing away her spirit

Her words carried by the wind

Don’t 

​I’m sitting here

And I don’t know if

I’m actually sitting 

Here

 

So don’t 

Just don’t 

 

I know the words

You’ll say

I have them memorised

 

But something’s off

 

Something is missing

It’s on the tip of my tongue

 

A snap of my fingers

And it’ll come to me

 

What’s going to happen

Now?

 

Now that we know

What we wanted

Isn’t going to happen

 

Or

 

Did you really want them to happen?

 

It’s okay

 

You don’t have to lie to me

 

You have finally

Found the courage 

To speak your mind

 

So speak

Just speak

 

Bang your fists

On the marble

And speak through the swelling tears

Cause I’m cold

 

So cold

 

I’m cold for you

But oh, so warm

Get it?

 

It’s okay

You don’t have to

 

I can live with that

 

And

 

You can paint yourself

Blind

With all your lies

 

Let it eat you up

From the inside

Out

 

Cause I feel it

I feel the loss

 

I am at a loss

Of words

 

Talking about it convulates 

It

muddling the pool

Where I’m just trying to sink

 

So don’t 

Just don’t. 

Zugzwang

​Through unspeakable terrain

And a journey so remarkable 

The beetle finds himself 

Land upon the windowsill

                                                 upon its back

 

Its spindly legs

Frail about frantically 

Trying to correct the world

At least from its perspective 

 

The beetle is greeted

With an occupant of the

Windowsill

 

Its a spider

Slowly it descends

 

Quickly it pounces

On the beetle

 

Spinning web upon the

Beetle’s spindly legs

 

While the beetle

On its back

Tries frantically to escape,

Eluding the spider

 

I

Watch 

 

From my desk

 

As these events unfold

 

And ponder on the dilemma I’m presented

 

If I watch and not act

I condemn the beetle

To death

 

For if I aid the beetle

In its escape

And the spider starves

Another day

 

In chess, it’s called Zugzwang

When the only viable move

Is not to move at all

 

And as long as you don’t make a decision

Everything is possible