Her Rebirth

Haunted by Ophelia’s phantom,
enraptured by vernal murmurs,
she succumbs to dreaminess
lost in the stream
of consciousness
carried away by Woolf’s whispers
and echoes of myth from
a scent of white Narcissus-
fluid nostalgia in full bloom-
she remembers her touch
before the plunge;
the sacred memory shatters
underwater-
her pale skin resurfaces-
she is beaming;
her alter ego withers
underwater
Nature witnesses
an act of self-love.

An allegory

Let your mind paint a rainy cityscape. A girl dressed in black, with a mask and noisy heels steps on the sidewalk. Her tears merge with the raindrops. Each tear encapsulates an entire mini-universe, lingering on her cheeks, like undetectable tokens of fluid vulnerability. A stranger passes her by, closely. His slightly curious, slightly worried gaze briefly meets hers. That’s when she remembers she’s in a public space: Maybe the distress in her eyes was visible, after all. His face doesn’t show pity, which is fortunate, for she hates pity – she’s always been too proud for it. But maybe she misinterpreted his facial expression and it wasn’t really concern. Maybe he misinterpreted her expression as something else too. He reminds her of someone – someone kind, sweet, wise, and very dear to her. Someone who knew how to unleash her vulnerable and dreamy side simply by being himself. The rare realness of this person was always rewarded with the privilege of meeting all the facets of her personality.

What her expression conveyed was grief. All-consuming grief, manifested as an affliction of the mind and the body. The inner chaos-intense, the body-tense, during the painful procession. Towards the funeral of the distilled dreams of being. Still alive are the hopes to resurrect the dreams the next day. Another dream, of inner peace, is born. She is wondering when it will materialise. Meanwhile, sweet echoes fill the mind as background music, sung by the Light Beings, ‘Talent. Creativity. Intelligence. Beauty. Resilience. Strength. Kindness’ This is not your typical funeral song. This is one of those days when the melodic discourse is played like a mantra to assuage the mind, to overpower the inner wailing from the funeral rite, to self-induce good vibes, in order to help her keep putting one foot in front of the other foot instead of collapsing. Like an incantation, to banish other toxic thoughts. It’s one of those days when other aspects resonate too strongly, sucking the power out of the good ones, and releasing dark energy. These other forces are not as clear. The noise they express themselves in is a sort of gibberish, a chaotic, harmful nonsense, inducing a heaviness of the heart.

There are rooms she doesn’t unlock in her mind, because she doesn’t want to let the poison out. She wants to stay pure. Untainted. One room contains dusty effigies of blacklisted figures. They’re not distinctive or intelligible, they’re merged into each other, shape-shifting embodiments of damaging thoughts. They are all locked away together in a claustrophobic space, drenched in darkness. Poison drips from their mouth as they breathe in the poisonous atmosphere like zombies. Meanwhile, The Light Beings roam in their perfumed, elegantly decorated chambers inside the mind, as companions and guardians. The Light Beings are personified thoughts, but also real-life people including her parents, close friends, and her therapist. When she dissociates, it’s probably so as to stay away from the poisonous atmosphere when the forbidden door malfunctions. That poison rarely affects anyone else, besides her self, it is confined within her being.

A poem: Sakura season

The world was sick – physically, mentally,
we were part of the minority left uncontaminated.
My calcified shell unravelled
down by the river
among sentient trees,
shimmering shrines,
underneath celestial splendour,
next to your magnetic presence;
Bonded by the common revulsion at
destructive forces, we were here for the art
of letting go, unburdening the heart,
re-emerging from ourselves,
this arcane ritual, this sacred moment,
this hallowed place-
I let it permeate me with light.
Enraptured by hanami,
I shed my outer skin
and drank in the beauty of the instant
until I was intoxicated;
I let myself feel instead of thinking
because life was safe here-
I felt tingles that were going to reverberate
throughout decades.
For the first time, I believed in something
other than myself:
you, the radiance of the moment,
the glimpse of eternity
in a landscape filled with
reminders of mortality.
I had witnessed too many shared delusions
to fall for them,
but this wasn’t a fall-
it felt like ascending,
like a slice of life that’s borrowed from heaven-
a strange view coming from a secular soul.
Your wisdom was gonna stick to me
and I would wear it like armour
in times of hardship;
I could tell you shared what you believed in
and felt religiously-
you exuded your truth
through all your pores
and it resonated with the murmur
of my soul,
of the river, of the petals;
now every time I find myself
at the crossroads, this mantra
is loud and clear in the midst of chaos
“Look, we are what we believe
and nothing else truly matters
except that your heart is invested
in the right thing. See how that light
travels across the river?”
I will always see the light.

A poem: Velvet glove

An iron hand
in a velvet glove,
soft veils over roots
unwavering- your core,
honey-mouthed- your discourse,
your silence.

 

Within,
there is the hibernating
alpha-serpent,
awaiting resurrections-
you bathe in the light of
her uttered incantations.

 

You spot the red flags
of the dark triad,
you never wave white flags,
for there’s no fire in your soul-
not the red type that burns,
and destroys the self, no,
only blue flames that glow,
soothe, and create the selves.

 

What about the heart-
underneath the layers- is it
iron laced with velvet or
all velvet beneath armour;
is it slippery?
What about the flesh?
the snow melting under the skin
until it gleams?

A poem: Reliquaire

J’ai une vaste collection de jolis cadavres dans le placard;
Je les pêche en pagayant à travers les eaux
les plus profondes de la vie;
Je les nourris des morceaux de mon cerveau de loin,
pour dépouiller leurs os du pouvoir.
Ce rare reliquaire reste
immergé dans l’inconscient
intact, distant, aliéné à travers
des états compartimentés et dissociatifs;
toute âme qui réussit en quelque sorte
à trouver une lumière et ouvrir un tiroir
se retrouve dans un état squelettique
encapsulé dans le même placard,
avec des fleurs parfumées qui en sortent,
du brouillard et des miroirs tout autour-
visualisez-la.

A poem: Freesia girl

I am intoxicated
with the saccharine mystery
in your warm gaze,
your sylph-like appearance-
a misty dream haunting
idyllic paths
inexorably, I find myself
in the same spot
under the tree archway
as much as I try to escape
how sweet-
sickeningly sweet-
my suffering,
the uncanny feeling of being
hypnotised to return,
to haunt and be haunted
I feel masochistic urges
to re-enact scenes of
long-lost delights
of the senses
delicately,
then vigorously
wistfully all along
You never wither,
I decay in the scent
of nostalgia.

A poem: Snowdrop girl

Snowdrop girl,
I can feel your presence
in the first whispers of spring;
I can hear your breath
in the windy corners of life-
it’s my favourite lullaby,
it makes me cold sometimes-
you could be cold sometimes,
in a scintillating way that
I never wished to oppose
or even dared to question-
my fear was not of
your reaction,
but the possibility of
your contamination
on some elemental level
Beneath many layers of
innocence and frivolity
and even more layers of
impenetrability and frostiness
I know what lies, I know
the substance, the kindness,
the taboo dreams,
the sweet desires-
and that makes me smile
you opened up to me
in the still wintry light in
a moment of rare vulnerability
I am thankful to have been
entrusted with.
The world may have seen
your masks, but who else
has recognised the rarely-resurfacing,
pearl-like gleam
in your eyes?
I have and I enveloped it in
my spirit shell
where it shall shimmer forever,
even after our farewell.

A poem: Heavenly aspirations

I want to purify my body and soul
to reach my version of
blasphemous heaven.
I want to summon the stillness
of the dormant light within
to exorcise all feelings
provoking inner conflicts.
To become an empty vessel
for a moment,
penetrated by light
no longer dormant,
now shining so bright.
Such cravings are born out of
a darkness
with the power to enslave
any spirit
and yet, I am its conqueror
I have tamed it and moulded it
into something beautiful,
fulfilling, ever-growing, and hopefully,
ever-lasting.
Once you taste this version of
inner freedom, untainted,
it’s the only nurturing addiction,
the most welcome overindulgence,
the most heavenly sin.

A poem: Evocation

There was nothing left
except her orange blossom scent
in the air,
her skin cells
on the conspiring blanket,
the energy he was feeding off
and her seraphic aspirations,
elegantly penned
in a forlorn diary
before her concept
of the world expanded into
postmodern depths and
her self-concept became
a liberating fluidity
of thoughts and impulses.
She’d been through a lot of
symbolic suicides before
deciding to resort to
serial homicide.
She loved herself, yet
with every touch
there was a numbness-
perhaps in her multiple deaths
she was seeking
life,
perhaps in her metaphorical murders
she was seeking an escape from
pseudo-life.

Various poems

Catatonic state

I feel your ashes
like quicksand
I’m sucked into
so I’m standing still
trying to enjoy the view.

 

Your faith

I never confessed this but
your faith helped keep me
anchored in myself
whenever the currents started
hitting from all sides.
I just wanted to thank you
for still existing in my mind.

 

Extensions

Extensions of me
are ramifying under
your skin.
Does it hurt when
I unravel your bloody
nightmares?

 

Discrepancy

As you weed them out,
slowly, the space between
you and the other you-
both mental concepts-
will become smaller
and smaller
until they merge into one
at which point you will look
around, filled with life,
no longer tainted, you will
open your eyes and see
the discrepancy is abolished
but so is everyone else.