Seas, sheets of white paper, roads:
all meant for possibilities to happen.
I watch the sailing ship go North,
the voyage of the brave
and seagulls follow them
trusting that fish will emerge.
What possibly could go wrong:
a calm, a storm, or mutiny,
all calculated and accounted for.
Yet the story can take any turn,
as you might find
the road back home to me
The need of finding
stuff that got lost,
ideas that yet have to be,
new colours, scents, sounds, sentiments.
Foods. The search is more intense,
meaningful, worthy, immense
than the find. The result.
Or is that I looked for lesser goods?
When I close my eyes, the chessboard appears,
my thoughts make horse leaps trying to find your king;
my queen stands idle. When I open my eyes,
your kiss means checkmate. Roll over, you king!
Chessboard, not chequerboard of course 🙂 )
We don’t cross each others path by accident,
we carefully planned it, road map, train tickets,
and then there is you. It has been a while.
We try out small talk.
No, this is not what we thought we would find.
Those years have split us up, changed the chemistry.
There is lightning over the horizon though.
We should take shelter, but we stand
and rain is pouring.
If we are struck now, we die together,
it would mean something, one grand moment.
You put your arm on my shoulder.
It has been great, you say. I say it has not.
Why do you always argue, you say. Flash. Thunder.
When I open my eyes again, you are gone.
I like that ending.
As you leave there is movement above us,
we stand opposite each other
and watch birds over our heads
flocking like melted together,
turning into new shapes
as if they are one body,
fluently, a quickly changing sculpture in the sky,
round, then longer, then oval,
swiftly flipping from black
to silver to black, a rotating cloud,
made of hundreds of unique individual creatures,
all in one speed, moving like a wave in a football stadium,
and our thoughts can’t help but flock in one flow:
they are you and me,
once we were starlings together
dancing, loving, in our mind.
I think I see you smile as you go.
The murmuration is over.
I avoid daily problems
like, when trying to cross a road
with too much traffic,
taking a walking detour seems to make it easier.
But the dare devils zigzag
between cars and bicycles,
risking their lives to be there first
and they think nothing of it.
Maybe the best way to deal with problems
is to run into them with your eyes closed,
pretending immortality exists
as perhaps that is braveness.
Maybe the best way
to deal with braveness and dare devils
is avoiding daily problems
and stay safe.
We had planned a moment of silence
to underline the end of our relationship
when we were four years old.
It was the first break up for both of us.
We wanted a ritual.
We sat in the sand, back to back.
“I shall not marry you,” he said.
“I shall not marry you,” I said.
Then we went on with our play,
making big deep holes
all the way through the black blue sand,
and emerging water sealed the deal.
My deceased grandfather talked to me,
sitting with his ankles crossed as always,
the way all his offspring sit, including me.
He sat in front of his house, as usual.
However, his voice, a bit hoarse,
made no sense. He shook his head.
Being dead makes communication difficult
but then again, I don’t remember
any conversation I had with him
when he was alive, so I enjoyed his effort.
He raised his thumb, as in a Like.
Maybe the afterlife is Face Book based.
So like you to tell me,
long after your death,
where rabbits run,
how to find the true North,
what the best place is for shelter
from rain, that ghosts don’t exist
and beauty can not be defined.
All is there in the eye
of the beholder, like I see you
everywhere in splendorous light.
Now I know where you kept God hiding.
So like you to save the best for last.
He and his friends
hunted on rabbits;
the dead corpses hanging in the shed
not undone from their fur
were the yield of that night,
the success, the triumph.
But in the morning,
sunrise in the shed,
I could hear him go there
and in the haze of the day
I saw his hand, so fragile now,
stroking an animal
he never wanted to kill.