The Dance of Destruction

To be able to destroy is to acknowledge fear
To welcome anger
To inhibit sanity
To promote impulse.
To be able to destroy is to
be an artist
To be more powerful than the creator
To let go off your true self.
To allow others to fear you
To forgo the possibility of love
To transcend all material
For what is destroyed had no meaning
The true poetry lies in the act of destruction.
The destruction of an entity
Of an individual, a group, a community
Even an idea
Through the complex act of choreography
And the simple act of letting go
The construct of existence chaining the feet.
Breaking the shackles into the unseen
Leaving behind the crushed leaf
The soaked piece of paper
And also the mangled twig.
Promising every destruction the truth of life
Refusing to partake in death
Yet forgoing life after the dance has been staged.

"The animal in me" he said.
Before he could finish the sentence
"The animal" I wondered
How could I be one?
Haven't I spent enough
Time and energy on pretending
To be human?
For the life of me
I could not find the animal I was.
No I wasn't a horse, a rabbit, a cow or a mouse
My friend was an elephant, another a lion
And one even a whale.
I wasn't a hen, a crow or even an ant
I wasn't a hippo for sure.
I could be an eagle, a zebra, a platypus
Or even for that matter a pangolin.
I could be a hedgehog or maybe a goat.
But I think I was certainly not a bear.
Whatever I could be, I didn't know
Whatever I wanted to be was more difficult to tell
All that I could think for sure
I was something found not so readily;
And myself I sure wanted to be.

To leave the world where it is
To know that it was a choice
To let it not be for what it isn't
To feel no guilt for knowing right.

Fears

The fear of clearing things out in my head
The fear of understanding my fear
The fear of categorically writing where I stand
The fear of defining what it all has been
The fear of counting every similar situation
The fear of being unable to pick up for someone I care
The fear of not being the me I hoped to be
The fear of reading about something I don't want to see
The fear of hope and the feeling of nice
The fear of forgetting the feeling of nice
The fear of sometimes daring to feel
The fear of turning into an embryo again
The fear of hiding behind a tree
The fear of being hit on the back
The fear of breaking trust
The fear of the possible truths
The fear of probability
The fear of polarity
The fear of living inside
The fear of a popping vein
The fear of going insane
The fear of writing my mind
The fear of hiding inside
The fear of knowing
The fear of sharing
The fear of caring
And the fear of being.

Of Love and Lost Love

She loved, but constantly told herself 

how it was a bad idea.
But it wasn't an idea was it?
It was a feeling of being in pursuit

The pursuit of the only place where 

thought and life coexisted.

The pursuit of having to leave behind

A trail of love and lost love.

Both walking parallel as they followed her

They were not the best of friends

But with so much in common;

As they walked behind her

They couldn't help but strike a conversation.

A conversation about finding and losing

Of loan and of the debt never paid

Of living and yet not existing

Of trials and sufferings

Both had that in common; didn't they?

It was at dusk, when lit by the fading light

They saw she was now approaching an edge

The edge of the flat world she had walked,

Wanting to circumnavigate.

She was sure she would be back at the start.

But they watched her walk towards the edge

The edge of vast nothingness

Separated from all that had ever existed.

She seemed all but sad with this encounter.

The unexpected called out to her

As she gazed at the faded line between the two worlds,

She arched her back

And gracefully took a leap.

Almost in a swift diving motion 

She entered the beautiful vast acean.

A deep black ocean of nothingness.

The nothingness with the hope of something.

And the two followed her with loyality.

The day could be saved;
he was constantly looking up at her
she knew that the day could be saved
not simply by her, also by his presence.
She had loved him.
He knew that.
He still loved her.
But all he needed to know was
she could save the day.
She still had to let him go.
As he slowly slipped into the role
the comfort grew;
with it also grew discomfort.
She had to save the moment,
she had a choice.
The choice was not made for her.
She chose to let him go;
she chose to not let the roles drift.
For she loved him,
she knew love is not one kind
and her love was profound.

COLOUR

Is the colour of mourning Black or White?
And that of festivity White, Red or Green?

I do know the colour of happiness
And that of pain.
I think I know it is a Yellow, Blue and Pink
It is Orange, Violet, Mustard and Red.
I bled from my knee
The colour of pain was then Grey.
I broke my thigh
The colour back then was Green.
I sent a letter, a letter of pain,
This time the colour was Powder Blue.
And every time I am injected
It is the colour Rust I see.

I lost
A friend, I saw a Brown.
A grandparent, a Faded Steel.
A potential lover, a Dying Tree.
An ambition, a Lost Galaxy.
My spirit, an Ethereal Me.
And finally
When I lost myself,
I found a colour, the colour
I was never meant to see.





Is the colour of mourning Black or White?
And that of festivity White, Red or Green?

I do know the colour of happiness
And that of pain.
I think I know it is a Yellow, Blue and Pink
It is Orange, Violet, Mustard and Red.
I bled from my knee
The colour of pain was then Grey.
I broke my thigh
The colour back then was Green.
I sent a letter, a letter of pain,
This time the colour was Powder Blue.
And every time I am injected
It is the colour Rust I see.

I lost
A friend, I saw a Brown.
A grandparent, a Faded Steel.
A potential lover, a Dying Tree.
An ambition, a Lost Galaxy.
My spirit, an Ethereal Me.
And finally
When I lost myself,
I found a colour, the colour
I was never meant to see.