Monthly Archives: June 2016

A metric analysis of impossible rhymes…

Flaming sword Eugène_Ferdinand_Victor_Delacroix

Life’s like a lobotomised impression
inside a golden skull;
too cheap to bury,
too expensive to keep.
A Stradivari of motionless complexities,
all sailing south, monstrosities,
as forbidden banners of condemned rebellions…
Tied to the mast of someone else’s travels,
on sleepless waves of no more dreams to catch,
blinded lighthouses
towering over shipwrecked carcasses
still flickering inside
the cheapest postcard of a better world,
conscripts of chemical genocides
fought over ivory ashes
of forbidden rattles
echoing impractical Edens.

The flaming sword is still there,
a metric analysis,
of impossible times…

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Amazing traces…

Please watch before reading, and listen while you read:

The Idan Raichel Project – Hakol Over (Everything passes)

Idan Raichel clip 2

I need you to dream the colour of spaces,
the time between midnight, tomorrow and trees,
I beg you to fathom amazing traces,
layers of clouds returning to seas…

I dare you to picture small shells of forgiveness,
buried within improbable fields,
requiems sold to merchants of stillness,
swordless battles of useless shields…

I want us to marry in a destitute chapel,
by ministers chanting untimely hymns,
with broken pieces of soft marble,
exchanging a lifetime of broken dreams…

Abandoned eagles…

Dreamcatcher

A flow of matter,
crossing bridges
paved with idle rivers,
of constant wars between no sides,
for kings and kingdoms rather old…
How bitter all the odds,
when knights die young
and simply for no reason,
alone with horses
mourning by their sides,
while all the humble flowers
of each season,
spell intricate mementoes
on their hides…

How strange each morning,
when misty eyes set memories
on fragile pages of honesty.
Uprooted trees of good
and bad, and life and evils,
abandoned eagles,
nesting in my chest…

Rejoice my queen,
you’ve got no symptoms
of anything to give you rest;
I’ve got some tea, you bring the branches
of something better,
never best…

If the world was built for me

Autism and expectations

If the world was built for me. There would be nothing wrong with me. I would be happy and safe and certain and successful.

If the world was built for me, when I met people there would be no expectation of physical contact or small talk. We may ignore each other, with a socially acceptable nod, or throw ourselves into a deep and meaningful conversation.

If the world was built for me, then we would all sit next to each other, not opposite. Things would be based on literal words, not guessed expressions and gestures.

If the world was built for me, there would be a compulsory day off for everyone after any social event. Just so we could all take the time to recharge and process things.

If the world was built for me, work would be about working and nothing else. There wouldn’t be the necessary interaction that…

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To my autistic diary…

Autismawareness

When its motion stopped,
I realised that my circle of life
became an insignificant spot,
desperate, frightened, alone,
like a tired fire juggler
abandoned by an audience
too dull to notice
the beauty of the single detail
constructing their illusion…

“How odd” he said,
“In vitro, every now and then
becomes a schism
embedded deep between
what’s left, and yet to be…”

Streets become discontinued cobbles,
trees become ungerminated seeds,
all birds remain abandoned egg shells,
and every life’s a single heart’s
unfinished tapestry of beats…

Agnosis…

Greek_atheos

It’s not important to remember days, and wonder
why has our time become so slow;
it doesn’t matter anymore if there’s no thunder,
after the rain, before the bow…

It matters not why in our backyard’s desert,
there are no camels and the Bedouins have left;
what truly matters is a sense of water,
illusion wildly clenching to my chest…

Tired, alone and ravaged by disasters,
battled by winds having no taste of sea,
sold by myself to unforgiving masters,
too thin to die, too obvious to see…

In no-man’s land they’re selling cheap allotments,
graveyards to be, or not to be;
some weird biochemical arrangements,
for my abandoned christmas tree…