Author: perkaraperkara

“Because you’re important to me, that’s why.”

florence + virginia woolf.

Sometimes I think I am just putting out words without meaning every single one of them. But then anyone can do the same with me.

I want to believe you.
I want to hear it myself.
I want to bask in love.
I want to bask in sunlight.

Because I am convinced that if I can’t have you I shall have no one else. I don’t want to throw my self to anyone any longer, because one I am tired two because everything everyone pales in comparison three because you understand me completely. Right now you occupy every crevice of my soul. My every thought every word revolves around you and I want to be known and unknown, I want to reveal to seal everything to be rid of feelings because I have never been in such agony. Everything suspends, hangs in the air, and words words words they shall fill my throat until I choke. I hate this. I cannot stand on the edges any longer. It is either all or nothing. This is my unrolling, my confession,  my declaration. I cannot purge you from my mind, not as simply as I want to erase dead withering lovers, because your image persists, not out of sheer obsession or fascination, but something that runs deeper than everything I have ever felt before. Is this love?

Ha.

I am happy.

I must shut off my senses.
I have been unjust to myself.
I have been weak.
I am nothing
Yet I aspire so much.
All lofty ideals but
None actual and real
I have erred myself long
Tallied tarried
Plotting indecencies
Dreaming impossibilities
Conjuring up fantasies
All wishful thinking
Without actions in between
How can I bridge anything?
I must scurry off and annihilate myself
Because I am constantly losing
And I realize
No one can help me but myself
I must will myself first
To kill off everything
To lower my being
To seek nothing
In order to
Exist
Blissfully.

Mother, you must help me.
And send my regards to god
In his house of being
I ask you that you ask him
To purify my indignant soul
I dare not to approach his house
I can only lie outside
Because
I am not yet ready to enter
The holy kaabah
Let alone death
The thought grieves me.

How foolish of me.
To ask an intermediate
To shower sadness
Into other humans
When I can pour directly
Into him
All my insecurities
Fear hope and longing
I do not want to want
I want to be.

So help me o god
Before I plunge once more
Into the black obscure
I want to err no more

I am not to speak
Pale
His being
Unable to convey
Or obey
I suffocate
Entrenched
Drenched
In silence

Repel, every word
Dispel, every myth
Let us propel,
into eternity

I am to give you up entirely
Without which I shall be reduced
For sure
To mediocrity
Who needs such a figure
When you can diffuse in the air
To Permeate
Or Disappear
I no longer care.
I only wanted to hear
The wisp whispers
Of existence
Of acknowledgement
But you would not even
Grant me that

My dear
If you find me
Stooped like a shoot
Of an uncouth lunatic
Irretrievable
Irredeemable
Do nothing
Even if this is your own doing.

The poet strives in his tales
To achieve the symbolical
Exalting his demon
Immortalizing his sadness
His tragedy of melancholy
Pale pale
I see nothing to be gained

But yonder,
I see nothing too.
Who is to console me?