Tag Archives: Open

365 for 2013: (7) when the loss is one you refuse to own

when the doors of the elevator open

my eyes will make its way through

dressed in amber and rose

looking back at the space 

of secrets only mirrors inside the box know 

you dont reach out

because i am no longer with you

i am no longer with you

 because i am within

i will be in the space you breathe

in the same rhythm you beat

in the same paths through doors that close

and open again

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Appealing at Daybreak

Half past seven and I’m not supposed to be awake.

Half past seven and I could only be awake. I was waiting when I fell asleep at half past one, listening to a song that hauntingly speaks of the kind of mess I now seemingly find myself  in. The song is repetitive, persistent: Stay, don’t close your eyes. Stay open. Apparently, it seems to have manipulated my own patterns of sleep.

These recent nights, I kept toggling between what I needed to do and what I wanted to do: write a poem or write a report, keep talking or wait for a response, sleep before sunrise or wait for it. I couldn’t let it rest. The thing about absence is that it makes us crave for something that could not be there. There are things that we could have and things we could only allow ourselves to hope for. Like a few more minutes to stay awake. Or another hour. Or the rest of the dawn, maybe until daybreak. Could you afford a day?

Maybe not. At least not today.

So, stay. Don’t close your eyes. Please. Stay. Stay open.

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