Category: love

17/09/19

~ Layla ~ Leave a comment

There’s a man I once,

Dreamt of,
Wrote about,
And fell in love with.

I never named him.
I never saw his face.
I never talked of him.

Until you came along.

The same eyes,
The same light,
The same soul.

There you were.

Straight from all those books I devoured.
Straight from all those songs I sang.
Straight from all those dreams I weaved.

Unreal,
Uncanny,
Unattainable.

The stories I always dreamt of writing.
The man I always dreamt of meeting.
The life I always dreamt of living.

Could it be?
Could it be true?
Could it truly be true?

I asked everyone…
But you.

Where did the birds flew to?

Where the leaves fall.
Where the petals scatter.
Where the wind blew.

Ah that wind!
Lo that wind!

Setting fire to a whole forest.
Spreading waves  of radioactivity.
Scattering seeds of bitterness.

But you weren’t a story,
But you weren’t a character,
But you weren’t a dream…

You were but a broken man
You were but a lost boy.
You were but a real person.

So I watch the blackbird leave for the winter.
So I watch the finches packing their bags.
So I watch the robin redbreast waiting for the new year.

You are but a person.

These pages are too heavy for you.
These poems are too heady for you.
These dreams are too scary for you.

Too much,
Too soon.
Too late.

I repeat like a mantra.
I whisper like a prayer.
I write like a farewell.

and now, I don’t miss you.
and now I miss him.
and now I miss her too.

The one who was before.
Primeval.
The one who was always.
Primordial.
The one who was for me.
Primal.

And as the harvest moon rises.
I reap bits of hope again

And as the stars barely glimmer.
I gather wisps of dreams again.

And as the sun glides bravely.
I glean melodious songs again.

And I sing…

To the ever lasting trees,
To the late rising birds,
To the lingering sunsets.

And I sing…

For the children who will never know.
For the adults who will never remember.
For the man who will never return.

and I sing…

To the smiling girl who still dreams.
To the crying girl who still writes.
To the glowing girl who still hopes…

The maddest of hopes.
Hope against hope.
Fool’s hope.

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Hope.

14/09/19

~ Layla ~ Leave a comment

There’s a box I cannot throw away

It’s small but sturdy
Once filled with sweets and hopes
Now filled with dust and rust.

Last night I stuffed it in the trash
Last night I dreamt of you.
This morning the box is in my hands again.

There’s a book I had
Once it was filled with memories
Now it’s filled with foul language .

There’s a dream I had
Once it was as solid as this window.
Now its’s fading like summer.

There’a bird that pecks on the glass

Hello there!
Hear me?
Please hear me!

I draw my curtain,
I turn my back
And hum to myself.

The sparrow follows my tune
peep peep
Hear me, heal me.

Will it ever stop?

Can I shoo it away?
Can I ignore it away?
Can I scare it away?

He says,

Hold me close,
Hold me all winter long,
Hold me even though I am far away.

Dear sparrow,

I am a lynx,
I am lioness
I am a fat housecat.

I will eat your heart in a second.
And spit out the broken pieces.
And leave them to rot.

Fly, fly away.
While you can.

Go, go away.
While you can.

Vanish, vanish away
While you can.

And then, there’s the other one

That I mustn’t’ think about.
That I cannot think about.
That I should never ever think about.

A mountain lion…

He roams beyond the vales
He stalks past my woods
He howls deep in the night.

But he doesn’t belong to me.

So instead,

I hold this box of dusty sweets.
I polish this box of rusting dreams.
I cherish this box of long lost silence….

and hold on to the ghost.

I wish you were here.
I wish you were him.
I wish you existed….

12/09/19

~ Layla ~ Leave a comment

I’m tired of talking,
I’m tired of writing,
I’m tired of the distance….

The distance between us.
The waves  between us.
The screens between us.

I am tossed to and fro by

The restless combers.
The deep tremors.
The raging gusts.

Do you think the storm is roaring outside too?

Inside,
It ripes your pictures in shreds.
It throws your words around like dust.
It batters m heart into pulp.

I don’t want empty promises.
I don’t want hollow poetry.
I want to be held.

Your arms,
His arms,
are better than words.

But you’re not here.
He’s not here either.
Only the freezing gale.

Thus,

I am left with words.
I am left with poetry.
I am left with songs.

If I sing loud enough,
Will you hear me?

If I sing softly enough,
Will your heart hear me?

If I sing deeply enough,
Will your soul hear me?

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… And recognize that primordial tune?

10/09/19

~ Layla ~ Leave a comment

To admit that you’re gone.
To admit that you have disappeared
To admit that you will never return… ever.

Is to admit this absence within me.
Is to admit this silence over me.
Is to admit this space around me.

How does the sand feels after the waves retreat?
How does the twig feel after the wind has died down?
How does the riverbed feel after the stream has melted into the earth?

Ah, the earth who has all our whispers.
Ah, the earth who has all our footsteps.
Ah, the earth who has all our decaying bodies.

Gone, radio-silence, gone.
Gone, ghosting, gone.
Gone, dead, gone.

Gone.
and now what?

Don’t ask me where I am.
Don’t come to my doorstep.
Don’t bang at my door.

I’m gone too.

Where to?
The owl asks deep in the night.

Where to?
The wind howlers at dawn.

Where to?
The blue tit twirps in the afternoon.

Where to? How to? How come?

This poem wasn’t supposed to finish this way.
This song wasn’t supposed to fade this way.
The summer wasn’t supposed to patter off this way.

Not this way.

But I do not command the wind.
But I do not command the clouds.
But I do not command destiny.

There’s was once a fool that believed that…

she could follow a dream vision.
she could conjure up a lover.
she could use telepathy to send her poems.

and secure what wasn’t for her.
and create a perfect scenario for reality.
and bring back the one who didn’t belong to her.

What happened to that girl?

Follow that winding path,
Cross that drying brooke.
Climb that rocky hill.

and maybe you’ll find….

That fading and ethereal wise woman.
That rusty and ruddy wild witch.
That tangled and brawny wood fairy.

Let me warn you…

she only answers the call of the robin.
she only opens her window late at night.
she only opens her door for the wild creatures.

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For a clump of violets,
A trickle of rose essence,
And a feather,

She might let you sit by her glowing hearth.
She might listen to the whispers of your heart.
She might let you find healing for all your hurts.

But don’t ask her where she is.
Don’t.

Lest she flies off.

09/09/19

~ Layla ~ Leave a comment

Now that the birds are fleeing,
and the leaves falling,
and the petals scattering –

I can no longer be the girl you met in summer,
autumn is creeping over me;

shading me, sheltering me.
changing me, polishing me.
cradling me, burying me.

The summer berries’ taste is still lingering

on my lips
in my hair.
… my fingers.

But I can hear a call.
But I can hear a whisper.
But I can hear a song….

From deep in the forest.
From beyond the river.
From beyond my summer lair.

I must go,
I have to return.
I have to run and run…

Until I see it :

that glimmer in the sky
that spark in my heart
that glow in the distance.

Closer,
closer,
closer.

Here,

I can feel the wood under my hands,
I can feel the soft rug under my feet.
I can feel that gentle warmth on my skin.

Outside,
Outside the world is dying and decaying.

Inside,
Inside, our home is glowing and full of mirth.

Here and now,
Here and now, I am close to you and I am safe.

Every year,

when the leaves are aflame,
when the ground is cold,
when the birds have bid us farewell,

I take that path…

In the dark mud,
through the sleeping trees,
over the freezing river…

to the cabin.

Where the fire sputters,
Where the heart settles
Where the soul flies….

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and You wait.

08/09/19 15:00

~ Layla ~ Leave a comment

Romeo and Juliet is a tale full of violence,
and death.
Not love.

Titanic is a tale full of madness,
and death.
Not love.

Twilight is a tale full of mental affliction,
and death,
Not love.

Never love.

But what of Elizabeth Bennett and Mr Darcy?
But what of John Thornton and Margaret Hale?
But what of Angélique and Joffrey?

This is love,
true love.
Isn’t it?

But what of you and me?

The mad rambling of a lonely creature.
The wild feelings of a sensitive woman.
The gentle pebbles of a dreamer sparrow.

Wool gathering,
Castle building,
Raindrops collecting.

Sand slipping through my fingers.
Ashes slipping through my fingers.
Seawater slipping through my fingers.

The wind,
The ever evasive wind.
Constantly

Never to be predicted,
Never to be perceived,
Never to be remembered,

by others.

Yet, always,

Waking me up at the death of night.
Drifting into my deepest sleep.
Floating over my ardent sunshine.

The wind;

Not a love story,
Not a love song,
Not a love poem;

A tale of madness,
A tale of sickness,
A tale of emptiness.

Loving without touching.
Loving without seeing.
Loving without speaking.

Only living in memories.
Only living in dreams.
Only living in words.

Only.

This isn’t love.
This isn’t life.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

It’s you and me.

08/09/19

~ Layla ~ Leave a comment

Alone isn’t the right word,
Dear.

Lonely is perhaps the right word,
Love.

And you fill me up with your kind woods.
And you make me dance with your stories-
And you make me glimmer with your interest.

He cares.
He does.
I fall asleep with a smile.

He doesn’t know me.
He doesn’t understand me.
I wake up with a frown.

I run,
I jump into the waves,
and swim so far away.

This is my loneliness-
Its my garb.
It’s my tower.

Mine, not yours.
Me, not you.

But you recognize yourself in my faltering smile.
But you recognize yourself in my uneven words.
But you recognize yourself in my bittersweet tears.

Two weatherbeaten travelers.

Sharing a story by the campfire.
Sharing a prayer around dawn.
Sharing a wordless longing.

But dear,
I am not yours.

But dear,
You are not mine.

We belong to ghosts.
We belong to the departed.
We don’t even belong to ourselves.

Love,

Hush, it’ll be aright.
Hush, I pray that you find love.
Hush, this story isn’t ours.

I am not your gentle crutch.
You are not my pretty illusion.

Your arms cannot hold me.
My heart cannot contain you.

The waves lapping at my feet.
The wind tearing at my heart.
Tears making my smile shine.

Like a beacon of hope.
Like a steady lighthouse.
Like a fading signal fire.

Fading…

The warm comforter,
in tatters.

The delicate sparkler,
and darkness.

The soothing echo,
and silence.

And you are the one who waited.

The rain beating on your face,
Your body merging to that bench.
The darkness covering your loyalty.

Dear,

let us shake hands with a blessing .
let us take the path that calls us.
let us belong to our own solitude.

Fare thee well.

04/09/19 12:33

~ Layla ~ Leave a comment

I know you don’t care,
I know you don’t even know me.

But I have to tell you,

my love,
my life,
my hope;

that if I leave too,
I will never return.

Will you ever find that castle by the sea?
Will you ever find that hut in the woods?
Will ever find that cabin in the valley?

Will you even want to find it?

Behind the crest,
Under the oak and the aspen.
Far beyond the tree line, and beneath the everlasting ice.

But I will not be waiting.
But I will not be pinning.
But I will not be praying….

for you.

I will be living for me.

Filling my life with songs and stories.
Filling my silence with birds and cats.
Filling my heart with wonder and God.

Too far from the world of men.
Too far from the world of greed.
Too far from the world of decay.

To be tainted.
To be hurt.
To be held.

away, away,
my love.

I know you won’t wonder.
I know you don’t even wonder about me anymore. 

I know, I know,
Do I?

Don’t ask my laments.
Don’t ask my stories.
Don’t ask my soul….

Because you cannot handle my truth.
Because you cannot handle my love.
Because you canot handle me.

Just run,
run.
my love.

I am gone too, this time.
I am lost too, this time.
I am out of reach too, this time.

Never to return.

04/09/19

~ Layla ~ Leave a comment

I keep on promising myself.
I keep on telling others
I keep on repeating it.

No more.

No more thinking about you.
No more talking about you,
No more dreaming about you.

About your words.
About your gaze,
About your farewell.

About that absence

that grows larger than our hours together
that grows more flowers than your presence.
that grows beyond whatever that could have been.

But it’s such a delicious anguish…

To fall back to that fool’s hope.
To fall back to that fading dream.
To fall back to those spectral arms.

No more, dear.

No more of that madness.
No more of that illness.
No more of that poison.

Until the leaves fall again.
Until the sun fades away.
Until the wind blows again.

Everything melts into amber.
Everything glows  into gold.
And everything fades again.

and I’m too tired to fight against

Your name
Your ghost
You remains.

and I roll a message in a bottle.
throw the bottle in the sea.
and drown into the billows.

and rise again

From the crimson waves
From the pink hues
From the golden morning.

 

With new stories to tell.

03/09/19

~ Layla ~ Leave a comment

They look at me.

Their eyes following me.
Their eyes assessing me,
Their eyes searching mine.

But my gaze is turned towards

The sliver of a moon
The glimmer of a star
The haze of a galaxy

Barely perceptible
Barely fathomable
Barely noticeable.

Beyond;
Far off;
Far beyond.

To you.
To You.

To another world.

I am not here.
They think they see me.

I am not here.
You don’t even think about me.

I am not here.
But He cradles me.

Luminous
Intangible
Breathless

I disappear.

Just like you.
Leaving them to wonder.

Who was she?
What was she?
Well, who cares?

I’m late for work.