Gutandukanya – Parting

“Come”, she said
“Whisper into my mouth,
The things your eyes say…”

I went to her and I kissed her,
I kissed her with my eyes, my lips
I kissed her with my heart,

I kissed her, as she cried
I tasted the sweetness of her lips
…the bitterness of her tears

I kissed her again…and again
As I whispered into her mouth
Promises I could not keep

I kissed her
And I felt her heart break
And my heart broke
As her heart broke

I kissed her
Because I did not know what to say
My words had lost their way

I kissed her
And I walked away
I walked away and did not look back

Busy...busy..busy

I have been earning my pay...mostly. I have had a mad week. I am currently involved in a very complicated negotiation (BIT...a prize for anyone that guesses what that stands for). It has taken too much of my time and brain power. That, and the thousand and one reports, papers, programs, meetings and other things I have to do for a living... Then I had issues with my car... then with my cash... But I have survived... so far... Omorere, the next one is for you...

The Mad Prophet

I dreamt of the mad prophet ...again. I dreamt of him, and I saw him. I saw him...in a mirror... in my dream. I saw him and I saw his eyes... the fire that burnt in his eyes...his fire and his madness. I saw him and he looked at me. He spoke to me as I looked him. He asked me who I was... if I was the voice in his head. I told him I was a dream, and that he was in my dream. He laughed, and he told me that mad men do not dream. I told him I was not mad..but he replied that he was mad. That he was mad and could not dream. I asked him if he was the prophet I knew. He said that he did not know. That how could he be a prophet... if he did not dream...since he was mad... and mad men did not dream. He spoke to me and laughed at me. He laughed at me because I did not know... that mad men did not dream.

my stage

I miss the freedom you give me.
The freedom to be whoever, whatever…without fear or shame, pride or joy… just the exultation, the freedom of being… I miss the way I am afraid at the beginning… before I start. The way my heart skips, and I cannot breathe… I cannot think… I feel it all, and I feel nothing. And then I start and I just forget… I forget to breathe, I forget to be afraid, I forget to think… I just become… for them.

I miss the rhythm, the steady beat of the unfolding scenes, and the cadence of the different parts we play… one after the other… as we create, becoming more than just ourselves… creating a whole that is more than the sum of our momentary parts… Everything fades, everybody fades … It’s just you… and me … and them.

I miss holding it all back… to give it all out. The sweet, sweet exhaustion that follows... the emptiness of the space that is between the time I become and the time I return… I miss the release, of not having anything else to give… the calm after the storm… the quiet that I have in my secret place afterwards… because I have nothing else to give… to them.

You never refuse me, you always accept me… You will always be home… my stage and my home.

Fragments

I
Dream of me sometimes
I do not ask that you love me
I ask only that you should not forget me
That you remember how we were
Who we were
What we were…
Maybe we didn’t love enough or try enough
Or maybe we tried too much
But there were those times…
When for me
The sun rose in your eyes
And I made the music play in your heart
Remember us for those times.

II
Sometimes I see in Technicolor
The colors in my world are brighter
than they should be…
I close my eyes
and wish for some darkness
Then I wake
And discover that the colors…
were in my dream.
And the darkness is my life