I am back
to the place I missed
did it miss me?
A bustling, crunching, cranking city
I missed this place
its bruits sonores
its smells odeurs
its viennoiseries
its places, cafés, foods,
my family
It’s good to be back, Brussels.
As Malmö stretches out in front of me
and variform birds shriek undoubtedly
the waves break upon the sandbank
on the edge of nature’s giant fish tank.
As the wind whispers into my left ear
I look upon the empty wooden pier
now the wind shrieks and shouts
leaving no place for my echoing doubts.
As the agèd gentleman’s bicycle creaks by
and the elderly couples stroll by and sigh
the jugged, sharp edges of granite
are woven into nature’s fabric knit.
As the wind whispers (or does it shout?)
and the salty air circles roundabout
in an endless fight with the seagulls
looking down upon us fools.
Sometimes all we need is a helping hand
be able to let go of the daily swirl
quieten the inner cranial band
release the endless quotidian turmoil.
Imagine: the sandy beach by the North Sea
as the gale breaks you in
this is the place all ought to be
if they seek the elusive peace within.
The gust is much like on a peak;
that’s the roof of the world—and this by the base
these are the foundations we ought to seek
of the Earth’s true, heavenly riches but a taste.
I speak of this place fondly now I am sound
now that my mind is not clouded with worry nor ailment
but I was not so well a few hours prior, you would have found
but I visited and drew from the great natural ointment.
Such is my experience, that to all I propose
to visit some truly Earthly heaven:
the hills, the valleys, the lakes or meadows
the séjour will most certainly convert any heathen.
For the feeling of the true elements in your eyes
rendering your cheeks ruddy and silencing your sighs
the wind, sun, earth and rain bid all troubles whisked away
all I wish for is for all to enjoy these, come what may.
I am so overcome with emotion
I know not how to use this Earthly scribe
for within me there is much a commotion
one so difficult yet so simple to describe.
The longing for your heavenly proximity
does nothing but tear me apart
the desire for my gaze to fall upon your divinity
my heart pains as if pierced by many a dart.
So much inside me wishes for us to be
to be touching, laughing, gazing, smiling, understanding,
for now, alas, I know not what to do with me
except hope, pray, plead for your coming.
Do you know the internal turmoil of which I speak?
as I write here to an unknown, undiscovered recipient
there is so much but truly so little my heart and I seek
it is that to which all my subconscious is bent.
My conscious hides, files away this desire
for my flaws are far too many to pursue it further
it reasons that there is no good in taking it higher
there is little point in even attempting to imagine her.
But I know not what to do with my body nor soul
for that unmet, unknown her I wish to meet, to know;
I am aware what you and I think of me: a fool
for wishing life to be so simple to flow.
Your loving gaze, in a way, torments me:
your eyes of blue, green, hazel, amber jewel
your hair, a curtain or plaited—whatever it may be
all these images, in my mind so many a duel.
The faces of all those to whom I have been drawn before
blending in a spontaneous, whirling haze
I see you in all and in none once more
to whom am I, to whom are they, to whom are you directing your gaze?
My dearth of ability is such that to poetry I must turn
here, my vices, tics, inadequacies and oddities can hide
should these neural bridges be left to burn?
Or should I wait, hope, till you are by my side?
Who, but you, will douse the fires of temptation
or answer to my desires?
Who, but you, will I share intimate conversation
or dream of those places, those people to whom we aspire?
I am all and ready in an instant
to answer to you identically the same
for this will be no union of emotions distant
we will be indeed both to blame.
I look forward to the union of our hands in promenade
and our cheeks covered in fresh marmalade.
I look forward to the meeting of two immovable gazes
and the discovery of sacrosanct places.
Till then, the fire within me still burns
albeit covered, wherever I turn;
you, wherever you are, shall browse my dreams
looking gladly to when our lips seal all seams.
It is a magical sensation, being above the clouds
possibly greatest of all human endeavours, achievements
Can you believe this hunk of metal soars alongside birds?
Oh, how many before us nurtured this in their dreams.
We must no longer dream of this feat,
it stands—it flies—before our very eyes;
crossing seas and oceans in a heartbeat
Bringing us to those with whom we forged ties.
Generations before mine dreamt of this
but dream we must no more;
instead, we look to the heavens for more bliss
we look to bring the planets closer than ever before.
What does the future bring? Space hotels or Star Wars?
For that is what happened with Flight
The richest have their flying bars
while the powerfuls’ jets are a deadly sight.
Who knows if we will live to tell this tale
of the milky white clouds below me
of the Milky Way and its gas balls burning pale?
Why worry? Look out of the flying porthole and see
the birds, the clouds, the world below you;
join their celestial freedom too.
I imagine what it would be like
to kiss you goodnight
to drive away your inner demons
and hope you might, you would
you could come and live alongside my dreams.
But oh yes you already do
Who am I to say—make yourself at home
but you don’t know, do you?
Whose home you’re at, this heavenly dome
to you is but an illusion
as I kiss your tender cheeks
frosty from the winter; this cold seduction
warms my heart—for that’s what I seek
my soul brimmed with trepidation
As I know not where to look nor what to speak
to search for you in the valley or on the highest peak?
You came home, face ashen
a distant, hazy gaze
poured milk into your bowl of cornflakes
two hours before midnight.
The day was tough; at the hospital
I cannot fathom what you saw
your face’s shapes only say so much
seeing the dark side of humanity
for much longer than anyone should.
Your head’s spinning as you plunge the cold soggy mixture in
its tasteless, devoid of emotion zest
the bleak colours staring back at you
echoing the bleak day that you are trying to leave behind.
Gathering your thoughts as you try to answer my questions
but I nor you cannot comprehend
the thrill, the horror, the shock, the blood, the screaming, the sutures, the caring colleagues who also acknowledged this was too much for them, let alone for you, a budding doctor.
I ask myself—as you probably do tonight
can you leave behind this horrid sight?
I took a bath in the open, frozen sea
in it, I could hardly feel
the fire inside me—nor could I foresee
the turmoil these emotions would seal.
I imagined your tender breast
resting here on my chest
while you and I thought of a place
as shining and bright as wide-open space
near the mountains or the ocean
there was love we’ve set in motion.
A kind of heavenly silence
pierced with the hot blast of love
we were serving the eternal sentence
joined by a restless dove.
Who would not leave us alone
—whose presence we couldn’t condone—
but he sat there for a long time
certainly longer than I swam in this frigid brine.
Head is swimming
in emotional commotion
in emotional condemnation?
This moment I was trepidatious of
been dreading it for years
never been able to say those words
not sure I ever would.
Endlessly in my head they played
in circles round each other
like a car never exiting a roundabout
but this roundabout got progressively wider
and spiralled towards Hell
for it is that which I could feel
a hellish dread, a plague of self-doubt
of something never done before
a sickening, sinking feeling
for years, months, weeks on end
lodged in my head and not paying rent
was I predisposed to this? Perhaps. I don’t know. Nor do I want to.
Your past always follows you—riding shotgun.
But today, however much dread there was
it transpired—thoughts eventually precipitated
—that those words out I blurted—that I think you are beautiful—
and you didn’t run, nor frown nor grimace.
Your cheeks, bright as the sakura tree in full bloom,
a resounding standing ovation yes it was not, but a hinted, perhaps in the future once some dude you’re seeing is gone, kind of yes.
I’ll be waiting.
What else can I do?
A walk in the open air
breaths life into you
the sweet, rhythmic promenade
aids life commence anew.
Tis what I imagine now
staring from my grimy window
upon the dog-walkers
strolling in the meadow.
Perhaps I ought to join them
leave my loyal lair
or keep watching life
happening over there.