Friday, February 27, 2009

how will you ever know

all night I will burn
all night I will run like a fugitive
all night a barren moon will tear my skin

your touch raised my fever
your words crossed water and air
your unsaid words and your imagined touch crossed water and air

and now you leave
and now you have left me
and now you fall like sand through my dry fingers

what do you know of my world
what do you know of my day and of my night
what can my day know of my night and my night of my day

and now you have left
and all I have is the sound of your words
and the music of your naked feet as they run across my naked floor

how will you ever know of the ache
how can I ever tell you of the ache that you have given me
how can this ache be hidden from the world and from me and from you

and now you have left me
and all I have are the shadows you have left behind
and all I have are the shadows you have left and your beautiful sad smile

but you will never know of the ache
how can I ever tell you of the ache that you have given me
as you left me and you fell like sand and your touch vanished and
my fever my rose

6 comments:

Madhuri said...

Your poem 'how will she know' comes back to my mind many a time - now this will join it.

Roxana said...

exactly, I experience the same thing as Madhuri: 'how will she know' is so present in my mind, sometimes fragments, pieces of sentences, sometimes just the rhythm of it, as a musical tune for which, if I search a little, I will also find the words. and when I read this last night, I immediately thought: ah, this continues 'how will she know'. but continuation is also a strange dance in a circle. I love it.

Anonymous said...

it is a poem written by a grieving heart.

Folded letters said...

This is the third time I've tried to leave a comment. Everything I write fails to communicate what I felt while reading this.

Kubla Khan said...

thanks Maduhri, Roxana and Folded. thanks for visiting.

these so-called poems of mine are nothing but reflections of certain mental states, at times too personal and awkward. i try to be as impersonal as i can be but sometimes i am scared of sentimentalizing a situation. re the rhythm, that only reflects the lack of an inner one. believe me, the rhythm at least is not contrived.

Roxana said...

what do you mean, the lack of an inner one? I think it translates best the inner rhythm of your mood. and it is so much 'you', this musical way of feeling. I don't think any art can be of value if it doesn't originate in a 'personal and awkward state of mind' - I would say 'of being'.