Tuesday, October 03, 2006

We are who we are
not the days we live
Not hours we existed
and hours we evaded to exist
we are the tears we shed
we are eyes that dry and lips that tremble
at the sight of fading silhouettes
moments of greatness
and moments of absolute stillness
allegories and illusions, confusions and absolute truths
truths… with an s
faces opinions stares
wondering thoughts and aching backs and unsure hands
glasses we spill and emotions we drill
lost ways lost loves lost roads
lost lives in the creases of days
art but not… humanity but not
hot flashes
hot looks
turning colors, turning leaves, split ends
split identities
split destinies, turning wasting fading skins
little gestures little meetings little squanders
eye shadows you hated, shoulders that made you melt
songs that squeezed your heart to drops
your conscience squeezing your brain
a gray dress a gray area a gray line
left by a track left by a sculpture
left by rain
a trail of uncertainty left in our hearts
a sense of peace
a sense of sadness
a sense of non-belonging
my face gathered in my hands
just sad today
just sad


Firas said...

seasonal affective disorder? I'm not kidding, I get that every year around this time.

Mirvat said...

among other disorders :)

Haider Droubi said...

yr words sounds like autumn......my favourite season,,,

happy autumn

Ha Ana Za said...

I agree. S.A.D...imagine how bad it gets in the UK guys, by janurary I start thinking of ending it all!

_z. said...

Beatiful melancholy mirvat!

yes WE ARE WHO WE ARE (with all the bullshit that entails), and again, I give you my special recipe (which you should know by heart now:


"All we can hope to do is remove a few masks with the roar of our laughter... laugh them off the figures of power" _ Dominique Laporte

Ghassan said...

supersonic text love.
rest your heart... in a sense of peace.

FZ said...

melancholic beauty in these lines

Anonymous said...

It is interesting, lines like that you can't just read,
fly over and grasp some content, benevolent -
your brain shifts gears to an other speed,
imagery becomes relevant.

Death is the tone of fall, with beauty and all
then winter comes and covers pain in white
the seeds are dormant, but still in sight
just to sprout when ready, they are on call!