A sticky piece of something

What are we doing, mechanising every thing, taking the moments out of every step, those moments that can be held only with fingers knowing that time becomes sticky, a sticky piece of something, then again a flowing collection of drops, silk, it cannot be held, can only be felt, the seconds, minutes, hours within every woven thread that passed through its weaver’s fingers, the touch of warm blood under the skin of a lifetime, a century of lifetimes, what are we doing, mechanising every thing, strangers come, the cold blood of steel imprinting itself, cold heartedly weaving a frozen river around the woman’s neck, she has been touched by steel, has been denied the feel of a heart fallen river, dragonflies whirring, fish, currents, rapids, a blade of grass, now exactly those same fingers touching the green, fingertips breaching water’s surface, somebody close by is taking a swim. What are we doing, mechanising every thing.

The boy with golden skin

When your leaf

Set sails

To cross the ocean

Because you had not

Kept it in chains

A tear fell into a lake

Fish drank

My salty water

Glaciers bowed

Before the mountain

And the boy

With golden skin

Threw stardust

Into the eyes of the sun 

dew drops in your mouth

keep waiting

I keep

early morning hours

after restless nights

nonsensical
you call my senses

will I ever find out

waiting for a sound

keep waiting

you keep

dew drops in your mouth

twists

staying awake

to not get entangled

twists of a steep

mountain river

flowing upside down

lagoon – the foaming mouth

keeps spitting out

Your trunk is so wide

How long till a rosebush

Burns my heart inside out

How long till a mirror’s crack

Reflects the nest of lizards

You tried to hide

How long till punctured leaves

Have soaked all
Water from my pond

How many times

Will I walk the thread

The trunk of your tree house

Will I wake you

The mob waits outside

To burn down your roof

To chop down your branches

I write your name
Into a frozen river

A dream of spring

You speak of winter

Collected some leaves

A booklet of grief

For the birds

That lost their wings

A stormy night

A dried out lake

Who has the right

To call a soul worth less

My thread is endless

Your trunk is so wide

Of sun and water's bond

Rain finds its way

Into my house

The roof that was not hatched

You tried to fix it

While all the time

I liked to sleep under stars

Most bright and beautiful

When the moon left us in darkness

Who needs a path

When walking on grass

Is all we ever wanted

Sit down with me and meditate

Sleep in my arms

A child on your lap

Blame the storms

For taking away

The depth of illusions

The wholeheartedness

All the trees are hollow

All the lakes are shallow

The ocean is a pond

Fish does not know rain

Or rainbows abandoned

Would it go insane

If only it knew

Of sun and water’s bond

To smile at rolling thunder

I meditate and wonder

What lies beyond

The centre of the storm

The king of chrysalis

Every crawler on a wall

Incites you

To give a speech on progression

Your lessons of life

Though you don’t have a clue.

Whom are you talking to?

Asks the king of chrysalis

And opens its wings

To hug the blue sky