The Blog of Laughter and Forgetting

This is not a poem. This is marriage. Marriage with songs, marriage with inspiration, marriage with smell of hair, lips, it’s a marriage and still undefined. We sang together ‘Imagine’…embraced in spring. I love that delusion that bridges over troubled water. Unless that urge, that dream and that longing, what’s the value in a song? And the same way when kisses are transplanted deep inside lips not for the sake of trace, but for the sake of names uncalled for. Love is not a metaphor or feeling of us, we are the metaphor of love. After the song she pulled her ring out and it’s now in my finger. Melt, melt, and melt further…unless you can be dissolved in ether. Your body is singing in chorus with the float. And I’m seeing myself as a priest who never touched the mirror…there’s no print of my finger on the mirror, and yet mirror knows the secret. I saw everything, and I touched the distance, to make it like a string in the arrow…the more tensed the string, the better is imagination in one...

The flower grew in Venus Water was as calm as silence The door opened in birthday And showed the ocean trembling The butterfly came from the body Trees grew and opened the lips Cloud came and leaned against the eyes And twilight came and dropped on the hair And nature as clueless as a mirror Observed the melt in the dusk Where sky fathom deep into her womb To find where life starts And in intoxication I woke To walk down to the eyes That is the gate to the garden And fountain inside Lips may reward the house As chrysanthemum murmuring in bed A few drops of solitude Is still drizzling after the snow…

You stand there birds flying above When you turn unmindful River stops for a while and bends The moment passes into your eyes And you, with the tree, spreading branches Felt the wind, it is coming from And there is a rock your hands upon it Came from earth traveling long And you listening the frozen whisper But there is no window to open So you go near a tree and touch And a leaf comes to you, smell is still there Keep the leaf inside you diary Where you wrote, eyes breathing light slowly And lips curving like a river’s bed You stand there birds flying above And your cloud sailing unmindful

Unknown breeze comes down from night Brings fever first then touches forehead like a nurse Or hugs the yellow cloud Whose wings turned to vapor long ago The way trees keep dreaming with sighs All the earthly winds who forgets one another And look for milky winds like a wanderer Like night sleeping on riverbed Expects with smiley face if the stars are also joining from far And deep inside eternal time Twilight, shy girl covers her face Protects the black and white within frame Then away from it, away from the table Starts walking on the beloved earth of dear trees Suddenly on a bright noon of winter Comes clouds like a blue envelop half soaked in rain The toy train travels galaxies in dream Only the rail line offers known flowers in morning.

Freedom and change. What did I see in your eyes? Won’t you want to know how to salvage? Well we started but the way goes beyond the meadow…there was a tree…there was a pond. Yes the water was creating small circles. Same when you cried but ain’t it be something that I need? I need change. You can love me or hate me. You can be anxious or unmoved. I like it in all the forms to evaporate your body in cosmic clouds. And it will rain, promise. Some people call it discipline…some call it bohemian. But why do you see only one side of longing? Away I’m wondering out of my time. That’s why I came in your time. And the moon was still trying to camouflage the fragrance of your language. I liked your body. It’s another light I never knew. Now the two lights cutting them across and traveling away…but don’t be back. Don’t let me cheat you. I’m sure I won’t.

All the tales are told before you Like light before a flower Blind darkness from deep purple The blue chrysanthemum blossom with my face And your tale, your tale And your tale… An ultraviolet rose Stand I, facing silence A few rays open the door Your phone call from Tokyo, Yokohama, Helsinki, Victoria terminus One remembers Rangoon, chatter of sailors The diesel-bullet of your calf-muscle Your standing alone in the rain On the other side of the glass, a shadow Your last assignment in Merlin Tower Unmoved I, waiting for you Your last victim.

There is always an imperfect moment. We know it like fish in troubled water. And the shark is just for it. One who has collected so many marble balls and when you turn your face and try to see it for a fraction of seconds. But where do you want to go…where is your residence? And where is your dream to go homeless? No…I’ve not forced anyone but to feel robbed of after staring and being stuck with the familiarity. Still you know it… Today is clouded, windy and all of a sudden when we start hopping after a break with the sea. The full moon never leaves? Don’t ever dare to love any other woman. Dare to believe … I will take far; I will scare beyond your courage and comforts. You always make me crazy…why you like that always…tell me the truth, please, I can’t resist truly, my dear friend… The moon makes me crazy, the sky makes me mad, the stars makes me fly, the breeze makes me bathe, the water makes me laugh, the vacuum makes me smile…is there any way? Or, why should there always be a ribb...

Don’t ever make love to any other woman…I’m here. But hey, do you know that I once had my own farm, my stake in the cattle? Didn’t you remember the bells rang during dusk….I was still wondering and wandering with my flute. How do you know? Your eyes are small…so is the village, but not the green, not the white cover. Or, let the moon be smaller to fools, who cares…an intruder is ready for the light. Those white horses still running. One still beside the Monastery. But why worry so much…I told you that there are three stages in the life of a man, why don’t you try to believe? I don’t like to drink water from your hand: it makes me bored. You could instead offer apples…but I’ll refuse. Two more sips please…I can synthesize it myself dear, but thanks for those fingers. I eat very little…I wonder why you so surprised…you know it very well I dislike chatting…this device is against all flowers. When the tension precipitates, remains the ether (oh this gathering!). Is that elevation? Is that ...

Only the eternal earth, and parallel dove As I gaze at, the silhouette And waves upon waves break their strength very near Tree, you will stop before reaching sky Still head high in pride And the shy leaves Waiting as they turn brown Set the sky sparks onto them Only the eternal earth, and parallel dove As I gaze at, the silhouette And as I sail, I forget… Like Constants in unmindful pages Yellow, dark red in foaming rages As they dissolve in mystic blue Leaves leaving the tree Like a silver dish fading in sky And tremble as they come down and crash The fragrance evaporates Like a free bird, sailing on clouds of tears Only the eternal decay, and parallel dove As I gaze at, the wet grass I love and forget.

There is no start. So the end is also meaningless. My life is more a metaphor than a visual thing. And it is for this reason I touched it by dint of metaphors…that is my life itself. Most of us remain in a state of material inertia unless there is a flash of blue light that burns the sleeping body and let soul look at it in its own eyes. So I woke up one night or was I still sleeping? And I went into another sleep, another awakening in another sleep. The ether always hits soul like a blue wave…the same way I was bathing in a river. I guess life is a river that merges with its own longing for ethereal streams. I often watched the sky, space, stars in those eyes that seek bathing in light, breeze and all the ethereal charms…So I needed metaphors, I needed constant excitement, flashes, sparks. I was always interpreted as mysterious, arrogant, penetrating, enigmatic, stupid person. But our social constructs are so weak that it itself surrenders to rejoice. Yes. I seduced others. They are m...

A few green leaves towards the sun Beside stands in own shade The old tree… One gets from the deep purple Age, as it becomes sonorous Still rains, desires bathing in full At night the moonlight pours Winds go by along the valley Who laughs? And the soul Runs in white horses’ spirit A lost sense or some organ Finally felt deep within.

Those who went down In a flash turned to statue If a light pierce through the cloud, may find Rain falls down, on black hazy faces…frozen Comes sharp whistle, perhaps snake Or lost in yellow woods No use to stand down before the roots Lights left downwards long ago But still it calls, as the earthworm moves slowly Butterflies come once a day One sees the down-going of mass and energy Why, then so much of light Why then the flashes? As the fish caught jumps up and down to reflect the silver blaze There is waste of sublime verbs and nouns that longs for lithographed.