Figuring it out still. A Poem by Goirick Brahmachari

May be, you just wanted me to see some white horses 
flying over the silver mountain, on that fateful night, 
at old hill, when the moon was heavy
melting onto the yellow mustard, and those apple trees 
tasted white like corpse.
May be, you wanted me to accompany you to the seas 
for us, to get drowned, in sand, in liquids.
Or, may be, you just wanted to get high
to call upon the winds, and the winter
of these hills,
onto your fingers
at your will.
I will wear
a blue, ribbed mask
over the dead sky
for you to hike
across the river
And gather stories,
monsters and pebbles,
on yak wool nights,
when the cold outside
cuts your skin
and the fire
tastes empty.
Yes, I will try
to sing to the river,
of rivers I have loved
for you to hike
on cold moon nights
as you kill your lovers
one by one
as the tide runs high.
The day wears dusk all over its face and I try
to be at peace with a spooky mask
I wear,
to disappear, as the world around counts.
All I can hear now
is a burning sound
of this reality, we force ourselves
to believe in,
to justify this existence.
Like flickering leaves of pines at dusk
I die out your imagination, your memory 
and sarcasm; I rejoice every death,
every word you utter to clean me out of your memory,
rejoice this destruction, your frail attempts at sanitising
your belief, as you write symphonies with your lies that
spread white wings of hate over our eyes
safely, with your cold, watery fingers.
Blood, you cannot staple,
for the beat cannot be stopped,
and the bridges, we agree to burn,
in songs you do not listen,
blindfolds us,
leaves us satisfied.
Let us breathe in
Let us breathe in
this death.
if you come now,
I will rest my body, my faith
rest my anger and the smirks
I face, as I learn and unlearn.
I have unlearned you all from my memory.
Now I learn from liquid notes that do not speak.
For sleep will concur our imagination without dreams.
if you come now,
I will rest my lungs and my kidneys
I will rest my worries, my cravings
my ignorance, my visions of love and un-loving,
my solitude, my songs,
pain, rain, insane desires to eat up this existence.
you must come now,
for my body aches
for my faith tumbles
my reason leaks through the drains
Sleep, will you show me a new day?
Goirick Brahmachari lives in New Delhi, India. He hails from Silchar, Assam. His poems have appeared in various Indian and international magazines. Ouzman Hislop All the Babble of the Souk. Robin Ouzman Hislop All the Babble of the Souk. Robin Ouzman Hislop the Babble of the Souk

Share and Enjoy !