In his dream he was at the end
of a long hall.
Was it a dark hall?
At the other end of the hall he saw the nude figure of his
father
bent over an object he could not define
moving up and down.
He began to walk down the hall, walk
towards his father.
As he came closer he saw
his father was pumping up and down up and down
working with a bicycle pump
blowing something up.
Arriving he saw his father was pumping
a goomey women she got bigger and bigger
and his father kept pumping
only
one
in
the
whole
world
my
mother
byebye
biology
Her hair
longer now,
falling away from the skull,
legs radiant with cancer she
smiled
giddy as a harlot
mother of mine
halfeaten
in the dream.
The housecoat about to fall,
she shuffled in it,
brightest eyes
free from the mind in sleep
rives sleep to brightest day,
the naked and their relics
(gifts,
There was a story of a little boy
His mother was never around
Had to raise himself, had to learn himself
No good, all bad.
He was strong but weak
Hurt and cold he never let anyone close.
He was used to being alone
But the day his mom tried, horribly,
to give him what he longed for
He turned around and walked away
To which his mom thought 'where did I go wrong'
Completely oblivious and close minded
He grew up to give his kids what he never had
And they gave him what he always wanted
love, hope, but most importantly a family.
I'm in a room
A room so cold
All alone
In the silent dark
Is when the screaming starts
I lplay awake
Tears on my face
Broken glass in my hand
The carpet is stained
Not with pink
Not with yellow
Its scarlet just like the glass
I know my life won't last
For very long
You never loved me
You never will
I saw him
Blade to skin
Cutting hard and deep
He told me to go
To leave him alone
So I did
Not long after that he had attempted to kill himself
Because he was sad
So was I
I did the same
A nuse around my neck
But I was found
By my mother
Just as he was
I need to let go
I need to be free
But for some reason
I can't
I can't let you go
I can't set myself free
I need to be alone
The thoughts of you trouble me
I love you and I don't know why
In all honesty your thoughts make me cry
I loved you
You where mine
Now I have suicidal thoughts all the time
"I love you Andrew"
Is all I can think
Why can't you love me too?
When the day took me for a walk
towards the twilight,
I saw my son sowing a kiss on a young lady’s lips.
I felt old.
As if by magic, a grandfather grew within me.
After two minutes’ walk, my mother phoned,
‘How are you my son’, she asked;
and I felt young again, like a child.
My eyes are not like doors
to just close and sleep.
A ruthless rebel is my yearning.
It desperately keeps fighting with my past.
I close my eyes to welcome sleep,
yet unconsciously
the pale face of the moon
and that of my mothers
in the agony of her death,
walk the alleys of my memory.
Slowly. In silence. Keeping me awake.
The field and I had cut our hair
last afternoon.
We had a shower by rain
last night.
Today, the field was woken up
by a kiss of the rainbow
Me, by my mother’s
phone call.
Criticisms
my mother brings up,
February thaw.
My mother did not die of old age,
nor did any illness lay her low in bed.
Her worries for us, the fugitives,
broke her heart,
and one day she decided
to not breathe anymore.
Her last breath became wind,
and it’s blowing wild
on this November day,
whistling and singing to my ears,
sometimes as a lullaby,
other times a lament.
And very often the wind
says to me:
‘Why so late my son?’