When we fall in love,
I want to feel it
In the core of my being
Let it not float
On my lips Just my lips
Like some hollow declaration
Of some plastic future
Let it echo through my insides
Bang against my bones
Tear out in short gasps of breath
Bursts of fireworks
Yes yes yes
Snatches of intense, fervent emotion
Pouring out from every opening
Plugging all our holes with
An invisible link
Between you and me
Let it wake me up
Hot, Bitter and Strong
Let it shake my insides
Make me laugh and
Let us tumble Dive headfirst Into a rush of butterflies Tying stomachs into knots Let it be everything Potent, Over-powering and raw
Who wants a fairy tale?
Let it hit us like a ton of iron bricks
Rattle our rib cages
Break a few bones
And some hearts, maybe?
Let it be pure
Let our knees wobble with weakness
A heady rush of blood to the head
With each beat of the heart
Let it shatter our insides Peel our skins Cause flesh to rot Splinter our bones
Mark us with hidden, indelible ink Till all we have left are our bare souls
This love we feel Should not Will not leave us with mere fleshwounds, darling
There’s something immensely beautiful about sailing alone in a vast ocean. Some may even say profound, for it reminds you of how small you are. It instills a sense of humility in you. When a storm is on the rise, this feeling grows, reminding you that you are simply a drop in the ocean.
The waters of the sea lap up against the moderately sized ship. The sailor feels dazed, as if he has just awoken from a deep, deep slumber with no sense of how or when he got there. The heavy waves are rolling against the structure, rocking the sailor and his ship left and right, side to side. He clutches onto railings and bars, in hope that he will not be overthrown due to the sheer force of it all.
“The skies and the seas are angry. They are warring with each other,” he chuckles lightly, shrugging his shoulders, as he observes the darkened sky and feels uneasy at the growing sense of unrest in his heart. The seas roar violently all around him. He makes note, with a sense of panic, that whenever he is gripped with such distinctive emotion, something always happens. It is almost like a premonition.
The warning bells are ringing.
In an old English tavern, a sailor puts down his final pint of beer and throws his arms around an unsuspecting old man. Excited, he trails off into an extensive rant about the sea, while the other patiently listens. There’s an odd glint in the old man’s eyes and his hair and beard are both long and silvery. There’s something mystical about his appearance, but the young man pays no heed.
After he has said his piece, the old gives him an amused look, and says to him, “You need only to be cautious enough not to succumb to the Siren’s call.”
The sailor remembers the strange conversation, and the glint in his eye. He remembers everything. He remembers that Sirens are magical creatures, beautiful and deadly, all at once. They can lure you, entice you and seduce you effortlessly through their songs. The sailor is worried.
In an old house, barely big enough to fit two, the sailor packs his bags. “I’m off,” he calls with finality to no one in particular. He has recently discovered that nothing is more painful to the human soul than the sting of unwanted, agonizing words, sinking in. No feeling is harder to process than the tyranny of words meant to pierce the heart.
In the light of this discovery, he thinks about the death of his first love; a beautiful, slender woman with a stunning face. “Her laughter was like music,” he thinks sadly, feeling a shard of loss strike his heart. He understands that she is gone forever. He understands. He accepts. He cannot move on.
The sailor remembers her well. He called her Aglia, a Greek word for splendor and beauty. “She lived by her name,” he thinks sadly. He misses her far too much.
Still tangled in thoughts of his lost love, he is unaware of the haze that shrouds the ship, obscuring his vision. From somewhere in the distance, he hears a song. An alluring melody. He has never heard anything more pleasing or beautiful. Gripped with inexplicable emotion and lust, he steers his ship towards the clear voice that cuts through the mist. The voice never leaves his head.
You need only to be cautious enough not to succumb to the Siren’s call.
The sailor spots her, poised gracefully on a rock, her fingers combing through her golden hair. Her eyes are blue; strikingly blue, like icy sapphires. When she smiles, he feels lighter, happier, more free. Neglecting the warning words of the old man at the bar, he plunges into the cool waters of the ocean and swims deftly towards the jagged rock.
But it is her voice that has captured his mind. He can think of nothing else.
He feels the echo of desire resonating throughout his body, banging against his every bone; so powerful that he forgets all else. The only thing he thinks of is how sweet her melodies sound in his ears.
He approaches her, and without a moment’s hesitation, he lowers his head and presses his lips against her own. The tender kiss, which starts off as a breath of fresh air, progressively turns darker. It becomes more demanding. The feeble woman in his arms grows stronger. He feels giddy and weak as he inhales her brine-infused breath, while she drinks in his soul with dangerous passion.
Within moments, the sailor is a mere, lifeless form, thrown carelessly across the rocks.
The Siren sings another song.
I wait here for you
Not a whisper escapes my mouth
For if they were to hear me
And pour black ink over our rendezvous
What would I do?
Patiently, as always
I await you
I have one candle left
Illuminating the glum despair
That I call home
The wait has left me weary
But not for worse
I know that you will come
And take me away
And I will be better once again
Not one sharp breathe should escape my throat
For if they were to hear me
And pour black ink over our rendezvous
What would I do?
I draw attention to the flame alight
My only source of warmth in this life of blackness
The wind is violent, The flame flickers
I encase my hands around the burning wax
As I watch it shrink, melting away, consuming itself
Much like my time here
Yet, I cannot let the flame die out
Not till you get here
I have but one candle left
I have lost a thousand, waiting for you
How will I spot you?
Your coat is black, they say
As black as this poisonous night
Like gums stained with cigarette ash
Like dark Roses playing with my eyes
Is this deceit again, I wonder
Will you even come…
I hear the whooshing sound of your cloak
And smile to myself
You came after all
‘I never doubted you,’ I say.
My give will be your take
As will yours be mine
I’ll trade my life for your freedom
As we walk out hand in hand
I think, that our rendezvous has been black
A momentary pang of regret strikes me
The last shard of pain that I will ever feel
I look at my candle
All that remains
Is a puddle of waning wax
Look for me in the trees
Midst the lush green foliage
I promise you will find more memories than one
Of times when we would go there, and sit in nature’s lap
Or pretend to be lost adventurers, seeking concealed muddy paths
Look for me in the fall
When the leaves have turned amber
They drop like the rain, covering your path
See these leaves, and think of love
Think of sunshine, and happiness
And of the months gone by, devoid.
Look for me in the trails that we once left behind
On those sandy lands, lined with cobbled webs
They are worn out and dusty, but here, answers you will find
Hidden under those golden grains
Lie the solutions to all your darkest troubles
Hear them in my silenced voice
Look for me where the ocean clears
Where blue meets white, and white meets yellow
Build your sandcastles
But forget me not, for the stories we have made on these salty shores
Are the ones you will remember forever more
Look for me when the snowflakes fall
As you shovel this white beautiful mess
In these intricate designs, you will feel my call
Reminding you of heart-breaking has-beens
Think of me, each time you see this shimmering sheet
And shed those silent tears for those Christmases gone by,
With no presents from me.
Look for me in the pages of an old diary
Cry, as you feel my fingertips, brush across the paper
For a mere second, let go of what is lost
And hold me in your embrace as if I were there
In flesh and blood
Look for me in the years gone by
You have aged, as time has worked on you
But I, rest as I always was
Kept alive by your memory
Still young, and fresh. Smiling.
In those dog-eared photographs
Look for me in every corner
Of this ghostly land
Green and gray, stones everywhere
And corpses lie below your feet, rotting.
Run your fingers over those letters and say them out loud
Let the wind catch your words and float them my way
For nostalgia will strike even those who wish to forget
Look for me, and you will find
My lingering presence.