Category Archives: In English

The last morning

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The last morning yoga.  Child pose. Downward-facing dog. Warrior I and II. Eagle. Tree pose. Side bends. Waves crashing and the blinding sun and my own breath.

Coffee afterwards, with Karen and Lenka, we sit in the shade in the Italian place. Talk of childhood under communism, of war preparations, rehearsing bomb scares, fitting of gas masks.

She smokes slowly; pilot sunglasses cover her beautiful greenish eyes. She pulls out of her bag the dress a friend gave her; golden, Charleston-style.

Not her look; holds it up against me, as if we were already friends, she watches me intently, we agree that the color suits neither her nor me, I touch her golden arm.

Later, I leave them there, she is lazy, the final swim. Short white dress, flip-flops, bikini pants, the beach only a few steps away. The now familiar burn of hot sand, I strip off the dress, wade into the chilly green water. Exhale, submerge my shoulders, suddenly afloat, moving, pushing my hands through the water. Trying to store the sensation, the cliffs, the birds, the ocean.

Standing silently while the wind dries me off a little. Sensing the sand with the sole of each foot. The soul.

 

Reklamer

Please turn away

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Yours words take you so near

You see me

I turn rigid with fear

 

I’m so easy to leave

making you laugh

Inside of me, confusion and tears

 

Don’t look don’t see

Please turn away

From the real me

I know you will, eventually

 

I can only keep it up for so long

The loveable façade

So hard to be nice

So hard to make you stay

Please go now

while I can still pay the price

 

Showing my open face

look at me

Why the hell would anyone want to see

Such a statue of control

won’t show the shame

Do you, does anyone

know my name

 

Your lovely face is open to me

You see

I turn rigid with fear

Why would anyone choose me

Such a fool, such a silly little girl

 

Please turn away

From the real me

I know you will, eventually

 

Please

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that feeling of completeness last night, the moment when I take the microphone in my hand, and direct all my senses toward the piano, and her sitting there, playing with me, for me. Breathe. Close my eyes. Wait for the impulse in myself, and following it, the first words of the song fetching my soul and showing it; look, this is my story, this is me. Letting myself float on the rythm, securely, like I float in the sea.

when everything else feels like dying now, when I know with certainty that something in me is dying all the time. The future scares me, the past scares me, the violence of the changes in my body from the treatments certainly scares the hell out of me, as does the now faltering income. The neverending continuence of pain, discomfort: they rip me apart, piece by piece. No hope. More to come, always.

when the nights are spent more often looking at my own hand and watching the skin grow old. when dreams are nightmares and darkness.

Singing practise earlier yesterday: I had goosebumps on my arms throughout the song, over and over, from the pure joy of it. The letting go in my voice, the contact flowing free between us. Making music. Being me, no more, no less.

Please, please, Universe, let me have more of that. If I never get peace from the pain, at least let me have that. I beg from the deepest in me: let me have that.

 

Mercury

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I forget, I forget

Everything I am, all I ever was

The darkness inside is a blackout

And I disappear

 

How small can the pieces be

Of what used to be me

Can I float back together

Like mercury

can I float back together

like mercury

 

I forget, I forget

Everything I am, all I ever was

what’s this love I have, this light you bathe me in

 I disappear

 

The melting of my bones

my skin, my heart

under your fingers

fluid just like mercury

can I float back together

like mercury

 

All dressed up

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Hope

the thinnest blade

enough to cut me wide open again

 

All the pain I could hold, but

hope is too heavy a burden

 

This physical quality of my emotions

like clothes

summer dresses: for warm light, warm skin, for being

red, green

black silk

 

The thinnest garments

barely covering sensuality

 

Leather for rage

 

No coat, no scarf warm enough for despair

 

A dress for hope?

Will it fit comfortably around the scars

fall in beauty on my frame

Match the colour of my eyes

raw from crying

but nearly ready

to reflect the light

 

Greyhound days

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Here is an old poem; from over a year ago, I think.

How distant I feel to the glossy «mummy-magazines», they make me queasy with their fake, pastel version of existence.

Burn the magazines and be real, with your child, your lover, your life.

 

Greyhound days

They slip away more every day

The open spaces within my mind

 

Room for roaming

My wild leopards

Bush fires

Jungle sweat

 

Occupied by

Child, man, needs

Thoughts taking flight crash and burn

 

Dinner

Laundry

5.30 alarm

 

I need more

 

Where are my night thoughts

The darkness

What took them

– just time, domestic

 

Gone, the watching of tree patterns on the sky

Endless moments

Soul sky high

 

I need more

So, in a hard voice I tell the boy

Go away

Instant regret of mother heart

(that wild thing in me)

 

The walls fall in on my forest clearings:

The childhood fairytale

of dancing elves

The existence of princes

Joyful fear,

knowing dragons are in the caves

 

Dishwasher

School bullies

Stretching exercises of the soul

Finally, the boundaries are unseen

 

Oh yes, there has been

Fear, pain, boredom:

No lack of challenges

 

Racehorse days

Greyhound days

I try to catch even the shadow of my soul

Before sundown, exhaustion

 

Love is the jailor

Insane love, wild love

How fortunate I am

To be an invaded space