Monday 11 November 2013

Photosynthesis


(sun, water, air - will cultivate any monstrosity from above)

The Sun shined - the Air stirred - the Rain poured.
You smiled, I smiled, we blossomed: Love.
But the winds of Time blew your petals -
Away from me.
Your coarse hands planted a seed in my soul -
It bobbed, red and swelling in the endless streams of my blood
Reflecting the ethereal memories of your Light,
Like a bulging eye directly through my skin.

Anchored stiffly, deeply in my chest,
It grew sideways - lodged like a stone in my heart.
Watered by the greyest tears from my darkest eyes
It split its skin when limbs appeared
Jolting my Heartstrings -
Jabbing my inner wires -
As it curled round the coils of my brain.

There, that demon took full form -
With prickling petals,
And blades for thorns,
Which cut my choking lungs  
- There my funeral had blossomed -
Shrouded by flowers of death.

My psyche had been usurped
And my soul, corrupted - 
Dictating me to believe 
That you were mine.
That you loved me.
That this cancer deep in my heart was 
Love.

When your soul brushed passed mine
Just the other day
As the Sun was setting -
Suddenly the light turned black;
My raw heart bled;
My weak skull split;
My keen eyes failed;

And my soul lay twisted in the ground
As your roots crawled out -
And the Sun was slowing down
When my broken eyes found you then
I had died inside -
Only to discover that (from the time that the Sun had risen)
I was already dead -


Copyright © JRFB 2013



Wednesday 6 November 2013

I loved you today

I loved you today -
unlike yesterday
when your senselessness
clawed at my heart.

I loved you today -
not like the other days
for you showed me that you
cared.

I loved you today -
because although I could not see
you, I felt your heart
beat in time with mine.

I loved you today -
and I will until
the rays of tomorrow
pierce this fragile light 
as weightless as the winds of time-
and again, my heart, stifled, 
is choked,
chained
by your Love
Tonight.

Copyright © JRFB 2013

Sunday 28 July 2013

Miss Scorpio

She loves and loves but is not loved. For she is barren of the fertile fields to grow a child. All she wanted was to be allowed to love. But we always strive to do what is forbidden. And here it is: the rotten fruit of impoverished love.

The sky was black as charcoal pits, dusted with speckled stars
Ashen grey surrounds the land
Smothered with burning flowers.

The time when clouds shrivel away
When the Sun makes her bed
At the end of the day –

The Moon himself appears with Hope,
Of meeting his Love
Who sets the distant pole -

Where their love can never be found
For distance - darkness forbid it
And they are not Fated to be bound.

The time when Light-time creatures stop;
And Night-time villains stir
And children drift, still in their beds, like sweet little corpses.

Now a twisted dark shadow creeps from her hollow home,
Uncurling her limbs, unfolding her bones,
Like spindly branches against the yellow Moon’s glow.

She gasps a worn breath –
For she is alone.
Miss Scorpio is always alone – even past death –

From the moment she burst forth from the fiery pits below
Forming a woman in thin, black dress with lace like a spider’s webs,
She was alone.

But oh, how she despises having nobody to care
Nobody to hold, nobody to tend to,
Leaving her an empty phantom, wretched, torn, bare.

Every day is hell, every second, misery;
Yet it is all made lighter by the Moon
Who shines over her fears and wishes, eagerly.

He is her ambient Hope.
The Light deep beneath her blackened spirit.
That can never escape the prison where she chokes.

The Moon too is lost in despair,
But shines brightly each dark night
In false Hope and care.

Miss Scorpio plucks a star from the glistening skies
Where stars shine like jewels, mockingly with their togetherness.
She smothers its brightness; in her frail arms it lies;

Momentarily, the brimstone in her core rekindles,
There is a quiescent crispness in the air
As she smiles, skips, glows like a candle

Not caring for her life that burns away
With each hour that passes,
For she has found something to love! Just for one day -


Until that star quickly fades, from white to orange, to dull brown
Then to black, like the two charred, bottomless holes in her sockets.
The heat cools, her trembling arms release the star, her face twists into a frown

Hot tears streak down her dirt-speckled cheek
Scarring her dark and beautiful features
With deep channels, now trickling red down to her feet.

Says she: ‘This pain is slight,
‘Compared with the jolt that forever thumps my core’.
Now, the black ball of dimpled rock takes flight

Down from her body, frozen, scored, wild
Leaving her numb Soul barren, untouched,
Having held that dimming star, cradled like a child.

But Hope is the fuel for any fire.
Miss Scorpio – Nature's Widow –
Never did her efforts to love expire:

Miss Scorpio once walked in the Midnight Meadow
Stopped, picked a flower from the dark fields of green,
Shaking it with joy, as the wind sped her on with each blow

And she ran through the grove
With this new Heart’s desire towards the rays of tomorrow.
For it is so beautiful to have something to love –

But soon, the nodding flower’s petals
Dropped out one by one, escaping her desperate clutches in the cold breeze
Leaving a grey stalk, bent like soft metal

Flying this way and that as they fell
In wispy circles, through dark clouds
Flying to another part of hell.

Miss Scorpio’s Soul bleeds
As her red tears slowly streak down her dark dress
Down like a deadly bullet surpassing time itself, as it speeds

Through a hard granite chest
Containing the Treasures of Life,
Repelled, ricocheted, is forced down to a grim death.


*
*
*

Miss Scorpio is still waiting for Life to start
For a fraction of joy, for a sign from above, –
As her dark Soul will never rest until it possesses a Heart.


 














Copyright © JRFB 2013

Tuesday 18 June 2013

Hope

She would awake every morn
Eyes flashing bright as golden corn,
Hearts pulsing; blood freezing;
Breathing accelerates -
When he passes by:

The One whose skin
Glistens as his smile brightens the Earth,
When darkness slowly pines away
As spells of sun step slowly out
Leaving behind trails of Hope.

The One whose eyes bring life
To starry seeds under pure pools of light.
His soul chases away the night,
And every head turns to see
His exquisite beauty.

Inhaling the sweet scent of youthful love
Reaching for those fine feathery limbs,
Hoping that he might notice her bright face from above
As he passes by.

Light fades - Evening comes -
Still his distant light fails to reach her.

Sorrow fills her heart-stems,
Choking her racing soul.
The light passes her by,
Leaving her barren - her heart left to crack -
Her slender, pale body bends in the blowing breezes
Beating her thin green dress.

Her eyes, now charred, crazed, bleached-black
(From the Sun's hateful glare)
No longer keenly watch her love's movement:
East       to      West -

And the once golden-jasper strands of hair
Which flowed loyally in the fresh air
Now hang limp, rigid, frayed,
Like a knotted noose
Over her slumping shoulders.

Her roots unravel - the green veil falls -
Over her boney stalk – petals with red-tinged tears -
As the Sunflower's journey ends
As the Sun makes his final bed.



(This poem was inspired by Blake's poem 'Ah! Sunflower'.)

Copyright © JRFB 2013

Saturday 18 May 2013

Free - Love - Lost -

The words are relentless.
Facts devastate the Mourning's crop of New Love
Free - Love - Lost -
In different worlds you would be mine
Our hearts entwined together in time
And I would cherish your exquisite light
And I would kiss your violet rays
And hold you tight
And I would touch your inner soul
And raise your heart to the highest point -

I will love you everyday
Absorb your soul in every way

I will keep you mine in love
Like the tawny lioness holds her cubs
So you will remain to me -
A secret love, only for me to see




Copyright © JRFB 2013

Sunday 12 May 2013

Moonboy

As the Sky-dwellers climb wearily through the golden gates of puffing clouds, Almighty Nyame winks his gleaming right eye and the world grows dark: the sun is setting. His left eye opens wide: a beaming bright circle in the charcoal sky emerges. This source of light hardens from a pale slither to a deep yellow orb, smiling at the patient ground below.

It is at this time, when the soaring birds sleep and the parted clouds disperse, that the Moon-worshippers arrive wearing midnight blue masks with glinting flecks of gold that dance in the light. They place polished stones and shards of flint in a perfect circle with a smoky fire in the middle, under the cold shadow cast by the Moon. Boys in blue and gold robes begin a slow drumming as the griot enters the circle:
“Tonight is the night of the Full Moon.  Let me tell you a story…”
Still with their masks on, the Moon worshippers begin to sing and hum while the griot paces and prances in the organic circle of holy rocks. He begins:

With a wink, the Sky Lord’s eye is turned
And the Sun’s rays slowly cease to burn.
The land grows dark, the light runs thin;
For at night, a serious matter lies within….

Moonboy walks alone in his golden mask
Adorned with gold and painted parts.
His movement is brisk, slow, tall, long,
His voice, so graceful, he sings his sad song –

The Luna dance which calls on the Moon
Asking the gods for blessings soon
On this clear, cool, crisp night
To open his soul, deep and bright…

With a sigh his breath flees his shell
And wisps this way, that way, soon to dwell
Up in the sky, breathing new air,
Seemingly content, holding no cares.

He becomes the Moon, shining his great light,
Beaming full, gazing at the sight
Of his people below sending such love,
Yet something is missing in his life above:

Bright yes, and forever glowing full,
The Moon’s calm mind will never dull.
The light he promises will always shine,
“But I need a companion, to call mine.
For you, my friends, I'm proud to call my own,
But I lack a partner, where true love can grow –
In my bold heart, which seems so kind,
Where love’s own faults may leave me blind.

Oh Nyame, my lord, grant my wish!
I serve so loyally, your feet I kiss –
So please, oh Father, give my heart joy
And end my suffering by one divine ploy.”

And that night, oh, how Moonboy cried,
Adding waters to the oceans, now undried.
Our hearts broke for his sad tale,
But what could we do? Mere mortals fail…

With a downcast face, and tear-stained eyes,
Moonboy tried to hold his ties
To heaven above, now starless and lighter
But Moonboy only held on tighter.

His piercing scream of grieving sorrow
Echoed from night until the morrow,
When divine Nyame began to shift his vision
And the Moon was caught in this division:

The Sun, so radiant, gleaming crimson red
Arose, still weary from her golden bed;
Bemused, she sees the forlorn white beast
And wonders why he’s here, floating in the East.

Unseen, she swiftly hides behind him
Causing the world’s light to grow dim,
As her curious acts of wonder
Leave us down here now to ponder

How this glorious and bedazzling meeting
Is possible, real, without cheating.
For it must be the doing of the gods                           
Watching proud, as their son no longer sobs.

He sees her light, hot yellow with lightening,
And cannot stop himself from fighting
With his conscious thoughts of love
Was this blessing sent from Above?

Never had he seen such aura
Of exquisite beauty, in his corner.
Smiling, beaming, he is Home
Finally, he does not feel alone.

She shyly shines when she sees
His love for her burning through the trees,
Over hills, in the Earth and skies
Her heart flutters in surprise –

Their soft eyes meet and brightness bounces
From their hearts, the light renounces;
For, having been so intimate, so near,
The time has come to return the sphere
Back to sleep, back to the eye,
Leaving Moonboy alone to cry
Tears still hot from Sun’s warm light
Soon hardening, cool in Earth’s sad night.

“Oh Sun, don’t leave, I love you so!
With you I'm free, my body is whole –
Your breath, your light, you fertile rays
Nourish my lost heart in this lonesome haze.”

With that, the Moon, his heart so splintered,
Began to fade, Summer turning to Winter –
Having lost his beaming yellow soul,
Now remains a wisp of light in the cold.

A line of pale light blends in the sky,
The Earth-dwellers often wonder why
The beautiful circle of pure light
Has gone to bed, little by little, tonight.

The Moon-worshippers wail in terror at the tragic tale of Moonboy's lost light. Their chants and cries drift through the sky, kindling Nyame the sky god with the same cares. He thunders and the ground grows wet, the soil, once pale from the Moonlight now is darker than night.

Moonboy awakens from a sad sleep, and sparkling with delight, he shouts blessings from above to his faithful worshippers, “When my blue light had scattered into cool night, your cries and prayers roused my shattered soul!” And gradually, the Moon began regaining his strength – his dimmed inner light became illuminated from the spirit of the people. 

Night by night, the Moon emerged into the dark night sky, averting attention from the spotted stars until on the thirtieth night he was whole again, his heart was restored and his hope renewed.

From that night, Moonboy slowly dispersed and re-emerged from a small slice of pale rock to a mighty orb of brilliant light every thirty days, in the hope of meeting with the Sun, whom he loved dearly, and  that they may again share their ethereal beauties in the sky.





Copyright © JRFB 2013

Thursday 28 February 2013

Missing

My heart is chafing, shaking with
      blood
tinged by ardent desires;
My soul is crying for your touch as you briskly
Part from me -

Two Souls,  two incomplete
fragments can
Never
Splice - together -
The fusion is irrepable
despite the grinding of my bones;
the melting of my heart -

(we will never weld together)

Gold and grey are clashing titans;
The Sea and Sky are forever apart.

Looking down, my glisting brown eyes
feel your light, feel your life

Beaming, teasing, being
in My world of shaded hearts:

    but I will never reach you.

The plunge is deep -






Copyright © JRFB 2013

Saturday 2 February 2013

Mrs Dalloway, You Have Made Me See..




(For those of you who know me, you may be aware of my Virginia Woolf obsession and of 'Mrs Dalloway' being my favourite novel. I actually wrote this post about a year ago, and the fact that what I talk about here - about how this novel captures some of my soul - is still relevant today, shows the potency of such an authentic work of art. I truly love it. 'Mrs Dalloway' will always be my first love in literature).

*

When I first read Mrs Dalloway, it gave me a continuous headache and a strong desire to throw the damn thing out my window, in the hope of ridding myself of such an unfathomable collection of the whispers of post-menopausal women and pathetic old men. But it was not until the second (and third, fourth, fifth...) reading and actual studying of it, when I became engrossed.

Then, having completely retreated from my formerly contemptuous 'I-don't-give-a-shit-Virginia' attitude of - in my newfound opinion, one of the greatest Modernist novels of all time - Mrs Dalloway, I decided that not only for the purpose of learning, but also for leisure it would be a good idea to watch the cinematic version.

In short, it majorly changed my apprehension of Peter Walsh. From my perception (something V Woolf, as I like to call her, is rather good at blurring and exploring in her novels), he was a pathetic, overly emotional wreck who spent his entire life chasing pretty women, pristine with their 'lips cut with a knife'; or to put it bluntly, an emotionally tarnished, perverse sugar daddy.

However, my eyes have been opened, as the pathos evoked from when he says with an admirable attempt to withhold tears, 'For God's sake, Clarissa, I love you!' reduced me to a crumpled heap soiled with the tears the fellow did not shed. I understand now. He really loved her - and that man, Richard, stole half of his heart before him. I can relate. He offers his soul to the one whom he cannot bear to live without and she scatters it into the 'mist' with the wave of her hand. And for what reason?

'You want too much' - surely, Clarissa, it is best to want the whole of a person rather than the just the qualities you can view from a safe distance, those which you can shape through a certain tweaking?

She broke his heart, and it took him 40 more years to realise just how much he loves her, whether he chooses to believe that those feelings are eternal or not. On their reunion these 40 later, he admits that the scarring yet significant memory of Clarissa's bitter rejection had 'spoilt his life'.

Arguably, I believe that as a consequence, this fateful decision spoilt Clarissa's life too. They both lament about how they think the other has wasted their potential by not achieving any of the things that they were capable of, therefore, to me it is obvious that the mistake lies in their failed conciliation of hearts; they should have married! Not Clarissa and Richard. And, as a result, Clarissa loses track of her true identity and Peter takes to creeping on attractive young women young enough to be his daughters.

Oh how the Fates are cruel!

Furthermore, what also captivated me was the chemistry and delicate romance between Clarissa and Sally. In the novel, the scene is candied with youthful ardency at that 'exquisite' moment when Sally's lips softly join Clarissa's, igniting a realisation that she undeniably was in love with her (though not fully appreciating this sensation at the time). In the film, this tender air of beauty and serenity manages to focus on the two girls, dancing, somehow innocently, yet as if intoxicated off each other's gaiety. During this moment, I felt caught up in the exuberance and let out an elated sigh. There is was. 'The most exquisite moment' of Clarissa Dalloway's whole life; and I felt it.

This scene, was not only touching, but I think one of the reasons I flashed a shade of euphoric gold was because it lead me to fantasise about my own 'exquisite' moment of love; the cornerstone moment when my fragile heart will be -finally- requited.

Seeing something I so much wish to experience in my own life through literature, cinema, music, even in someone else's life, makes the past mistakes of risking a broken heart undeniably worth it. 
The outcome of loving someone could indeed end disastrously, and, like Peter Walsh, you could spend the rest of your days living in a world tainted by pernicious remorse for that one person who denied you of everything: love (if there is such a thing).

Nevertheless, there is always a possibility of triumph: if they return your affections, like Sally and Clarissa, surely the grievous risk is justified?

I would rather have my heart broken a thousand times, existing with a slither of hope that an exquisite love will journey my way, than have my passions acquiescently, obediently ordered to the corner of my mind in self pity, the shadows of ethereal desire swimming around my head.

Love is worth everything.

 


Copyright © JRFB 2013