the shade of old spectacles -the colour of wheatfields II- (full story)


a land of trivial stories

 

Through a dirty window

I see a blurred city

Each light and shadow

Tells a trivial story.

And I, wearing a brown sweater

Stains in my shower

From when I washed the dirt of my old life,

I contemplate outside that window

Almost ignoring the reflection

Of my silhouette

That I thought was shaped like sorrow.

But I know who I am

I can see the city lights on my forehead

My eyes like two stars in the sky

My cheeks shifting from green to red

I am colored according to the streets

I am colored according to all those stories

But little did I know they were mine.

And these colors remind me

Of trivial things I gave too much importance

And trivial things I should make more important

Like my brown sweater or my green cheek

Not the dirt stains or the dirty street

Not the disease and the fear

But those moments of peace and cheer

Moments when I breathe

Without expecting to stop breathing

Moments when I fall asleep

Telling myself that I’ll wake up

That I am fine

And I have woken up.

My lips touched the mud of this beautiful world

On the bed of the river

That was inside my mind

Where grass is tall and trees hard to find

Where you gaze at things that don’t matter and forget about what makes you blind

Blind because you’re not scared and dare

With love in your heart,

With faith,

To close your eyes.



reunited

Time.

It could have been a heartbeat ago

When they last looked up at the same moon.

But time can also be counted with tides or cries

Daily sunsets or the blinks of their eyes.

Sometimes can be never and someday could be soon.

Time stopped when the prince came back from his journey

Back to his planet, back to his flower

Where the moss on the ground still had his footprint from where he flew

On her petals still dripped the tears from that cold morning dew

But it felt life forever

Since they could look at the stars at the same time

Without wondering in which one the other slumbers.

And now they can.

Now they can touch and smell and taste one another

Fill the irregular texture of their bare skin

And now they can count time with the rythmth of their breath

Warm whispers that melts the icy tears dripping from their chin.

The silence has filled space

For a time that feels pleasantly longer

Than the tides and sunsets spent lookimg for each other

As they were torn asunder.

Suddenly everything stops

Things start making sense once more

And they can show their true colour.

Leur couleur, leur odeur

Particules qui tirent de leur sommeil l’espace d’un instant

Leurs sens emportant

A la dérive le prince et sa fleur

Comme ces cours d’eau

Qui serpentent sous leur peau

Mais au loin, invisible, inaudible, cette figure qui attend,

Inodore, incolore, assoiffée de sang,

Trépidente d’impatience,

Qu’il se pique le doigt sur sa rose,

Afin de saisir sa chance.

But the prince doesn’t need

The rose to bleed.

Now that he’s back, awaken

Time flows again, and so does his blood as his chest moves once more

But he still has scars that are open

Oozing on the shore

Near a sea full of foul souls

And now the wind blows wild

Cold or warm

It stabs every inch of their being

A hooded figure walking.

Reunited in this chaos still prospering

Damaged soil

Seeds thrown on the fields will be growing

In an instant, the time has passed

They’re back together but he has past

Reunited with love, reunited with more

He’s back and she’s coming.

 


the prosperity of hatred

 

The witch

The forgotten relationship

With a distant past

The witch

Allegory of a painful reality

Poise and composure

A dark cloth dragging on the ground

A garden a abravise roses

Sadness ane desillusion incarnate.

She chose not to care

Because she couldn’t bear

To get hurt

She is scars and she is damage

Wielding a magic called rage

That boils people’s blood

That leaves a sour taste on your buds

She is fear of death and yet she draws you towards it

A toxic mother

Taking children and bathing them in the murky water

Leaving them drifting on the river

Going nowhere, lost forever

She is the queen

Of the desert of the little prince’s mind

The reason why nothing grows

She feeds the blight that kills the tree

She makes the planet cold and foggy.

She is wrath

Everything she touches

She turns into crystal that so it burst into smithereens

And she loves to put her silky fingers on happiness.

But her heart she keeps cold like stone

She is depression and loneliness

She makes the room silent so you can hear your own breath

Until you pray that it stops and call upon death

Bleeding through your veins

She is even worse than the snake

Who slithers away under the sand.

She came for the prince and the flower

She came for the tree that has now been dead for an hour

Now the planet is dark

The little prince wants to live and love

But she wants to hate

And blame the world for her fate.

 


both the same

 

 

Wonderful blue and withering yellow
Beaten paths and similar patterns in the sky
One will find comfort in the dark and sorrow
One prefers the stars and a perfect lie
Hate and wrath, a windshield against the storm
Profound desire for a perfect illusion
Together they make a shade of green
They weep the same tears and wipe the same dirt
They want peace and wish to ged rid of their perverted vision
The same story, the same scars.

But one deals with the demons of the past
When the other wishes to walk ahead
Blindfolded eyes and imaginary oblivion
A showdown between the neon lights
Blinking in the streets to the sound of their broken heart
For no one could ever reconcile old and new
Good and evil, yellow and blue

 


they walk away

 

 

She cast a curse.
The prince ran all the way across the city
To a dimly lit park

Where he fell down
Whilst murmuring the lyrics of his final song
Now here comes the encore.

A flower that could only watch him break apart
Stuck in the ground
Through which
Giant thorns rose
Building walls
The dryness conquering the land.

She fought hard to bring the light
To alleviate a pain that she, unbeknownst to her
was responsible for
Even though she did her best to cover her spines with her delicate petals

A tree has gone to sleep
Tired of fighting a blight endlessly growing
While it wasn’t worth it
Turned gray, a last blast to end its dying.

Big cries and screams at night
Nightmares playing a game of chess
Check mate
Walls like a fortress
With no window this time
No trivial story
No story at all.

The little prince
Grew a bitter taste
Started once again to give in
And flew from the land
Leaving it to the witch
He gave up on finding his path
Crawled back in his shell, afraid of the night.

Like a child
Safe in his loneliness.
Quiet.
Now here is darkness
Demons from the past.
Isolation.
The street lights start flickering
Trivial stories gone to the wild
Eyelids tickling one another and dying whispers in the wind
The tides hit hard on the shore
But no sound comes out anymore
The rain pours on the floor
Making skewers overflow
With all the shit thrown over the bridge
Like baobabs finally blossoming
Now too large to uproot.
Brownish fruit, that smelled like hot chocolate
The beverage of a traumatized child

Now the city is filled with rainbow colored pukes
The bones of the antagonistic mother
Stones that remember
The time when there was no love and uncertainty
As the prince drifts apart on his shell
Floating under the red moon
On the murky water
The same one running from the shower
Scales moving on the cold metal of pipes
A killer
She’s now alone and the world feels better
For her
Now that happiness once again had to surrender.

 


this one is bright

 

Fresh paint on the walls

Sometimes still gives a way for the colours underneath

To be hit by sunlight.

Once upon a time, a child with none of those walls

Had to pile up pieces of himself

To make a shell.

Leaving a tiny window whose glass polarized reality in a way

That it didn’t cause pain.

Lenses to make sense of the chaos out there.

They bend the beams of light

Kiss your cortex and hug your soul

Spells, illusions, rear-view mirrors that makes threats appear further away than they truly are

And they seemed far in the past

But they’re playing with you right now.

Still haunting your head.

Slithering behind and yet so close to you.

Witch, a childhood friend

The mask we made out of hay and strings of worn out jeans

Stitched together

To fight the battles that we never could

The one who can deal with the green scales coming at us.

She is part of us

She is the filter we needed to look at things on the bright side

The gloves we needed to handle fire

But now we want to touch someone’s soft skin

The fresh grass and the crops of the wheatfields

With our bare hands

She is us.

And now you must ask yourself what really matters?

The flower is not like the dependant and toxic mother

But we fight to make it that way

The landscape is not the dried desert that it used to be

But we can’t help seeing it that way

The tree is not doomed to be dead forever

But we are used to things being that way

The snakes are not as venoumous as they seem

But we secretely wish they were that way.

That is the witch within us

Who protected us in this dry land

Who gave us water

Put a hand on our eyes blinding us from the threat

Of the many reptiles all around

Serpents, the hardships of life

Abuse, addiction, anxiety

Pain and death

But it is time to open our eyes.

It is time to heal.

It is time to give some rest to the wicked

Make peace with the witch.

The witch, our childhood friend

We don’t have to make her our enemy

We have to understand her

Kiss her on the cheek and say goodbye.

It is time to heal.

 


healing

 

Frozen

You, little prince

Standing with thirst in your throat

And the witch

Your own reflection

Clear and still in what’s left of the river.

It is time to say goodbye

Even if she will never die.

It is time to let things be

To let her grow

To let her become a rose in your garden.

Now hear the cracking sound of your fractured bones

Growing and welding to one another

The snakes now can slither away in fear

From what you have grown to be.

Time can never go backwards

But for once entropy gets a little twist

Reversal.

Soon the windows of trivial stories light up

Without distracting you from what matters

The grass that grows bigger than pines

The river that flows and flows

And flows

The tree is revived and the rose

Blossoms in the sunrise

Bushes, ferns and green ponds

Open your eyes,

Unscarred by the shatters of glass

Can you see it now?

Can you see the colors of the wheatfields

You always thought to be an arid empty place?

Can you the shades of the wilderness?

The life you had sown for yourself

It is enough

This will be enough

Yes there are snakes chasing the mice

Yes there are winters that turn fresh water into ice

Fruits that are poisoned

And willows from the past

But there is so much more.

Moss as bed linen

Streets leading to more adventures.

Stars that laugh

Ruins that decay

Roots that spread.

The beautiful trees

Yield healthy berries

A shy flower hiding its spines

A wind blowing their scent.

The little prince.

Our inner child

The allegory of our most genuine way to see life

The recipient of our most intense emotions

The little prince,

Who now sits down on the floor

Being one shade among the others

Next to the blooms he waters.

They all admire the flowing of time

The nature growing back

They all look at their reflection in the stream

Wrinkling and twitching

They all feel the wind blowing.

He takes a deep breath

He’s breathing.

 


i remember

 

Blue

The warm sea in which some people drown, the clear sky of the desert in which I got lost, the color of my backpack, of the weight of my story, the ink in my diary, the color of a 5-dollar bill you can use to buy things that kill.

Red

Blood flowing from my scars, the wine of which I drink too much, of which some people always drink too much. The stains in my shower, the color of monochrome photographs I take, after a long night, blurred color of the fruit I ate. My mother had a cherry print dress.

Yellow

The desert sand, my teeth that feel like they decay. Beer. Golden summer day. Spent crying in bed, alone in the dark. The gentle stroke of sunrise, sneak peeks of the life I should have…Yellow the wheat.

Brown

Your skin. Your hair. The mud. The bed of my mother, some feet under, where I stand. Brown the fields after they die, the cold winter. Your skin. Your eye, and so is the other. Naked bodies. Mixed together

Green

The mountains. The beauty. Forests. Hope and dreams. Universal shade, shared by plants. Also the color of my shirt; stained by my sweat; sweat of anxiety and worry, sweat of walking it off, everything that hurt me. My path, footprints; trivial stories. Obstacles I walk over, my sweat from traveling across my mind. Healing healing.

Red again

Roses, flowers blooming, my gum is more a shade of pink, your tongue and your lips.

Pink!

Shades!

Green and blue twirl together, yellow and blue is green, pink is red just lighter!

Orange the sunrise…and sunset. Orange my morning juice, the medicine I was given as a child.

Orange, yellow.

Gold?

My mother’s rings, that rang like a bell on wine bottles.

My mother’s rings…Are the music of wine bottles.

That’s why I tap them with my nails, when it was my turn to chug them. Gold the letters on graves, gold the little prince’s hair, orange the fur of the fox. I remember the fox! Walking on water. Black; black the river. The swan, black is a color! Orange from the fire, fire can be red and yellow also, fire burns, fire feels warm.

Purple.

Goes well with green and black and yellow, purple the paint on my walls. Purple is like watching the sky through a glass of wine. Purple is a filter, lenses that blur.

All the shades in between. Those of being neglected. Making you strong. But strong bones that can never be bent the same way. Lack of affection, you build up those walls, swearing they’re for protection. They crumble, crumble! Lack of trust and self preservation. Colors have an aftertaste, and it lingers, it lingers.

Now something that rhymes

I would have been fine

Hadn’t I chugged this bottle of wine
I shouldn’t have let the voices in my head draw a line
On my forearm telling me…
“This is where you slice away your worry
Cut it! cut it! And you’ll bleed and feel happy”.

I shouldn’t have hurt and told everyone to go
Kept for myself the thoughts that overflow
By kissing you goodbye
I wanted to make sure it wasn’t worth the try
That I didn’t deserve love and kindness
I wanted to validate my feeling of nothingness
To convince myself
That I could be happy with my life being a mess?

I shouldn’t have let them touch my skin
But maybe that’s because I didn’t want it to be skin
I wanted me to be dust and they would call my next of kin
And say your sibling finally gave in
I think they’re crazy they let people kiss their chin!
Even when their mind says no
Oh wait my voice says no, also
I didn’t let people do anything to me, I only responsible for what I tame, not for the people who try to shame me.

But that doesn’t matter,

anymore.

I’m at the end of a journey, the starting point of another,

Standing on the shore.

Yes, I do remember,

More.

There is more to come, more than one color.

Blue, blue the beautiful sky, blue the sea, the ocean, the lakes and rivers, blue my travels, my crossing, my path.
A landscape that makes me happy.
Oh dear life you haven’t seen the last of me.


i’ll be whole again

 

I am a spirit

I can be nothing more and nothing less

So be it.

They’re my weapons against life
But they will be my undoing
If I don’t discard them soon

They helped me when my mother was soaked in juice and her brain was all fluffy
When my father and the sea became one. Moving at the same pace.
Or when I felt unsafe with no walls to protect me
Mental illness feasting on me

They allowed me to filter the shades
Just like everyone with a brain
We come up with a way to bend reality

To deal with the pain.

They’re old rusty spectacles.

But now I can’t live with the same fears

Now I have to put off those glasses and focus on healing

Healing means being naked on the street and breathing in

I know it is chilly.

But the texture of my skin

Goosebumps

They remind me that my body can handle much more than I give it credit for

The same goes for my soul

I am tired of the dissonance

Of the shatters

Of broken things

If my lenses are going to fall apart I’d rather chuck them away

But if my mind, spirit, body and souls want to spread apart

I’ll take the rope that was attaching my feet to stones

And I’ll tether myself to nothing else

Than myself.

Starting over and doing what’s right,

For me.

And this is where I am now.

The dimmed light of a bar

The spotlights

My skin is wood and the wood is sweating

My soul is drenched

Frozen, solid or boiling liquid

I have the same volume, the same mass

The same number of atoms dancing with each other

Air flows and it lifts the pages

Air flows with the scents of accomplishments

I am all the sounds and all the colours

For I hear and see them

Today I take a bucket and clean the shit from the river

Today I clean the stain

And tomorrow I’ll be whole again.

 

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