Jan 12, 2010

wwIII in my own silent way

Darkness wraps the city
Exotic as its name
In a thick blue blanket of peace
Dark clouds came and released
Drops of rain
the lights released off the street lanterns
Blink on and off
Like a light switch
And color the concrete
In transparent orange
Mystery
The darkness here
Is not so dark yet
The warm deep purple
and red colored sun
hanging lonely
in an ocean blue sky
stretches its long arms
and brushes the mountain tops
and like a thin sharp razor blade
it cuts the buildings facing me in half,
painting it purple and black
birds find their way in the twilight
the distant silence is rolling
towards me like a wave
and for a moment immerses me
from out of the ground
there grows a sound
much like a flower
grows from out of the ground
gently and slowly
the muffled metallic sounds of nylon strings
ricochet through a coffin
of ebony wood
and escape into the air
the soft notes bounce
like a pillow against the concrete
walls of my street buildings
in the direction of my house
and into my back yard
where they are sliced
into a thousand
diamond rays of sound
by the slanted
pointed blades
of the palm trees
their vertebrae
pointing in my direction
the sound
finds its way to my ear
down my throat
and into my heart
where it settles
for a while
my attention is pulled
to the urgent
rhythmic
heartbeat
of a dripping faucet
pulling me close
inviting me
as if it
wants to tell me something
I catch its pulse in mid air
And feel the sweet
Penetrating scent
Of incense
Entering my nostrils
In curly streaks of smoke
As I look in its direction
I see the bottom
Of the glowing stick
Colored black
In the powder
Of jazz berry fragrance
Disappearing in the soft ground
Like the tip of a needle
Disappearing
In a vein
the wall and the floor
that im leaning against
together
form
a ninety degree angle
to rest
my back and thighs
the same way
an uncomfortable chair would
and i notice the crumbling paint
on my back yard wall
exposing at certain places
the red gravel bricks
it once covered
it is dark now
honolulu is silent
the music has stopped playing
and the wheels of the machines
in the nearby factory
have stopped turning
resting
for tomorrow
darkness has shut down the city
and only the lights in the city hint
that people live in them
the thin and sharp ivory moon
curves and puts its spotlight on me
and standing in its light
i feel someone looking at me
piercing me with his eyes
touching me with his presence
as i turn my head
the images mingle and bend before me
and become blurs of color
like the paint on a painter's pallet
when my vision regains focus
i see the contours on his face
and as if in slow motion
i see him opening his eyes
his eyelids rolling up like a scroll
half open his eyes only reveal
part of his soul
and the face i am looking at
on the other side of the silver glass
resembles my own
like the faces of two people in love
resemble each other
the lines in his face
much like the cracks in the wall
above the glass in which i stare
are barely noticable at most places
yet are very clear at others
especially
around the oval mirrors of his soul
they make him seem sad and uncertain
and it looks like he's thinking about something
that one cannot read
by looking at his face alone
i see him closing his eyes
lost in thought
he sees himself lying in his first bed ever
in the house in which he grew up
he lies there
but can't get any peace
voices in the distance
keep him from finding his sleep
his room is dark
no lights are on
except for the yellow light
that stays on
throughout the night
and peeks from around the door
from the hall into his room
he gets up
and as he tiptoes secretively
over the soft gray carpet in the hall
and finds his way across the stairways
he hears the voices grow louder and louder
he hears people threatening
and accusing
the sound is familiar to him
the tone of the voices that speak
sound normal, not loud
the whispered screams are kept that way
to keep from waking up
the sleeping children
and neighbours
it could work i suppose
but not here
and not tonight
the threats may be soft in sound
but their intensity
more than makes up for it
and as the venom
is injected in their words
there will be
no turning back to peace
anytime soon
soon their words
turn into whiplashes of accusation
and rip and cut off
skin of his parent's marriage
and eventough he's too young to really understand
what son of a bitch
and motherfucker means
he has a clear picture
of how his mother intended it
he can feel the passion of her voice thunder
through the marrow of his bones
standing on the stairway for a moment
he tries to make up his mind whether to
go into the room
or go back bed
curious but apprehensive he proceeds
until he reaches the first floor corridor
he hesitates
the handle of the door has it head turned sideways
like the head of a sad puppy
and a cry slips somewhere sideways
across his five year old heart,
grown boys don't cry
he hears his father say
when he fell from his bike yesterday
and he wonders what the drops
on his father's palms were
when he wiped his cheeks
before he went away,
as he puts his whole weight
against the big wooden door
he only manages to slowly inch it open
when he looks into the room
he sees the brown lampshade
with its always shining light
reflecting its rays
from the shattered pieces of glass
spread out on the floor
the doors to the room
where moma locked herself in
were whole once
now they're filled with craters
dirt from the potted plants
lay spread out over,
and walked into the carpet
his grandfather's paintings hang sideways
and his father's record player keeps ticking
over and over
their song and dance is over...
as he looks up
he sees the startled look
on his mother's face
with her eyes red
and streaks of tears
lining her hard featured face
she seems ill
he looks to his right
to see his father standing there
just standing there
'now look at what you have done,
she says in his father's direction,
'not only have you managed
to ruin everything there is to be ruined
in this house, you have managed to wake up
the last child too,thanks a lot'
funny, he thought he was the first to wake
mute stares fill the air in silence
like clouds fill the skies
and turn it jet black before a storm
no one could have them
the battlefield of his parents' divorce
wasn't one filled with physical violence
it was paved with broken hearts
as the tension increases between the two adults
he sees the discouraged
frightened looks on the faces
of his two older sisters
standing in the corner
behind the fighting pair
the oldest of the two holding the younger one
standing there in her white and red dotted pj's
comforting her
as the tears roll down her face
being the youngest child
and being awake
could have been a reason for them
to cease their fighting
instead they use it to release all discreteness
the battlefight continues
before long
the shouts grow louder and louder
and he sees the phone flying
from one side of the room
to the other
his mother is helping his father ruin the house now
as he hides for cover
all he can see is a pair of stumbling legs passing
in front of him and another pair following them
down the stairs
next he hears a roaring thunder roll across the sky
and he sees the reflection of blue and white sirens
flickering against the walls in the front room
one by one the lights in the houses
of the curious neighbours
with the sleep still in their
blink on
and they are staring through their windows
looking to see what's going on
when gently asking
'where is daddy going moma?'
his mother replies
'daddy is going with these two friendly gentlemen ,
sweetheart,
still confused he witnesses his father
being escorted off the premises
only to return to his wife and children again
only for them to fight again
next in his memory
he recall the time
when he sits next to his father on a bench
alongside the river that runs through their town
as he looks up at his father
he sees the fluid of broken hearts
hesitantly roll over his carved face
and it seems like those lines
curling in two half circles
from his nose to his mouth
have only grown deeper with time
in one single gesture
he sees his father wipe the tears from his face and
lays his hand on his hat
he scratches his head with it back and forth
his trademark for getting ready to leave
a few minutes later he gets up and gently whipsers
'come on let's go, hop on the back of the bike....'
it only takes a few minute to get home
from where they sit
but home is not so home anymore
it's cold and lonely like the weather outside
because daddy doesn't live there anymore
they stand outside on the driveway
as he hangs around his father's neck
he feels the sandpapery brush
of a day old beard scrape against his cheek
tears well up in his chest as he says
'i love you daddy',
'daddy loves you too sweetheart',
'go on, momma's waiting for you',
and as he turns around
he sees his father's eyes turn red too,
looking firm like a statue on the outside
trying to keep his composure
his father fixes his scarf
as his wife of fifteen years
stands in the entrance of the house
as if to block the always open door to their house
a silence passes between them
no anger is in the air
and no mounting tesion
there's just an atmosphere
of peace after the storm
like on the day after new years eve
and as his parents stand there looking at one another
in silence, he looks through the kitchen window
on the first floor
to see his father turn and walk away
out of their house
out of sight
out of their lives
only an image to be remembered in his mind
and as he stands in the mirror sees his father
disappear from from his mind's eye
the memories of his childhood days
lay themselves to rest for a future time
with the pain
equivalent to a thorn scratched across his heart
he stares against the inside of his eyelids
and in amoment of darkness
he can feel the muscles of his eyes burning
like a clenched fist
he opens his eyes and looks at me
staring at him
on the other side of the silver glass
he feels my shame
cause he knows my pain
and sees my tears thick as melting candlewax
drip from my eyes
softly i hum a song that tells the story of my life
as i breathe in the damp moist air of the wet trees
and grass
the muffled maroon like sounds of my vocal chords
ricochet through the coffin
of my woodbrown colored chest
and escape into the air
gently and softly it grows
the sound
like a flower
from out of the ground
the silence rolls away from me like a wave
after it has touched the shore
and for a moment immerses the sleeping city
birds have found their way home in the dark
the darkness remains
and the transparent orange lights of the street
lanterns remind me
and prepare me for the mystery
called tomorrow

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