Bird in my Head

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I sit in a dark room thinking about darkness
I have a glass of blood in my hands
And a bird flies quietly in my head
I do not know why
I will sit here. For hours to come. And minutes and seconds
Thinking about darkness
All the light that I lost
And I cannot look around me
There is a bear which plays the flute
And I do not understand why
There is darkness around me
And I am the light.
And soon I’ll burn myself out
As I burnt my candle turning it into the wildfires
The ghosts play the piano
And I can not dance
But I do not know why
I can hear laughter and people talking
But it must be all in my head
Yet I do not know why

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It’s like the days are not even days any more.
Night isn’t night anymore.
I am not even who I was anymore.
The sky has turned into ash, it isn’t blue anymore
The moon is a black dot, it isn’t the moon anymore
The sea has turned into soot, it isn’t it anymore
The tree upon which I gazed outside
It is not standing there anymore…perhaps it travelled north or towards a dusty gloom
I don’t know anymore
There is so much dark now, I don’t want the light anymore
I loved someone once
I don’t love anymore

Hollow

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I was haunted by the hollow of my hand
What is in it. Why
I was disfigured by the death in my eyes
Who died. Why
I was shattered by the quivering of my soul
How did it happen. Why
I was looking at the curve of my lips
Which way did they go. Why
I sat with myself once
I danced with myself once
I dreamed within myself once
Who was I supposed to be. Why

Surrender

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Surrender now!
O ye ghosts of passion
For if the night sways forth
Then there will be crimes
And then ballads written
And yearning will take place
Like white crystals along a hazy daze
Or a black sky
And lanterns made of pearls
And red silken blood
So who will the daybreak take
As its rabid hero
Who hath turned into a villain
And so
All the bonds were broken
Among the filthy rags
Which we call men
Thus—
O ghosts of wisdom
Come take their place
Those who were dark wisps
Of grey

Kahani

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The ruins of the colorful day, lay barren on the silted sea
Shackled in all the stories–we all tend to leave
One by one, dot by dot
As if it all were free
The dances with the storm and the placid glee
One by one and dot by dot–we all began to flee
The stories we lived and the faces we wore
Facades we dealt with–the farcical attempt to be free
Thinking about the ocean floor and how much was the sea deep
Or how often did the blackbird come, to the love famished tree!
The cloudy sky below which, sparked the days of lust
Of which were a thousands of them–long forgotten glories
And riches which were buried long before the Sun showed itself,
The first and last time to the Moon.
Thus the ruins of a colorful day and all the stories we lived
Came to an ending, much of it already seen