Eleven

And I feel eleven again. Cuddling under my navy blue with pink,yellow and green sickle-cell printed comforter, in the depth of Fall. I slowly pull the comforter off my head, my tiny little fingers pulling, my limbs shaking. Eyes Wide Open. Outside my window I see a shadow. No, its not a shadow-its real. A real gunman, with his AK-47 pointed directly at my head. Bulls Eye. I quickly pull the navy-blue sickle-celled comforter over my head, breathing quickly. Breathe.. Did I feel something, hear something.. No its my imagination.

I spend all night listening intentioned, looking in the night, nocturnal-vision blinding.

And then there was light, the light of Fajr, the dawn where slowly the darkened sky lightens, and my room becomes brightened. Slowly, color is restored and outside my window are only bushes, behind the gridded rails and large oversized windows.

Without even looking at my own image, I sensed the fear around me. Two sheriff's department men with their K9 searching, looming, looking, inspecting. Wondering, asking " Are you nervous?" Of course I'm nervous. I am no longer the victim, but now somehow the prey. Could it be in my bag, in my socks. Could I be dangerous, ready to kill?

I once thought I was a target, but now I am targeted. I am afraid, and worried at the same time. Worried about being killed, worried about being thrown to the K9's and AK47s.

But I'm once again I'm helpless, not really free, although I believe, feel, sense that I am. But that is freedom, the illusion of being truly free from the grasps of captivity, of life, of love, of living.



The Fear.

And now, I am eleven, some thirteen years later. And eleven is just as scary.

After A While (by Veronica A. Shoffstall)-Thanks Priya!

After a while you learn
the subtle difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn
that love doesn't mean leaning
and company doesn't always mean security.
And you begin to learn
that kisses aren't contracts
and presents aren't promises
and you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of woman, not the grief of a child
and you learn
to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow's ground is
too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down
in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
that even sunshine burns
if you get too much
so you plant your own garden
and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone
to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure
you really are strong
you really do have worth
and you learn
and you learn
with every goodbye, you learn...

Wonder Wall

Understand me, and set me free. From the bricks I've spent years creating a wall for you to break. This isn't Berlin my friend, its my soul.

Torn/ tractored/ frustrated/ You stole it none, you stole something far more precious. My ability to let go, to fly. The closest I've ever come to seeing the sun. The smiles. The movie-star Hollywood moments. The anticipation.................

The anticipation turned into anxiety into anger into frustration into confusion into clarity into closure.

Closure. Close in. On something which never was to be what it was in my head.

Exactly that, a momentary lapse in something sacred, something surreal, something unreal. Something fictional

You met her. I met you, who is her? Who are you?

We met her/him/it. The best versions of ourselves can only be seen through those who see more than we can see.

But you met her, because the best version of me was a terrible version of us.

Right?

You won' t answer, I'll always wonder.

We are all looking for answers to questions which don't exist. Or we don't want to ask. Or you don't want to ask.

Yellow.

Its always yellow.

So just wait, and see as I don't react, and I hope you wonder if I cried, screamed, laughed... I hope you spend eternity waiting for my reaction to your tirade, your rant. I hope every morning you wake up with an itch which won't go away of wonder//

You're just mean and that won't go away or react. Its unforgivable. Because me-Not mean.

I know you'll wonder. I hope you wonder a wall. Like the one you broke. Wonder Wall, A way of keeping track of all that you did and did not do, to wonder away. Ponder. Philosophize.

And this is me. Not reacting, just writing because:

The Pen is mightier than the sword.

And 'tile my grave I will fight your written words with my own.
And in the end, the power my words will eventually win out.
Or the power of my silence will kill.

Rabia, Act VI, Scene III

Adapted from Shakespeare's Macbeth- Act V, Scene V.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty place from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Love's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Now We Will Count To Twelve

By Pablo Neruda

Now we will count to twelve
And we will all keep still

For once on the face of the earth
Let’s not speak in any language
Let’s stop for one second
And not move our arms so much

It would be an exotic moment
Without rush, without engines
We would all be together
In a sudden strangeness

Fishermen in the cold sea
Would not harm whales
And the man gathering salt
Would look at his hurt hands

Those who prepare green wars
Wars with gas, wars with fire
Victories with no survivors
Would put on clean clothes
And walk about with their brothers
In the shade, doing nothing

What I want should not be confused
With total inactivity
Life is what it is about
I want nothing to do with death

If we were not so single-minded
About keeping our lives moving
And for once could do nothing
Perhaps a huge silence
Might interrupt this sadness
Of never understanding ourselves
And of threatening ourselves with death
Perhaps the earth can teach us
As when everything seems dead
And later proves to be alive

Now you will count to twelve
And you keep quiet and I will go

Carrie's Poem Sex and The City Episode 19 "The Chicken Dance"

It's wedding season, and to celebrate I want to share one of my favorite poems to mark the occasion, courtesy a la Carrie Bradshaw.

Carrie's Poem
His hello was the end of her endings
Her laugh was their first step down the aisle
His hand would be hers to hold forever
His forever was as simple as her smile

He said she was what was missing
She said instantly she knew
She was a question to be answered
And his answer was "I do"

Self/Control

Self-Control/ Its a fleeting moment, a moment of truth, a moment of clarity/One second, when your fingers itch, your hair dances to an unknown beat/Where you fall and fly in the same motion/Self-control-allowing yourself to differentiate between ration and passion/reason and necessity/Its the difference between making a mistake you'll spend the rest of your life regretting or the rest of your evening pondering/Self-Control vanishs, comes together/falls apart/Unknowingly,sparingly.

Do it/Don't do it/Why do it/What?/It shouldn't matter..but it does/it always does. There is no one life that does not matter/no one relationship that doesn't blind us or leave us deaf to our own tune/Mistune, mistfortune/Misery/Mistakes/Mister/

Life it/Leave it. Regret it or remember it/ Should it be a dream which could have been or a memory which was/The past turns to the future, but what of now, the present/ the healthy and happy or the sad and unknown.

Self control is just that, allowing one to hold on to themselves as opposed to losing control over our gaurds, the walls we put up.