White Elephants

Leave me a frame to collect all these words
I will definitely never have said.
‘Keep drowning’, they said,
I continued immersing my head – in your liquid heart.
Have a crack, have a stab,have a shot,
have a shot, do it now!
I’m losing your scent,
does it mean that you’re drifting apart?
This is insane! To lean out that far
without calculating.
Was it Frankfurt who taught you how it feels
when you deeply care?
What do you mean by these words?
Are these words deliberately written absurd?
Well, lyrics don’t need to be read,
they just need to be heard.

I am not moving, this is not my dance.
I wanna fall, but let’s fake it to make you believe
I have never been fallen apart.

Season has changed,
the blood on the walls has been washed away by the rain.
And here I stand with my broken voice still inventing a game
where lovers have lost their tongues in each other
to hold on, to hold on, but listen:

We’re all white elephants,
though we seem to be gold.

No other (for Patti Smith)

The roads belonged to your bare-foot dreams,
the corners were painted in the colour of the poem
that you had in your head.
The benches you sat on they lived off the sweat
that you felt underneath your clothes,
while kissing a stranger.
The rooms were the servants to your need to create.
The walls were covered
with a suite of self-portraits,
your fragmented art.
The pictures that you took, they lived off your talent,
sustaining the deepest love,
to envision life’s magic.
There was no other time for you,
but fortunately that time took good care of you.
The music compilations were the bonds
between you and your dearest.
Sharing poems instead of posts
seemed to be your religion.
There is no other time for me,
but hopefully this time will take good care of me.