The nature sleeps so I must be awake In dead of winter My blood boils and my fingers twitch My mind reaching out To the twisting roots hidden underneath The sea is frozen so I must run In circles waiting for a signal to slow down Snow-white wind chills to the bone And the moon is silent As if also waiting for salvation In darkness of the mighty woods Here I stalk threads of my innocence Frail and shaking to the core I do not let up Until I leave my earthly body and its mind Until but the idea of me remains Branches rustle anticipating My return to the soil that feeds them And I wonder if I ever was at all Or if the trees are merely dreaming of me
If the ego that we build For ourselves is living Then this is a destruction An apocalypse That no one made-up can survive Take my hand, now withered by pain Caress the moss on my fingers And come with me where horizon never ends Where the time is always present If memories are ocean waves Then I will be the sun My lava scorching the seabed that we walk Ash falls upon bleached corpses And new life sprouts, cleansed of spirits We have no future For we’re not built on abstract wishes We have got no past For it was not us who came into this place If blackness is fright Then let me wrap myself in darkness Underneath rocks and entangled roots I will hold the very earth with care I will seep into it naked I will leave my flesh and bones behind Not afraid to disappear For there is nowhere that this mind could hide And I will let the earth absorb me I will hear its rumbling within my own breath "Stone, sand, mud and living creatures There is need for all shapes and forms They all belong
Slowly dipping my feet in, toes sinking into the mud of the riverbed. Cool smooth stones, slimy algae would startle me. Images of ridiculous river monsters would overtake my mind and speed up my heart. Only when called to go further and deeper would my mind quell of such fears. Invigorated by the current that pushed me forward would I forget what took me away from the intimate moment with mother earth. She is alive and kind. Cleaning my spirit of faithless heart chatter and heavy mental microcosm. Nourishing my being and reinforcing my desires, I feel so close to myself in her ever-changing flow. Connection, movement. Renewal.
Field Guide (after Tony Hoagland) by SaffronSunrise, literature
Literature
Field Guide (after Tony Hoagland)
Sometimes I hear the skyline cling onto verdant foliage, its raindrops gingerly pelting the leafy cuticles, once shiny with peace: without glistening orbs stilling— then slipping down stainlessly—along serrated green edges, shivering beneath the sky's crestfallen residue. I only wish for these paltry teardrops—now trickling down my cheekbones and blotting out my words— to fall smearlessly upon this page and be easily heard, like water globules landing on waxy-sheened leafage.
I'm dying And it seems I've always been My branches so fragile most of each year My roots disconnected My bark shrivelled and scarred Dark shadows instead of eyes Leaves broken and as sharp as thin glass Yes, the worms in me know Of my longing for the sea below Of my struggle with these rocks that keep me Chained to this cliff alone Dying I watch the rising sun I simply stare By now depleted and dried And the ocean's grip Feels closer than it's even been before Its wilderness tempting I’m eager and waiting For vultures to tear me apart For ravens to carry my still beating heart Into the black waters of fall
Night Questions (after Sumita Chakraborty) by SaffronSunrise, literature
Literature
Night Questions (after Sumita Chakraborty)
When does nightfall collect your tears? When starlight scatters across well-worn skies. When does morning hold on to the fleeting night? When bright stars melt under heavy moonlight, forming softly twinkling dew. Who does the moon turn to when she yearns to cry? The ocean — who catches fallen starlight from the moon’s glistening hide. How will you remember these crestfallen nights?
color of cold night: starlings hanging on empty backdrops wither over time, ticking away inky lullabies into daybreak's soft cries -- trills of sunlight melting cool ebony plumage, dripping beneath weary bluebell skies gently blown away by heavy winds -- hardening wintry black wings, fluttering on empty backdrops in tender reprise
How can I sleep When wolves howl, frenzied In shadows of the mountains When sea lions hungry and wild Stalk their bloodied prey In rhythm of the foaming waters How can I lay down When the full moon calls Through the heavens to my soul In darkness that is life It illuminates All monsters spawning from the earth In-between these walls I'm protected, yet insane And my unused muscles Strain hard for a night-long run And my eager lungs Expand as if contested I yearn the smells of air The touch of rain upon a windswept face The pain of being The fear of blackness just behind The loneliness to wander Wherever the mind pleases to How can I go on When Emptiness herself Tempts me from beyond From where I was born Beneath the moss and dirty worms She speaks my name and It echoes in the frozen valleys How can I rest When my very essence Boils beneath my skin Black and potent as that of an animal Restless I'm a slave to my senses
sunsets sticky on dark green foliage by SaffronSunrise, literature
Literature
sunsets sticky on dark green foliage
golden moonlight dripping into nightfall like melted honey, bring me the residue of sunsets sticky on dark green foliage after indigo - seeping through soft peachy skies - dries cloyingly sweet on verdant backdrops, its tangerine streaks trickling into blackberry hues - spilling onto once-gilded leaves, treacly with dreams of soft warmth thickening through this fickle nightscape.
I implore you to let me be the one who sees cherry blossoms, sugar plums, and rose water hues when your cheekbones start to bloom in your darkest hour, sculpted by my fingertips brushing away twilight from your milky skin — spangled with moonsongs of peonies and blush wine, covering our kindred woes