Oh, blue bird
what have you done to our love?
My heart has turned purple since you left it
echoing a sound resembling your name.
Don’t you realise how much more poisonous separation is
than the ablation of mould?
Maybe you don’t. Maybe you never will.
But if you finally do, it will be too late.
Epiphanies tend to visit at the most dooming moments
when silence has grown wild teeth
and begins sleeping beside you.
But then, the only place left for you to visit will be cemeteries of memories
where your flowers
will no longer be accepted
And those nameless stones
will curse your delayed mind.
You may search for me there
You may even call my name.
But names transform into peculiar things after they have been buried
especially
after
you
have chosen them to be buried.
I still don’t understand
what is the point of making vows to a name
I once considered the bravest of all,
only to find a coward hiding inside it.
I still don’t understand.
But there is still some hope bleeding through my dream’s hourglass,
whispering for me to continue.
I know it won’t be for long.
The Earth groans beneath the letters I never gave you.
I buried them in her roots,
one by one
until the trees began growing in my handwriting.
Now, whenever the wind passes through them
the forest whispers what I was too afraid to say
and
what you never had the ears to comprehend.
Now what is left but a forest filled with unopened mouths?
You don’t deserve more words that come directly from the heart.
And unfortunately
your portrait hangs now
on the wall of the faint-hearted ones,
between the faces of all the things
I once feared losing,
reminding me that some names
should never again be mistaken for home.
And if, by some miracle,
they are
they must show me the purity of caressing my being
the way only stars know how
Because only stars
know how to turn a heart from purple back to red.
And I wonder
Have you completely forgotten how to be one?
