PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Weekends! Oh, how much I love them! You get to have some rest and I get to spend more time with you. Just the two of us together. You wake up and freshen up. Then you head for the kitchen bare footed with eyes half-open. I love walking bare footed too. The cool ceramics refreshes our warm feet. You grab some cereals and lay down on my sofa before the T.V. Before I know it, it’s late afternoon. Oh, I hate summer! But the good thing about your apartment is that it has a big balcony with a swing in it. The river nearby makes the weather in summer bearable.







Your cell phone rings and you pick it up. I see your face cheer up when you talk to that woman on the phone. I frown and draw closer trying to hear what she is saying to you. You agree on meeting her tomorrow. I fight an outraging urge of snatching your phone and throwing it to the wall to turn it into million pieces. You hang up with a shade of a smile still on your mouth. Now, I have the urge to hit you on your solid head. Ummm, no, that would hurt you! I will just punch you on your broad chest. I do not think my small fists will cause any remarkable pain to your strong chest, will they? I drop the idea and follow you to the grand balcony. You sit on the swing and softly sway it. You light a cigarette and stretch your left arm on the back of the swing. I stand behind you trying to inhale all the smoke you exhale. I do not want to have this cloud of smoke around you because it would hurt your lungs. I think how much I envy this smoke because for a moment it was inside you … into the deepest parts of your chest, near your heart.







I notice three new grey hairs on your coal-black hair. I close my eyes in pain fighting a crazy desire to hold your most endearing head and kiss the three grey hairs. I leave the balcony, enter the hall and sit on the floor behind the glass so that I can still see you. Getting too close from you paralyzes my thinking abilities. What should I do now with this competition surfacing? Shall I announce my presence? But I cannot! Only you can make me visible when you want me strong enough. What a heavy heart I have? I rest my head on the ceramics trying to cool my burning cheeks. I unwillingly open the gate for the rush of tears while trying to control my sobs. A small pool is formed beneath my face. I quickly wipe off my tears when I see you stand up, turn around the swing and stand still before the glass looking at the reflection of your face on it. I draw closer and stand on my toes so that my face would coincide with your face. The reflection of your face on my invisible face. The glass between us. Can you see me? You frown and narrow your eyes. My heart beats so fast and I hold my breath. I cannot take the pressure any more. I gasp for air, put my hand on my mouth to silence a cry and I run to hide in your bedroom. I hear myself saying from between my teeth: “Stupid! I blew the chance of being visible!” I draw closer to the bedroom door and I see you searching the hall for something you thought you saw. I bit my trembling lips and sigh. I draw back into the bedroom quickly when I see you heading towards it. Your disappointed, angry movements give me pain in the heart. You cannot see me now. I just slide off your room when I see you throwing your tense body on the vast bed.







Would the cool breeze in the balcony lighten up my load? I stretch my shivering body on the swing and look at the sky. It is night already, and the sky is filled with million stars. A distant half moon on the very right end of the sky sends me its consoling light. Why did I run? Have I grown used to taking care of you without being noticed?  Is it the fear of being visible? Is it the fear of needing and being needed? I look at the silent stars and ask them: “Tell me what to do? Should I fight for him? Should I fight my scared self to become visible to him? Should I fight that woman who called this afternoon to win him?” I get no answer. Now I know that my being visible does not lie only within your hands. We are in this together. It takes both of us to draw the road we want to take. I turn in the swing to find a piece of paper beneath me. It is a note you wrote without me noticing it. I read with a whisper: “Would the moon fill the need for a dim, distant star?!” I close my eyes and open them to read your note again to make sure I am not dreaming. Do you need me? Have you started feeling me without even seeing me? I put my hand on my jumping heart trying to silence its maddening beats. I take your pen that you left on that small table next to the swing and write under your line: “The dim, distant star would turn into the sole, shining light in your sky when your need turn into longing … desperate hunger!” I neatly fold the piece of paper, hold it to my chest and start lulling myself to sleep. Before falling asleep, I hear the breeze whispering in my ears: “Weave your dreams, with hopes and moonbeams.”



Mermaid

25/03/06