cure

i’m not your cure.
i’m not sorry i’m not your cure
that i can’t take away all the pain you feel
all the betrayal, rejection, and inexplicable cruelties of this world we live in
i cannot wave my magic wand
nor work hard at loving and make all the hurt unhappen.
trust me i know, i learned this by failing
on you.

i’m sorry i promised i will be your fixer
put all the shattered pieces together and make you whole again
complete again
as if i knew you were ever complete, that your pieces were not in the galaxy somewhere
where in dreams you, only you can grab at them floating and fit them where you know they belong
like a jigsaw piece
from your childhood.

no, i’m not your cure
my love is not shaped to fill all your dark and angry cracks
it can no longer feed your insatiable caverns
and you know this is not a fair fight
hands and daggers, daggers and hands
i’m cut to pieces by the trying to mend you.

i’m sorry, i thought i could save you
pull you out of your misery
chase away your daemons
hold you like my babies and croon to you
everything will be alright, everything will be alright, everything will be alright
but sometimes, it won’t
for a very long time
while we’re looking to find ourselves.

and so,
although i am made out of unbreakable things
a woman
who can carry dust and dirt, stardust and broken shards of the universe
and sprout flowers like the earth
and sprout nectar from my breasts
although when i am beaten down, trashed, torn asunder
i grow wings instead
and flourish, and flourish, and flourish
i can’t cure your sickness.

i am not your healer
i am not your guru
i’m not your happiness, or your sadness, or your dream, or your future
i’m not your mystery
i am not your question
i am not your answer.

©Tsion B., 2016

i had a talk with fear

i am afraid.
fear buzzes in my head like a plane perpetually circling the runway
promising to take off to faraway places.

fear whispers in my ears:
where would you live, my dear?
how would you live, my dear?
what would your children feel?
what would they think of you?
how would their lives turn out?
are you ready, my dear?
fear whispers in my ears.

i sleep awake.
awake i sleep.

i dream of lions chasing me
i dream of eagles chasing me
i dream of fires chasing me…

spirits talk to me as i lay half awake
names of people and things
locations, coordinates, maps of places I’ve never been
i write them down in shaky hands
trying to memorize faces painted in dripping ink
as if it has just rained on them
smudges lost in my crumbling imagination.

every person i meet is a messenger
a number on a wall
a peeking sign from a deck of cards
a bold scripture in a passage of microscopic words.

what will you do without this pain?
what will you do with your spare energy?
what will you do without regret?
without resentment and hate?
what will you do? fear asks.

i do not know
my road is not certain.
i wade between euphoria and delirium.

a small cozy home with a yellow door
laughter, incense smoke, beaded curtains, christmas lights
goddess statues, mother mary, crystals and candles
an altar of victory
children, mud, puppies, unborn distant dreams
the rustle of papers as old pages turn
and sweet imperfection.

fear does not talk me out of my rumblings
she sits silently at the side of my bed
looking at me with an all knowing smirk
as if saying
what the hell are you waiting for then?

i am afraid
of losing this battle
of i told you so’s and cruel revenge.
things i cannot control
confrontations, public struggles, unfair judgement, bone-breaking hateful words.
standing out, standing down
heart-ache, depression, fast-speed fall into dark spirals of never ending depth.
and growing a tumor in my gut.

in the rare quietness of my soul-
i hear fear whispering-
you have time.
you have all the time in the world.
and if you stop all this nonsense, you will see
you have arrived, my dear.

i struggle to grasp what this could mean,
as i do with every sign,
with every unicorn that was thrown at me
while knowing
like i have always known.

©Tsion B., 2016

the dream calls for me

sometimes my heart wants to dance.
out of my chest, into the world
when the dream calls for me.

i walk away to the ancient woods
the spongy decay of fallen leaves meet my aching back
i dare the sun to find me.
i close my eyes open my soul
my life passes fleetingly with the struggling mist.

orange groves banana trees
creepers and lemongrass
the distance between me and the clouds
is a fig tree
but I forget that
like I forget the power a name has.

it all seems possible now
like lifting up my groggy hands to touch the spider web that lies above my head
ever so softly
it almost feels like i’ve touched an empty space.

do you know how you can catch a thought?
like you can catch a fly, or dust, or cold?
open your mouth
stick out your tongue
and wait…
for a drop of water from a dusty withered leaf
and run away with it.
back to the warmth, back to the dream
back to the stretched out hands.

this is my redemption,
from where I lie to the other tree
the one with peeling bark and moss covered hands
from here to there my eyes open
and I travel back home
where love
is the only option.

© Tsion B., 2016

things i lost in a dream

lock away this passage
lock it please, i’m begging you
and throw away the key
in the depth of things, in the depth of cells
where i cannot find it
make sure i will not find it.

i am a child
i hold things in my dreams and wake up crying
thinking i have lost them
thinking, i’ll never get them back.

yesterday-
i burst through the invisible things
fighting to bury me
into your arms again, now, again
i am happiness
into your arms.

i am the butterfly on that flower,
trusting, resting, restless.
i see every breath from the leaves,
and the earth.

and now i’m here
between things i have lost in a dream
weeping, broken, breaking.

please throw away the key
make sure i can’t find it.

© Tsion B., 2015

a conversation with an introvert

i ask –
why me? with all my baggage, and secrets, and inaccessibility. i am open only marginally – sometimes – in imaginations and insane desire. i cross that bridge, briefly, as if in a dream, and come back – unsatisfied, undiscovered.

he answers –
‘you have this light about you.’
and i burst into a fit of giggles,
i cannot stop myself.
[on the way to work, a child smiles at me and holds out his arms. that is enough to make my day! i bounce away like the world belongs to me and i belong to it. i kiss it, i lick it – minute, pulsing]

what light!!????
are you by any chance referring to that thing i catch lurking when i walk by the mirror?
sometimes when i pretend not to be looking and my mind is empty,
resentment, pain and sadness leave me fleetingly!
that thing that hides the moment i wake up?
the one that makes you wish you were me – bathed in blissful radiance, and barely touching the ground?
but can’t you see i’ve lost that?

i want to know you he says…i want to be invisible and follow you around…i want to read your mind, dig all that dirt up and see you – you know – like no one ever has? can you allow me to do that? i want to say yes… i’m flattered…i’m scared…and i know he’ll take me – even after that. my heart expands with that knowledge. i feel the heat coming out of me and engulfing the stars, and him. i go out of hiding.

[i hide in every corner i can find…
in bedrooms and meeting rooms,
in words and in stories,
in dark, stinking pathways.
i hold on in secret because i know,
the fact that i’ve kissed a girl once upon a time
will definitely damage some well-cemented relationships.]

and now you say i have the light?
what are you trying to do?
uproot these days where i float by patching up loosened plaster from the walls?
school, work, traffic, home, rush rush rush, and hide in the other room
from the voice in my head that screams ‘what are you doing?’
and your ‘light’ comment?

just look at where that conversation brought us!

© Tsion B., 2015

Lemn Sissay reads ‘Invisible Kisses’ and I move on

I went to a reading by Lemn Sissay recently. His performance was phenomenal as always. He was recording a comedy show for a BBC Radio 4 programme entitled ‘Lemn Sissay’s Homecoming’. At the end of the show he said ‘let me read you a poem called invisible kisses; it’s way off script but I’ll do it anyway’. I felt my heart skip a little because this poem is probably my favourite from him.

While he was reading, I heard some of the ladies at the back sniffling and sobbing. My tears were threatening to break but I found out I’ve lost the innocence of abrupt emotions. I felt my heart breaking over and over again in those few minutes. It was brutal, almost masochistic that I glued myself to that seat, denying my need to flee. Listening to a love poem, I discovered that sometimes irony is just a realisation of procrastinated decisions!!

Lemn writes:

If there was ever one
Whom when you were sleeping
Would wipe your tears
When in dreams you were weeping;
Who would offer you time
When others demand;
Whose love lay more infinite
Than grains of sand.

If there was ever one
To whom you could cry;
Who would gather each tear
And blow it dry;
Who would offer help
On the mountains of time;
Who would stop to let each sunset
Soothe the jaded mind.

If there was ever one
To whom when you run
Will push back the clouds
So you are bathed in sun;
Who would open arms
If you would fall;
Who would show you everything
If you lost it all.

If there was ever one
Who when you achieve
Was there before the dream
And even then believed;
Who would clear the air
When it’s full of loss;
Who would count love
Before the cost.

If there was ever one
Who when you are cold
Will summon warm air
For your hands to hold;
Who would make peace
In pouring pain,
Make laughter fall
In falling rain.

If there was ever one
Who can offer you this and more;
Who in keyless rooms
Can open doors;
Who in open doors
Can see open fields
And in open fields
See harvests yield.

Then see only my face
In the reflection of these tides
Trough the clear water
Beyond the river side.
All I can send is love
In all that this is
A poem and a necklace
Of invisible kisses.

Here he is reading that night. Live recording!!