I know this room so well.
Cream walls, a clock on the wall and the furniture carefully arranged,
next to the window the bed filled with memories of endless love.
My wants, fickle wishes of a fool,
flashing images from an old film noir, forgotten, stored away for later.
But it is already gathering dust
so much dust, blinds the way.
And it is such a clear way. An obvious way.
I know this room so well.
The clock is never silent,
always reminding me the moments of the past,
already covered with dust, already put away.
The room, a vessle of the wishes of the love that would have been,
wishes of a fool, dusty old films, forgotten, stored away.
Now all I have is the room.
I am thinking about not long ago ... so long ago
Senses of a distant perfume, and yet so close.
Whispers in my ear of uncertain memories, doubtful memories
wishful reality that was not meant to be
staged for the big finale with no ending.
But the storm is almost over now,
and the mist is almost clear
you can see people going about their business
some walking fast, some running,
some staying idle staring at the dreams that were not meant to be
the kind of dreams that I no longer desire
the dreams that keep me awake.
But the night is over now, the morning light, and
Dark and humid is this night
and in the stillness of the quiet
shadows are passing by, making ugly noises of the past
disturbing the truthfulness of the now, of this very moment.
Late is the hour and yet the shadows remain.
Will they ever go? Life with the shadows is no life at all;
the shadows are cruel and distant, full of memories and pain
they have forgotten the meaning of happiness and colour; they are dark;
they have forgotten the love they used to have, the love they so eagerly swore with their existence.
Shadows of broken promises
weak shadows of unfulfilled love; empty love;
late is the hour and humid is the night
and the shadows linger in the dark desperate places of my mind.
I can sense the morning approaching
and the light will show the hidden corners that the night so cleverly concealed.
There is no place for shadows in the morning light.
tired eyes and the body broken, but nothing matters
as I sense the morning approaching
Theo, 31 May 2010
The night is jealous of your bright light
Your own dance perform in an ever lasting photo
Old frame but the picture endures
It endures like my memories
And the world revolves around them
A picture of dream that the day can put out
And you leave your scars behind
Looking for love in the highway
Cars passing by
People lost on their way to far away places
Running fast but with nowhere to go.
Cold night. Three in the morning
noises outside my window, keeping me awake
people having a good time.
But I remain still in my even colder room filled with memories of unresolved love.
Unjustified life. Endless love. So much of it.
And the night turns to light, the cold to warmth and I am awake.
I met the sweetest face, the calmest face, my dream.
Aren’t dreams meant to be of a different world?
What are you doing here dream?
Why are you here to warm my cold nights?
Love justified, love returned, love unqualified. Come what may.
But what are these noises disturbing my dream?
Noises of our daily life
people passing by, tasks to be served, expectations to be met.
And then the night turned cold again
no warmth in my arms and the kiss distant.
Are dreams meant to be of a different world?
Dream come back to me.
Dream come back to me.
Dreams are of this world.
I could hear the birds from outside and the foot steps of two men walking by my window
two men, one path and a sense of completion.
Shallow commitments of a fickle mind,
of a selfish mind,
false hopes of a fool man.
Deception and apologies – and the hurt so deep.
The sweetest lie, the biggest lie.
Lies are no more and the curtains are down
In the theatrical story of a not so magical journey
Bad actors, and the taste bitter.
Completion and the lies are no more.
So many lights in this house
and the many rooms filled with people, businessmen and politicians, activists and friends
a celebration of some sort
so many achievements
one celebration, one life.
But in the middle, a large room, the largest in the house, dark
no lights, no people, cold and forgotten
and the stale smell of memories of old
so much dust, covering the expensive glass from Venice, the leather bag from Florence and the cloths from Rome,
so much dust covering everything.
No one knows what is in this room
but everyone wonders.
One celebration, one life
busy people going in and out the house
but the lights in the large room are off
until the celebration is no more and the house is quiet again
no life, no celebration, no lights.
Hopes and fears of the unknown
Silence. So quite in the calm of the sounds around me.
It’s been a long time
In the midst of cold and unfulfilled promises
silence takes new dimensions
Extreme dimensions of darkness and light
And the faces that I know become the saving grace of tomorrow.
So much to look forward to
So much to care for
And so many people to meet and greet
Time goes by and the shadows hide in the corners of my room.
Paths that lead to doors with great promises and fears
Where will this journey end?