Idinraha unshackled...

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April 12, 2006

What remains

You know it's boiling in you, it moves within all of you, every inch, every little parcels of your skin, inside your vaines, as the carousel of blood moves on , it swooshes inside you and stabs you in every corner, in every part of you. You sit , stone faced, wondering where the words have gone, how is that the thoughts carry over in your mind but the miss the connection and the voice box does not sing, no movements there , all silent, the words do not come, but you know they are boiling in you.

The images are registered the scents are breathed inside, the senses are on fire, the heart beats, the blood leaps in bounds and whooshes, the eyes see, the voices are heard the thoughts are shaped and the words are chosen but, the distance between you and uttering any words have become so far, very far. you are lit, but the words do not come and the silence covers you like death in black patches of blinding indifferences, you are muted and you need so much to say something...............

I am dangerous without my words, my movements are labored, and the anguish that fills my head like a tropical depression that sits within the air, covering the sky with black clouds that move silently in their elements of angst and longings........ I empty al the closets and throw all my belongings out the window, I wash myself over and over taking long showers, and I wash again. its the sin , the guilt, the boredom and this heavy burden of living an accidental life. I check my license, and compare the picture to the face in the mirror, yes this is where I live, who I am and no other alternatives, and that finality , of no other alternative, this long sentence , this cumbersome everydayness of my days, my aging face, and all the memories of our days in the sun, where we frolicked close to a love in hand, to belonging and to tender mercies of the ones who loved us, and yet, what remains..............

No, no its not Kafka, it's not bleak, or black, but it sits on you like the dull weight of a Sunday afternoon. the black stands, but the grays will hunt you, they stay and define you, the boredom of their hues, the idleness, the impotent ways of their days, fruitless, empty, like a cold cavern that leads to nowhere, and it only echoes the sounds of the distances. I feed me colors in sweet hues and liquidize me within the emergence of the colors within my skin, and learn the cheerful intention I expected are poisonous to human dignity.

They do not know, I tell myself, they will not understand, they do not see, they cant, I repeat again, but why all the effort, I don't know, I guess we do what we can with what remains.

Posted by Idinraha at 05:02 PM | Comments (0)

Paper planes

The door was not locked, we had to dare and let our curiosity take over our fears, I was not brave, but I knew to leave I had to pass the door, an open door, but what was out there?, outside the silence of the room, life was moving on ward, going on toward forever, and all we needed was a seat. The red Bus stopped by the gate and the door opened, I heared the chorus of the songs I had written the hyman, the swet voices of angels and all the paper planes that flew that day in the blue clear sky.

We stood by the window as the bus moved on, and looked back to what we left behind, all the days that had brought us there to that moment in time, then we sat back as the bus's movement lulled us to sleep.

I have painted a portrait of you, used all my glossy oil paints. I gave you brown hair with amber highlights that shine in the sun, your white porcelain skin, your red poutting mouth, your brown misty eyes, and I could somehow betwen the movements of my fingers and the thoughts of you bring all the love I wanted you to have for me in your face, and my troubled heart was so feverishly amused when your face was done. But......... now you are hung on the wall and every night, as the fires still burn, I miss you and raise my glass of wine to you, and walk the lonely walk upstairs to our bedroom.

This kind piece of steel, and all the intentions that has brought it, in this package, this shape to me, cool, gray silver, with sharpened edge, used for every day grooming of men, while they hurry to their work, how did they know, this kind edged silver, this sliver of sharp edges, and how it sits on my skin as I cut myself in repeated exact paralle lines, and the pin it brings the sweet soothing pain it brings to me, in its cutting intervals, as the red blood gushes, and my heart beats faster, and for a moment , for a second for a beloved atornity, I forget my heartache, as I cut and stop and cut again, managing my pain.

Posted by Idinraha at 04:28 PM | Comments (0)

Paper planes

The door was not locked, we had to dare and let our curiosity take over our fears, I was not brave, but I knew to leave I had to pass the door, an open door, but what was out there?, outside the silence of the room, life was moving on ward, going on toward forever, and all we needed was a seat. The red Bus stopped by the gate and the door opened, I heard the chorus of the songs I had written the hymn, the sweet voices of angels and all the paper planes that flew that day in the blue clear sky.

We stood by the window as the bus moved on, and looked back to what we left behind, all the days that had brought us there to that moment in time, then we sat back as the bus's movement lulled us to sleep.

I have painted a portrait of you, used all my glossy oil paints. I gave you brown hair with amber highlights that shine in the sun, your white porcelain skin, your red pouting mouth, your brown misty eyes, and I could somehow between the movements of my fingers and the thoughts of you bring all the love I wanted you to have for me in your face, and my troubled heart was so feverishly amused when your face was done. ......... now you are hung on the wall and every night, as the fires still burn, I miss you and raise my glass of wine to you, and walk the lonely walk upstairs to our bedroom.

This kind piece of steel, and all the intentions that has brought it, in this package, this shape to me, cool, gray silver, with sharpened edge, used for every day grooming of men, whole they hurry to their work, how did they know, this kind edged silver, this sliver of sharp edges, and how it sits on my skin as I cut myself in repeated exact parallel lines, and the pain it brings the sweet soothing pain it brings to me, in its cutting intervals, as the red blood gushes, and my heart beats faster, and for a moment , for a second for a beloved eternity, I forget my heartache, as I cut and stop and cut again, managing my pain.

Posted by Idinraha at 04:28 PM | Comments (0)

April 06, 2006

Where have you been? where are you going ?

I am actually hiding in a bunker, Yes of course its the profiling, The face, the beard, I looked suspicious and they took me. I told them, Its not my fault, I have been born with this face, yeah, I could shave the beard, but I like my beard, of course for good reason, it covers most of the mug I have been stuck with. I told them I am a long devoted conservative, who has voted for W, both times, but they said its the look in my eyes. How could they say that, I have soul full eyes, although they called it, The lost look in your eyes. I am a recluse I told them, I am mostly living in my own geography, I don't call anyone, and I have no close friends. They thought that is more reason, I might be probably hiding something.

But you know, they did not mistreat me, no physical torture. They even gave me a Quran, and asked me what they can do to make me comfortable. Nothing, I told them, I can not be comfortable, its not in me. They even got me a Doctor, and he asked me many questions, and at the end, he looked more confused. He offered Prozac, and I refused, I told them Paxil is my poisen. Any way, it was like a dream, but it was real. The doctor thinks I am severely disillusioned, and emotional. I told them actually that is the way I am, and have been the whole time I know myself. I told them about the site, and they laughed, another Blogger they said. I blamed Choob for it, but hey they think he is alright.

Any way, they knew everything about me, and after holding me for a while they said I could leave, but I refused. I felt so safe there. amongst all my Republican friends, and there is something about men in uniform that I like..........

I don't know where I have been and I don't know where I am going, I feel I am trespassing and one of these days, they will find out, that I am living some one else's life. I saw that new book,IMPOSTER, I thought it was my biography, but it was about W.

Its the expectation that hurts you, its trying to find pieces of you in others that leaves you disappointed and tired. Dr B, thinks my eyes are sad these days, I am just tired. living on the edge takes a lot out of you, and my old body has had it with me. The other day after having lunch with Dr B, I was feeling good, it was like therapy with me, and it bugles my mind that she sits across from me and listens, and she laughs at my many misadventures. She think I should write my memoirs. I am not that disciplined, I tell her. Any way, after saying good by to her, I was going to the parking lot, and suddenly ly I lost my balance, my ankle twisted and I was down on the ground, with a thorn pants and a bloodied knee, and mostly very embarrassed. hah, it serves me write, feeling good always ends up hurting me.

Don't, don't take it personally, you should not, I told Dr B, that is the way I am, I like to disappear, once in a while, I like to cut all the phone lines and turn in. Although I am so turned in by now, that my head is way up my nether regions. My mother was used to this, and used to say, he has problems with himself, just leave him alone. Mother knows best. Everything takes a lot of effort these days, I have to talk myself into everything I do. I got new glasses and seeing everything so clear did not help either. But I paid lots of money for it, so I am stuck with my new glasses and my new clear vision. I miss my stars, I like the new hours, with long days, so when I go home, I can see the sunset on the lake, it is so beautiful, that sometimes it makes me cry. OK, I know I am too emotional, but I told you for me there is no way out, so I am stuck.

I have been writing more poems lately and posted them on Poets. com, I am trying to talk myself into posting them here soon, very soon. I am not ignoring you my friend, I am just busy, living and at this point , I need to be by myself.
No hard feelings, just a little TIME OUT. I don't know I might even end up in the Chamgaran Well in Qum Iran. Its just a sabbatical as you guys say. Life is interesting.

Posted by Idinraha at 05:35 PM | Comments (1)