heedless-bard

[heedless-bard]

Dearest Plath,

I woke up at the hour you went to sleep today. Both of us, without ringing alarms. Quietly.

Was it to write to you my ceremonial last words, hoping that this time you'll read them and go with a smile, or perhaps not go at all?

Or was it to not forget that your sleep was many mornings ago, and my sleeplessness, many nights late?

It keeps coming back to me, the thought of you lying breathless; breathless, early in the morning— which no longer meant little breath but rather no breath, even though you still had/have an air about you.

They say that something changes when one goes and the the other is left behind; when one fades, something else appears. But it must not be in its old space; not a replacement. It must be something invisible, like the emptiness of Space. But it also must be beyond cosmic. Something more human?

To be seen perhaps in the aftermath of tragedy. Like soreness travelling inside us; making us trip— insecure and faithless.

A parasite, waiting for reason to depend on, when none exists.

How can there be logic in what we do after we lose? How do we see clearly through pain? How do we walk when we're mourning?

Do you have an answer?

You answered all your life. Writing on behalf of yourself. Confessing, as they say; and yet, they paint you in your death and forget your life.

Grief makes us bilingual.

It makes everything a before and after.

It shadows everything in the glory of absence, when it is the presence that we must learn to celebrate.

We translate our pain. Often poorly, but who's checking?

Like they translate each of your words as one step after another, towards your undoing.

Is there any answer to it? Is it because you were a woman? Because men die rationally and women, in sentiment?

This irony exists. I know it because when two people are living, there is something bitter between them and the truth of mortality escapes in their anger and when one of them disappeares in death, we change.

Grief makes two of everything. Us and them, and the scheme of life that one day must end.

It is the how-it-ends that we talk about. Endlessly.

Without figuring out a way to be reborn, we drag the dead out of their coffins and nail them with strings. And make a play out of it.

For the world to watch. And eventually change.

Translate.

Poorly.

[heedless-bard]

I visited MKT today. Treading across the narrow streets adorned with Tibetan flags and prayer wheels, I chanced upon a tiny shop that sold gorgeous little trinkets, jewellery, perfumes and tapestries. I spotted a bunch of colourful dreamcatchers there, and it instantly reminded me of something; a sweet memory. You bought a yellow dreamcatcher from Church Street, and hung it over by the rear view mirror of your Jeep. A yellow dream catcher as bright as your spirit. My kindled spirit, my happy soul, my heart, my darling sunflower. I hope you are existing happily, and living your life with immense curiosity and doing your work with utmost passion. I hope you always do. My vibrant shades of rainbow. I love you.

02/03/23

[heedless-bard]

I wish you all the wonderful things life has to offer always. You're my rising sun and sunlight moving. The gentle caress against my cheek of the plumeria fallen from its branch in rain. I love you and I miss you. Be well, my darling heart.

[heedless-bard]

[heedless-bard]

Someday, a Wednesday

Golden October mornings, sunflower fields, weld smoke,

or all things pure, passionate, and wild;

what are you made of, I wonder.

Lava flows,

the intimacy of being understood,

or the vastness of your silence -

what burns more, I wonder.

The fall of Rome,

an empty bookshelf,

or prayers left unheard -

what you look like when you cry, I wonder.

Breathing Plath's poetry,

Woolf's suicide letter

or you looking right through me;

what hurts more, I wonder.

Ocean water under the feet,

a soft kiss on the throat,

a lullaby sung in the night,

or all things soft, beautiful, and bright;

what makes you happy, I wonder.

Head thrown back at the concrete whilst facing the stars,

reading Rumi on a hilltop,

the resurrection of the morning,

or a tiny whisper from God,

what will unite us on a Wednesday, I wonder.

- m.

[heedless-bard]

There's a swallowtail flying around my backyard and it keeps frequenting the flowering Plumeria tree, and I thought that it was strange that it should come back to the same flower over and over and over again. But then I berated myself; what a silly thought to have. Just because you observe something beautiful once, doesn't mean you don't want to look at it again and again. This is how I often feel about you. How silly it would be to see your smile once and never try to make it appear again.

With you, it is always summer. With you I am the swallowtail, and you are the flower, blooming in the garden of my heart, who I revisit, over and over.

[heedless-bard]

Today was a difficult day for me. I wish I can tell you that all I did today was sleep and cry. But even in my sleep I wasn't happy. My dreams were terrible and they all somehow involved you.

How I wish you would reach out to me. Just a simple "I care for you, I'm sorry I can't be there, hope you're doing well." I know I can't rely on other people to make me feel better, but maybe hearing from you will make things just a little bit more bearable.

#letters to you

[heedless-bard]

Still groggy from last night's crying. Sick and despondent, consumed in self-destructive negative emotions. God. I miss you. I miss you silently and desperately, experiencing with each day, my increasingly bitter hollowness. I need sleep.

[heedless-bard]

I'll tell you a secret

all of my dreams taste like poison

and it feels like

I'm walking around with blood in my mouth

Cold snow in July

Car accident, we're drowning

I'm losing you where dirt meets water

You're terminally ill

long hair

long hair

no hair

You ask me to take you to the river

You're looking down from your window

I beg you to look into the sun

tight hugs that feel so real

You're leaving with silence

I want to scream at the top of my lungs

yell in your face

shake your shoulders

but I stay silent

As soon as I wake up

It's already too late.

[heedless-bard]

I want to go berry picking with Plath 🌱🦉🐞🐝

#sylvia plath

[heedless-bard]

I'm getting worse at the way I speak to myself, if not that, then definitely not better.

I struggle so much in my head. A weight that makes me heavy as I walk. I want to be lighter, to be free.

[heedless-bard]

I want to be the sea and come to you.

I want to be the wind and blow to you.

Even if you don't feel me.

Even if you don't dream of me.

I want to draw you.

I want to dream of you.

- m.

[heedless-bard]

Sunflowers

delicate, yellow petals

facing the sky

communicating gratitude

to the sun's rays of light

exuding joy and ease

even in summer's heat

that sometimes wilts its leaves

the Earth's wildflower

and Van Gogh's emblem of glee.

- m.

#my sunflower 🌻

[heedless-bard]

There is another world, there is a better world. There must be.

#nature

[heedless-bard]

Dear flower,

That night when you read Old Ireland to me on your silent rooftop, laying on the cold concrete, I saw a glint in your eyes that shone like a diamond. You smiled.

#my star

[heedless-bard]

louise glück, from averno

[heedless-bard]

I want it to be simple and beautiful but it is painful and complicated.