Dear Orange,
How are you? Sometimes it feels like I see only blue. You rise and fall before I get a report. Reaching out to me just in time for some comfort. You found it waiting in new nostalgic domains, it's presence griping tight your quickly pulsing veins. Bringing a new world slowly into sight, I come running after you long into the night. Hiding in the shadows is when you're at you're best. the shimmering hues will remain unknown to the rest.
Saturation remains a complex tool, especially since it's power can be so cruel. Always the beholder who feel the most guilt. I'll wrap you up in forgiveness, the warm love filled quilt. Your turning away is a subtle reaction. My clear sight forgets the common fractions. 22 16 11 and 8; what comes next is still up for debate. The math itself is easy to do but for infinite vision I walk before the dew.
Your return to me is a sweet and subtle rebirth, you're smile fills me to the brim with mirth. One day I know our time will come. That day we'll say forever has just begun. So for now it's patience ill try and practice , waiting for our souls to coalesce. The question is how do I say farewell? And how do I remove my heart from your spell?
With all the love we can possibly share, farewell from your truth loving bear.
Tamahl Shahib Rahaman - I'll come back for you like the famous Khan.
{T}
Me, Myself and I
- Bearing Slowly Burning Sage
- Brooklyn, NY, United States
- I want to philosophize through poetry. Unfortunately one lone thinker will only manage to wrap himself up in a shell. Please be a heavy and worn hammer, striking against my outer most provisions until you break through or lay broken. Just promise me these 2 things: 1. If I crack first, help rebuild me but do not rebuild me yourself. 2. If you crack first, please accept my humble aid in the rebuilding of your path; but do not let me take over.
I really like the experimental epistolary style here. I also think its enigmatic nature is intriguing. It's difficult to get a sense of who or what is being addressed, i.e. an orange, or a Mr. Orange, or a person whose essence is orange though they tend to display blue. ~ Mysh
ReplyDeleteThanks. I'm not sure myself who Orange is myself. It started out as the color then became the sun, a person, an actual orange, etc...
ReplyDeleteI've experimenting with the idea of things all being one and the same regardless of how different they are.
I especially like the line in the first bit about chasing orange into night.
ReplyDeleteI am really into correspondence, writing letters on paper and sending them. Try turning the simple act of communication into an excersize in poetry. I find it easier to write when I have someone I am writing to. Then I am expressing myself to someone, rather than it being kind of masturbatory
I'll take your advice; I definitely enjoyed the exercise. I write much better when I'm simply expressing myself, or masturbating, then I am when I send correspondence.
ReplyDeleteVeiw a few other pieces signed with a {T} and let me know how you feel about my prose, verse, and content. I find holding in creativity until I find or create an individual outlet leads to censored work. Sometimes poems, speeches, monologues and the like need to be expressed for their own sake and for the sake of the reader, listener, viewer. Writing to someone or something automatically creates a mood, that we as artists use to lure in our audience. Even if the end result is a negative and the audience leaves upset, it was still designed to make them so. If everything they ever read, heard saw or experienced was specifically tailored to their taste, how could they ever learn true perspective? To view work that wasn't made for you to read (not in the taboo sense of classified or confidential) gives you the chance to be completely submerged into the writers world.
Glad you enjoyed it :-)