POETIC REVIVAL

I was falling falling in darkness falling in slow motion there was utter loneliness nothing but the darkest dark darkness and cold and I was falling  It may have been a nightmare I don't know there was no end to the fall to the darkness it could have been a few moments but I felt that I had been falling all my life blackness was all I could see There was nothing before that I felt that there would be nothing after Maybe this is what death is like Maybe.

Me a little girl of seven My little brother three and a half sitting on two small chairs by the window looking up to the sky It's snowing. we stare and stare until we feel we are going up up up into the white sky. the snow is falling we are rising we are on our way to a distant planet. we are giddy  holding hands  but we won't stop staring we must have known that if we stop our gaze we will fall down down to earth. holding hands happy staring at the snowing sky.      

I miss you mom. It's been too long  You don't even come to my dreams. Were you simply too tired? Are you happy now that you are gone? I want to remember you happy With your blue eyes smiling like when I came to visit When you had bought something pretty. Did I tell you that I loved you, enough? I hope you are with dad Is he making you laugh? Hope to see you again mom. I hope to see you again.

I ought to write something to express myself to write is to think thinking is what makes me feel human like I exist I should not ramble but that is all I have my mind, a jumble of incoherent thoughts I think of time, how fast it scape's I fear of dying with an unfinished life to die young is tragic but to die old, yet unlived is a catastrophe I measure life in accomplishments these days you can be nothing, short of brilliant in anything You cant just be good you have to be god even in madness you have to be spectacular you see, life is so difficult.

I don't want to be the person who is not happy unless she is miserable, don't want to feel like this at all, ever. Don't want to explain why I can't, I've done it too many times to me it's obvious to anyone who knows me it should be. I wonder how other people feel? normal people, do they think why they are here? what their purpose in life is? do they question their existence? do they constantly want to know if life is worth living? Or are they just enjoying the journey. Are their days filled with fun things to do places to go, people to see? How dose it feel not to think all the time not to question everything not to measure, to weigh, to compare try to find the good always careful not to hurt not to destroy, to pollute to alter try to create something beautiful, meaningful, lasting anything to breath deeply to breath and not smell despair how dose it feel?

Sometimes, it's the way that sunlight picks through the curtains sometimes it's a familiar smell I can't recall a song, a melody heard from afar, tonight it was the city lights flickering in the distant as I was driving on the 210 they all transport me home for one magical, precious moment. Returning from summer vacation in the crowded back seat of our car tired and sleepy eyed we would smile in the dark when the city lights would appear beyond the hills thinking that we were almost home that our beds were waiting for us warm and cool at the same time. I know, and yet I don't know why i t makes me sad to think of home maybe because that home exists only, in my memories like my parents, it's long gone maybe my now is so bleak that the past always seems better happier, kinder somehow But I know better Because I remember The summers of suffocating boredom in our small town When the library was all we had...

It's noon and the sunlight is white The heat hanging heavy Cool sheets smelling like lavender   The air fragrant with cigarette smoke and tea My mom is taking a siesta forcing me to lay by her side   But the Summer day is so full of promise I can't sleep   I crawl soundlessly out of her reach   Then spring to my feet and run clutching my doll,  Mumbling sweet love I'm the momma now  Strolling  in my childhood garden   Drunk with happiness and smell of Jasmin   I'm free

Maybe it's because you were conceived with passion with pent up longing of separation maybe because you were my offering to the alter of love maybe I love you because you will carry us through generations because you have his logic & my fire I love you because you are pure unspoiled unique You are love My love

I love red wine after a few glasses I even love myself I'm forgiving I'm kind I become philosophical and forgive every one's offense's no one is mean tonight no harsh words spoken only cressing complements My husband of thirty four years is dashing my reflection on the wine bottle is dreamy I should drink red wine more often.

  Fooling myself   Fooling everyone Faking a smile   Hiding in the mundane   Not looking in the mirror   Not wanting to face myself   Longing for solitude   To hear myself breathe   Listen to the falling rain   The fire crackling  Ice melting in the glass. Needing to appease  denying sincerity   Disowning  serenity   Living like a fool. Why the torture                                                                                        W ho cares?                                              ...

I'm turning the soil my body is weary, my legs like lead sweat dripping from my forehead gripping the shovel with callused hands digging the hard winter soil I'm tired and my arms hurt. Flowers are waiting to be planted spring is coming the soil is ready Make your plans take your trips fall in love sing your songs do your deeds jump from plains swim in waterfalls climb your Everest plant your flowers. All the things you dare dream about everything you care for when there is still time in the spring of your life before your body is old before your soul is tired if you don't you will regret and regrets are painful more painful than anything.

I wasn't there for your birth I didn't see you grow Never got to know you Never even saw I loved you because of her I loved you because of shared blood I heard you were beautiful a free spirit wanting to brake away to be free and you did you broke away from your planet soared high into the sky you became a star a shooting star but you fell you fell burning burning with your desire for life and love left us with questions unanswered left your dreams for us your unfulfilled promises your unrealized life you were a star our shooting star

I look up and I see my father's reflection in the window reading with a cigarette in hand glasses perched on his nose a cup of coffee on the table, but it's my reflection I'm looking at, and I miss him. I'm cooking with fragrant herbs chopping, dicing, mincing washing pots and pans as I cook my wedding band making music ping ping ping this is how I remember my mother through the smells of my cooking the sounds of my kitchen and the taste of our meals. Now I'm sewing something, cutting the fabric carefully placing my left hand on the cloth using the scissors with my right it's my oldest sister's hands that I'm looking at when I would sit impatiently by her side as she made me pretty little girl dresses. I see them in me, I see me in them I look like all nine of my brothers and sisters I look like my mom and dad I am them, and they are me, this is our blood this is love.

Don't ask me how I am   Don't ask how I'm doing   Don't bother asking how I feel   I am raw with emotion It hurts too much, it hurts to feel, to think  Asking is like picking at my wounds Making blood flow like my tears   I am one soul living two lives   Feeling for two, hurting for two   Going mad.

It's come again, this dammed wind  rattling my nerves and windows, scattering leaves and lives, braking my favorite potted plants turning the garden chairs upside down littering my pool  with flower petals and bird feathers, tossing my hair and thoughts every which way,  howling, roaring, wailing like a madman, protesting life's injustices, flinging all restraint  whimpering like a defeated child  dying, exhausted coiling around itself, winding down, spent weeping.   This crazy, insane, lunatic wind its' me, I feel sorry, for this wind, and me.    

When the pomegranate tree in my back yard   Comes to life in March   The first things you see are the reluctant buds on delicate branches   The reddish green leafs come in become greener and greener as the Spring goes on.   Soon the little red flowers are in bloom looking like small old lady coin purses   The flowers become the fruit Intense blood red that grow and grow     If not picked They burst or fall to the ground with a big thud splashing blood and seeds around.   In an old Armenian folk song it says,   "Two brides are bathing in the river,  their bodies shimmer in the sun like pomegranate seeds, translucent"  People made beautiful poetry even amidst misery .

Another night like many others When sleep has fled my eyes Telling me to stay awake until I promiss To have happy dreams Even my eyes know They are afraid of the nightmares That ambush as soon as I close my eyes They refuse to shut It's better to watch TV Movies are not as scary as real life.

I cup my hands and take a handful of water  wishing I was at the beach I let it pour out through my fingers feeling caressed I'm sitting by the pool, dipped my feet both the water and the hot sun sparkling I like blue Everything could be blue cold cool fresh  comforting I need something Don't know what I have not found it yet It's not in my backyard it's not at the beach    

    I'm Depressed Down Somber Blue Depressive Depression Blankness Emptiness So what I don't care Sleep sleep sleep Sit and stare and stare Think  incessantly Like seeing a movie In your head Perpetually Black and white No ending no beginning Playing games online For hours and hours Insomnia Insomnia  Every night What's the point Sitting in a crowd Felling lonely Feeling like crying When everyone is laughing Not talking Not eating Not bathing Hating Hating everything Everyone Tired So very tired.

Life is a river  I'm a stone among millions... drifting sliding along in the rush I go where it takes me through the meadows into the jungle over the mountains  diving underground hurling down a fall  powerless and passive in the mercy of the mighty river grinding me incessantly rounding my edges surrendering my cast  making me obey more and more I become a pebble same as all the rest until I become a grain of sand  until I turn to dirt I am dirt suspended eternally in the bottom of the sea.