the sun hangs from an invisible string,
the glassless window is opened,
the chirping sounding from dying birds:
today must be like yesterday.
when i learn to fly with these broken wings,
i want to take a journey to the sun,
and cut he string from which it droops,
before it falls into a state of narcolepsy.
yet still, i wonder,
does the sun dream like i do at night,
when darkness engulfs all light?
the moon overlooks land with blinded sight,
the stars give out their last glow,
from the looks of it, yes, so very unfortunate,
hope has been kidnapped by fate.
it's late.
this symptom may be our only cure.
in slumber, everything is ideal.
imaginary, too.
(c)2003 mai kozai
silence is also music. {5:42 PM}
*sidenote: this is a poem that many will not understand, even if you know me really well. iteven jumps from a third person perspective to a first person. a thorough explanation can be given upon request. however, i would love it if you tried to decode this yourself at first. it has more than one meaning after all, poetry. ~enjoy.
writer's block
[puts down pen]
why i cannot write anymore,
it boggles me.
why i cannot voice freely this feeling,
it is a mystery.
[picks up pen]
nothing comes to mind,
nothing is worth writing.
no-- there must be something
that will fuel this pen.
[starts to write]
words, just words.
if they are just words,
why does my hand hesitate?
do they know what i know not?
maybe a tragedy,
a form of misery, perhaps.
or something so sacred
a mentioning with media could breed chaos.
[stops to write]
[places pen on desk]
or perhaps that words
cannot do justice
of the beauty
of the man
walking
away
from
me.
or maybe it is the warm caress
wringing all the air out of me,
yet leaving me warm.
[picks up pen one last time]
your middle name is happiness.
silence is also music. {12:23 AM}
confused about time
each minute spent
seems so short and insignificant.
sometimes useless, these minutes.
but each sixty seconds accumulate into
hours and days.
but even then: break it back down,
only mere seconds.
is this the way i will roam
a circular road,
familiar faces, echoing voices?
to spend time with you,
will cost me a price.
worthwhile or not,
i've already paid my dues.
idle, i am busy.
frantic, i am calm.
for each tick, you irritate me.
but for each tock you soothe me.
and time drifts me off to sleep.
(c) 2003 mai kozai
silence is also music. {12:05 AM}
the poet
mai sharona.
december 5, 1984.
davis, california.
a sucker for flowers.
