drowning in the rain clouds June 6, 2007

it was a hot afternoon.
the sun was melting some old candles
lying in the corner of an antique wooden wall stand.

i hoped it would rain and cool down the flaming leaves of a 5 year old money plant
kept in a clay pot with warm water and steel nets
they were down, and i saw them lose color
and grow into pale shades of lime-sap. dull. dry.
their shapes lost, with excess moisture and burns.
much like how it was. like them, this day.
thirsty in a way.
crumpled and scratched. like molten bits of glass in a tray,
that had been handled badly and cursed to be brittle.
rapidly cooled. forcibly stretched.
filled with small air pockets and tanks.
it was meant to break and give up its stable form and state.
and the air inside
it never seemed to subside
it wanted to bulge and explore the outside
wouldn’t it love to explode?
but if it would, it would shatter
this thin glass.
strange laws.
physics and chemistry i guess.
but this was me. the glass.

eyes were dry
of constantly staring at inanimate objects
around the dull setting.
back, numb. from sitting on that steel chair
which was bought a few months back
in exchange for a nice cozy wooden one.

i had been trying to hold up some sand in the air.
but winds would blow it free
and set it flying to the west,
to the nearest ocean or a distant desert.
miles away.
waiting eagerly for this new batch of grains to arrive and add to its glory.
sand it was. an important element in the making of thin glass.

how it would change.
from brown dirt that sticks on to you without your intent,
to beauty, transparency and colored light
to be kept and praised
and polished with love and respect.

the bark infested with juicy insects and weed.
a time so rotten i’d say.
but it stood still. and seemed to be that way.
enjoying the company of its healthy parasites.
letting them draw all they want off its own body.
generous. pityful and trustworthy.

those hands were too lazy now
and the effects had started to grow stronger
they could no longer spin. or pinch
they were steady. as if everything had stopped
and as if someone stole the source of its energy
secretly during the middle of the day
without anyone noticing
thus was the day.

but nights.
most of the them were lost,
waiting desperately for a brighter day.
bright. hmmm.. is the sun up yet?
these candles just can’t seem to wait.