A poem's muse

#worldpoetryday2017

"The Rebellion"

I live somewhere between
The margins
Of a page
That has not been opened
For years.

Yellowed, but crisp
Like March sunshine
When it has freshly arrived
From the doors of
A mellow February
After going through
An icy January.

I am that word
That you marked with a small dot
Of your pencil.
Looked up a dictionary perhaps
But never bothered
To unsolve me for myself.
An unwritten meaning.

And like the countless frail flowers
That take March to April
I smile at every passerby
Just to fade the next morning
To be remembered,
If at all,
In the next spring.

I blotted the skin of paper.
Stabbed through its heart.
Dying to see myself etched
To be with thousands others
Fixed on a spot in a line.
A word
That now stands alone
Confused.

Like May, that is neither June nor April.
Roses are scarce
May always draws some blood.
Which June shares,
And July, washes.

I smell old
Ageless though
I wonder if you remember the time
When you laid eyes on me.
Ablaze,
Sultry.
Like August in the continent
Then mellowed
As September just announced its arrival.

I have the marks of a leaf
That you left
When you embraced me.
Tainted. Like my page.
I put my head upon
A misplaced bookmark
And rest.

I dream of an October
Red like Hibiscus
White like grass flowers.

I sit
Unmoved
Feeling your hands
Within my folds.

As November melts into December
And chilled winds try to
Enter the sealed room
I never flutter.
I never let the winds touch me.
And yet,
As I long for the moment you decipher me
Read me aloud
Touching me with you lips...
I also long
For the breeze
To be violent
Knocking me off my
Feigned sanity
And the pretense of order.
As I sleep
In a cover
That says
"The Rebellion".

Saba

Promiscuity of Innocence

In darkness' embrace,
I still hold on to light.
Promiscuity of innocence
The story of a thousand dusks...

As the light melts
Through valleys, goldened
Darkness creeps in
From the other end
Of the horizon

Somewhere in the heart of
The sky

I hold on to both
My demons, and my angels.

My demons bless me
While my angels curse.
In the red hue
Of the sunset
As I smoulder
My ashes
Turn the day into night.

I hold on to faith
Of a promised zephyr.
In a garden of a thousand sins
As the dusk retires.

~Saba

If

If truth would know

What truth looks like

Would truth not want to

Dress like a lie?

If life ever saw

The grime on its face

Would it not seek comfort

In death's embrace?

If light knew it's lost

And the darkness infinite

Would it not hide

In the corners of a night?

If I knew myself

And you could see you

Would you not hate me

As I would hate you...

An ignorant slave

To life's delights

I hold on to my wrongs

And name them right.

~Saba