Meditation

{when this happens, everything seems possible}

As the flow was unfolding in my chest
The air forced in there by me,
I was feeling butterfly wings
delicately deploying
in my flesh.

My lips were almost shivering
from wanting to part in ecstasy
but in truth I was not moving
paralyzed,
and pleased.

My body was just sitting there
In a material fabric chair
but something both dense and heavy
was escaping
from my eyelids.

Passion and anger and hatred
on their way vaporizing
letting go of what's in
that needs
to go.

Stuck

{too much stress or not enough ability to cope with it. I have always wondered why I was so sensitive and whether it had to be a bad thing}

Let's pretend
I didn't write this

let's pretend
you don't know who I am
and let's pretend
you won't be reading it

I have no place to hide

My head is filthy filled
by a fog of nauseating mist
by a hate for a life that hates me back

I have a rage boiling silently
under the coats of fabric
under the flesh and the skin

I want an out from all of this
and there is no escape

I feel as stuck as I feel weak

Giving up or giving in

I can't seem to do either
I keep stayin' stuck in between

Paris - Amour impossible

{from my last stay in Paris in January. This city and all it represents moves me deeply. Having roots is good}

Stomach knot. Mixed feelings.
Leaving tomorrow.
One week in Paris equals a confused lady.
One home - two homes, I am not sure, was I ever sure?
Whirlwind of friends, hugs, memories, family.

Scarves, hats, boots.
In the cold streets I fly above the ground.
Tired, elated, I slap the wet asphalt.
I feel stylish, I feel pretty,
I feel all the looks on me,
I feel all the the city watching me,
Supporting me.

Engulfing in the mouth of the subway,
I gasp and I warp in the warmth of the core
Of the capital.
I go places at the speed of the people.
I bond with my roots,
I belong.
I talk and I joke in the language I was raised in,
I am witty with so much ease
I am me.

But

I could not have been
The star of my own show
It could not have lasted
I always fall from my throne.
An angry reality
Always seems to get back at me.

Parents, and the dirty reality
Bitter, sad, nostalgic and heavy.
There is no escaping
Being belittled,
Being imprisoned,
Wanted to be deleted.

I go back in hiding.
I go back to being
Another me in another country.
Speaking and writing other ideas.
Allowing myself to invent a new life
Where memories don't tie me down
Where the future is not written.

But Paris

I will be back

Soon

The aliens must laugh so hard

{written during my single period, after my separation from my first husband. I was rather confused with the world and feelings in general, and sex in particular. Not so much has changed since then}




All that energy misdirected
All that energy purely wasted

Years spent worrying (tears and yells)
from wonderful people
about wonderful people

who just can't communicate

People who feel lonely living
just feet apart from
people who feel just the same

but can't connect.

Love

Sex

mix 'em all (add 'em all)
confuse us all and leave us all
in the dark, panting
wondering
what it was all about.

We are clueless.

Kids with adults' bodies.

The aliens must laugh so hard
watching from above
the endless dance of this curious tribe.

And my heart is tired
and my body is confused
and my mind is sick.

Is there a way out?

Rocks on the ocean

{I feel like my highest level of happiness is reached when I give in to sensation rather than think... so much for being an intellectual}


Gliding on smooth rocks
Arms extended
To the skies

I tilt my head to the left
To the right
And I spin
I feel light

Maybe I’m going to fly!
I am dancing on the stone
My feet are floating
On air

The wind is my ally
And solitude is my friend
I am smiling

I hear nothing
And in my mind
There is only music

I will keep on spinning
Until I feel like falling
To the sky

My heart exploding in my chest
My temples swollen in ecstasy
My eyes closed over the world I want to forget
And a sigh of relief when I hit the sea

Nothing left . . . ?

{After crushing pain follows... nothing. The intensity of the void is proportional to the intensity of the pain. But is it really such a good thing?}


And I reach inside
A confused soul pulsates with timid echoes
Pink and tired, my poor heart looks a little sad
Like after a long fight
Against itself
Idle, finally, it can rest

I sit on the edge of the bed
My eyelids feel heavy
In my head, the hazy misty voices
Finally silent
And my chest like a peaceful ocean
The world is evaporating

If I could hold on to
This feeling of nothingness
Of painlessness
Like an emotionfree caress
I would, right now I feel like I would
Feel safe, feel vague, feel tired

But the cycle of this mystery brain
Will hit again
The only question is when
Highs will rise, lows will drain
If only I could hold on to this
Feeling of nothingness

Rampant hope

{another angry diatribe written under the influence of heart break and not wanting to go back to 'normal'}


Is it worth the pain

Again

I don't need the drain



I can see the chains

On my brain

When hope strikes again



Hope, miserable vermin

Latent pollutant of my veins

My true evil twin

Checkerboard

{an old one and one of the first poems that I wrote in English about 7 or 8 years ago. Writing in a new language was a fascinating experience and playing with words was exhilarating}


I am not all dark
I am not all light
I am a Checkerboard

Hi
And Welcome

I walk on the edges
As my father taught me

He said
"Always walk on the edges of the checkerboard's cells, honey,
Because on the edge, between Good and Evil, that's where Truth lies"

Ah... of course he said that in French...
In French, Truth doesn't lie...

Translating it for the first time today,
It resonated in my head
Echoed with wonderful accents, betrayed his words, and made mine shine.

Oh I have always wanted to make Truth lie, thank you, thank you!

I don't like this absolute Truth that people feel ready to kill for.
I like a flexible Truth, a humane Truth, a genuine Truth, ready to make mistakes,
To change, to evolve, to grow,
To resemble the people who live in its name a little more.

I walk on the edges of the checkerboard's cells

Where Truth lies

The first doubts

{written about my first date with J!}


For that moment of unexpected joy
I pay the price, o my heart, I pay the price.
For that moment of surprise, stolen from a jealous fate
I bleed in tears, and my stomach hurts…
Mean Justice, mean justice.

You gave me those eyes, those smiles
And I stopped talking and I stopped thinking.
In my head suddenly there was a cloud
Round and white and shiny
Fluffy and happy.

You gave me those lips
That skin to caress and those hands on my hips
And for a moment I stopped asking
I stopped running and I stopped searching
It felt right.

But it was yesterday and it is today.
When you asked me with a smirk
‘so what is wrong with you?’
I honestly thought I had not much to say.

Why

{about anxiety and feeling crazy)


That temple of silence in me

When a pain disappears

Another one replaces it.

In my head

A tempest.

Little seed of madness

That expands

And blossoms without a sound

While I am agonizing, begging

But this alter ego, in me

Is not listening

This alter ago…

Why ?

When a pain goes away

Another one repeats itself

I recognize you

I know you

Do you know me?

Babel Web

{another poem lost in the complexity of belonging to two worlds. Expressing thoughts and feelings in two languages is sometimes more tricky that it seems. I still sometimes wonder in what language I should spill my guts, cry my tears, or dream}


Une tour de Babel
(a Babel tower)
Where my mind and my words intertwined
Et mon Coeur un peu fier, pas tres clair
(and my heart, a little proud, not very clear)
A pas lent, bat en decadence
(slowly, beats in decadence)

I will always be French, and strange
A stranger, an alien, a lost soul on this Earth
And my name said it all
And my name says it so

(Barbara means "the stranger")

Une étrangère, une meurtrière
(a stranger, a murderer)
Meurtrie et solitaire
(bruised and lonely)
Un peu, ou si peu, casanière
(sometimes, or rarely, a homebody)
Une echapée sans imaginaire
(an escape without a dream)

I wonder if I was always
This loose canon ball
This wanderer

Mais sur ce roc (but on this rock)
Perdu (lost)
Choisi (chosen)

Les yeux dans le vague
(gaze lost in a haze)
Sur les vagues (on the waves)
Qui regardent (looking away)

Tu sais (you know)

Je te cherchais. (I was looking for you)

Don't I . . . always?

Not bilingual

{Learning a new language, a new culture and a new life is adding rather than replacing landmarks. It is confusing and fascinating at the same time. And also maybe, a choice.}


I came here
To not hear
Those words
Depraved and empty
Or too heavy.

They mean nothing
Or they mean too much
They have weighted on my past and my soul and I'm crushed.

I have come here
To escape, to start anew
To learn new sounds, new songs and a new silence.
When you speak the lyrics
Get confused
Sometimes still
And the bliss is to slip on that slope
Of language
Out of my skin
My culture and my sins..

I'm a virgin.

I came here
With not much
Empty hands
Enlarged eyes
Hardened soul
Hopeless mind.

I've left behind
The turmoil of my words
The tumult of my folks
The torment of my past.

I've erased like chalk on black board
A story written in French
With perfect grammar
But disputable storyline.

Day one.

At first there was the flirt

{the subtle but not so subtle dance of near strangers has always fascinated me, as an observer and as an actor}


Chatting and talking while thinking
Of kissing those moving lips
Playing with words, and friendship,
While boundaries are blurring.

I am touching your shoulder
Is it friendly, is it sexy?
I don't tell, you don't ask
It can be both and it can switch
In a snap
From friend to lover.

You look at those fingers
On your coat and you wonder
Then you look at me, for a hint
I don't give an answer
But let my eyes linger a little longer.

If you pick up on my line
If you give me the right sign
For now we play with each other
But there is no hurry
We know we'll get to it
Eventually

Scars

{Fights leave scars. It's a fact}



I have images

Of face, eyes and mouth, disdain and hate

Mundane, dismissive silence

Or explosive violence

There is a weight somewhere

And I bend, and I clench, and I wait.

I feel the pounding in my chest

The resistance of the air

Everything seems so cold and so sharp

So dumb so inevitable

Until the only escape is the impossible

Until the only break is the unthinkable

And my heart

Starts crying for our loss

Our mistakes or simply

For our love.

Happy bubble of free

{realized without ectasy, I promise!}

Little light in my head
dances
on stilts
traces spirals
so pretty

Little dot of rain
bounces
on springs
a bubble of crystal
just for me

Sometimes I play
the same music
over and over
again

Just to see
the little toy
in my brain
jump and spin

Over and over again

If I could hold on
to this feeling
I would

Never let go
of my bubble of joy
bouncy and simply
free

The aftermath

{The silence that follows a fight is still a fight in the making}



It’s like a vague and somber cloud
Puffy and lazy and heavy
Down my throat
I feel oblique.

My whole brain is twisted
My soul is tilted
My eyes slide along edges
Of too many reasons
To want to run.

But I stay here
I stay put
Sitting on my chair
Sitting on my buttocks
Falsely comfy
Nonchalantly misleadingly at ease.

Am I fooling him?
Do I want to?

Two cards from the same deck
Back to back
Ignoring their hands
Ignoring the odds
Not betting.

No one talks.
Who will say the word first?
Who will break the protective silence
That allows us to hide
Hide the feelings
Hide the pain?

If I do I will tear
The delicate fabric
Of that too fragile curtain
I will lacerate with my knife cutting syllables
The last chances of peace
I will push us down
Push us further
Push us still.

If I don’t I will blow
explode, violate my own violence
I will break
More later
So much more
There is no hope for redemption in that brain
Of mine.

Help me
Make it through.
I need to make it through.

Silence

{A poem about the past and my difficult relationship with memories. I want and need to let go but don't know how.}


Photographs start spiraling
In my mind, dancing, haunting
But I am not ready for the nostalgic trip
I stop the music
And push two plugs in my ears

Silence.
I want silence
More than ever
The cotton and distance
My buffer.

Present!
Not past – not future
I want this and now and nothing else
Curl in the blanket
Skin on skin and please
No dream

I want to be free
I want no memory.
Past questions me
Endlessly.

Why, and how did you do this
Did you let this happen
Did you want that
Did you did you was it you?

I can't deny.
It was, it is me.
How then can I reconcile
My story?

Past questions you.
Why and how
Would it be different now?
How can I know?

The answers puzzle me.
I can't really make sense of them.
My past is either too dead
Or too vivid for me to understand.

So I want

Silence.