Orrorin’s Diary

In this bed

Lonely, O so lonely,
In this bed of mine I lie,
Looking up to the ceiling,
Caressing your left cheek.

Cold, O so cold,
In this bed of mine I cry,
Your body floating on top of me,
Smiling, such a lovely smile.

Why are you gone?
Why have you forsaken me?

Lost, O so lost,
In this bed of mine I reminisce,
My caress senses your warmth,
A feeling slumbering somewhere in my memories.

Naked, O so naked,
In this bed of mine I draw,
Your long hair is falling all over my body,
How would I have loved it to tickle.

Sleepy, O so sleepy,
In this bed of mine I drown,
Your last words I will cherish,
For they have kept me sane.

In this bed of mine,
This empty bed of mine…

Poet

I thought I was a poet;

Compounding rhymes and sonnets,

Making words reverberate their meaning and symbolic.

I thought writing like a poet;

Extirpating magnificence out of world’s grace;

Strutting idle letters on a white sheet of paper,

Grasp their dormant power for the world to shiver.

I thought living like a poet;

For the purpose of my life was transcendence:

Endeavour to constrain remnants of ancient wisdom and beauty.

I thought to have the soul of a poet;

See behind the veil.

See through God’s sincere creation.

Like Zarathoustra’s peacock, I thought to know, to be…

I probably am a poet;

For what can be resolved through inspiration hidden from me.

Owing to it a fabrication dull as a white empty brothel wall.

I sold my soul for an empty mug.

I apologize, Faust, for letting you down.

I am weak as this work.

I’m a poet;

Crying on this affable poem.

27 May 2003

In the eye of faith

Forgive me my impetuosity,

I have a question to ask.

Why all this malevolence,

Why is our soul so dark?

Each of us on his own,

All of us the world around.

March and witness,

The light’s treacherousness.

Open your senses

And feel the warmth of mother darkness.

A glossy paper to cheat on,

For our ways are those of the con.

I knew someone with eyes of shore,

Light-blue, treacherous as a whore.

I apologize for this rudeness,

And accept your apprehensive dubiousness

Now,

What is going to be your answer,

For the one who plays the martyr…

22 March 2003