Narrative Poem

I wondered aloud
about...
about
your facial features
prefacing with positive remarks
my aesthetic opposition
to rosy and puffy cheeks;
yours
I said
are not that bad,
but pale is the color of the skin
I prefer

And even though I had just begun
already I had gone too far

History repeats itself
when you least suspect it
or so it would have you think
-three of four academics will concur-
For my part I remain suspicious
of anything that’s manifested in triplicities:
History - recorded
History - remembered
History - that what has happened
(records are eclectic selections of appearance
memories are endlessly modified to exorcise the present
-don’t get me started on that subject-
and what has happened is always the unknown in the puzzle)

So I pause
no my love
I stop
abruptly and completely
I stop
intentioning no other word
but apologetic silence
granting the authority to all
and to you in particular
to decide
to affirm
to impose and apply
the severe punishment
the cumulative effect of scientific inquiry
or inquisition
and acquisition of totally all
religious forms methods prayers and practices
(a deal made during my sophomore year in exile
which I never officially recognized
but de facto dealt with it since
pro and con for and against
for myself and you
against myself and against you especially you)

And your head
(is this my voice I hear)
is big
somewhat bigger than...
not enormous or huge or anything
like that
just big
disproportionately big
to the rest of you
which is also big
the rest of you
I mean
is big as well
but
in proportion to itself
or its parts to each other

Send me back to where I came from
I definitely deserve no less and a lot more
I have managed to cover my eyes all this time
put your palm over my lips
and send me back to Athens Greece
not to confuse it with Athens Georgia
or for that matter all the other Athenses
scattered throughout the States
(no wonder our young are failing world geography
with any city worth mentioning mapped out under fingertips
- Athens and Ithaca Berlin and Alexandria -
highway points connecting forgetfulness to oblivion
- Peru Illinois to Paris Texas -
within walking distance or a stone’s throw
or any other appropriate simile that comes to mind
pertaining to geographical situations or state disputes)

Enough on geography though my love
it’s history I’m interested in
that you and I are concerned with
that we look for we search and we research
that we write papers theses and diatribes
that we attend lectures seminars and conferences
your history our history the history of you and I
from time immemorial to time immemorial
- till death do us part -
our birth our golden era
the decline and the revolution of the margins
the transition period when the mainstream becomes obsolete
and the margins are the mainstream
and through all this our letters our love our togetherness
our end
our becoming
and
the lone possibility of our future

Your palm drips wetness off my kiss
at last we roam the streets of Athens Greece

Twenty-six years ago today
these same streets
these same window fronts
these same buses and bus drivers
these same faces
for one whole day or just an hour or only a single moment
were there
were really there
they were Being There
Das Sein Martin would say
and did say it the other night when you granted my request
or you forced ordered demanded extorted blackmailed
my presence in your bed
fulfilling my deepest and most secret desire
and perhaps yours - most certainly yours - as well

Covered by sheets of cotton
in the midst of nowhere and everywhere
- early Spring pastels rocking our cradle -
uncovering with all our multiplied senses
every inch of our being
gathering our being inside each other
enclosing the surrounding light
within soft and violent seizures
as the totality of Being discloses itself
to us and in us

Oh
if I could only be Martin like
and keep those other thoughts to myself
eternity would never cease
For
philosophers
even when their royal aspirations fail
and their schemes are publicly revealed
they get to keep their solitary voice
the privilege
to broker deals and compromises
to prophecise historical events
in future in present and in past
to appear synonymous with history
as history itself indeed
themselves unknown distant and adored
misunderstood admired and lonely

(History - so many ruses in your sleeves)

But when a poet inarticulate lays
(and all the poets do)
even solitude loses all meaning
and withdraws retires in backstage forever
or leaves the premises altogether
it’s then
as you can attest
that I need you most
that I beg you to return
that I swear never a word again
about that day
twenty six years ago today
it’s now my love
that I deploy all my troops
science metaphysics and religions too
black magic superstition and fate
that fate
our fate
our historical necessity and unstoppable force.

Sensing that’s not half good enough
I promise aesthetics never to discuss
to leave it for history to judge
- what is the perfect shade of pale
- what is the perfect size of head
- what constitutes the perfect object of desire
- what is the perfect cry for love

I stop
what else
I have no more
I give you all
and more
much more than I have
With lips restrained
and eyes closed
I stare at you and you read my thoughts
but you remain serious and businesslike
with lawyers at every side
reciting your terms and conditions
before you allow me to see
your white blouse on the carpet
before you let me taste you again

- The wedding shall take place in the church
- The wedding rings shall diamonds be
- At least two children I will give thee...

Enough enough
I don’t care I don’t mind
give me a pen and I shall sign

Closure at last and finality my love
the process never mattered but the end
for the last time I push my glasses back
you see me and your ear lobe you touch
I am calm content collected and serene
and all is natural and true
as a simple black pen passes from hand to hand
and ends up in my fingers
its fine point next to the X at the bottom of the last page
of our pre-nuptial agreement
I take a moment to breathe
that wonderful silence of the room
- I the dyslexic now lexiless too -
but the silence is broken by words that have their own agenda
as they quietly escape through my moving lips:
I have a condition of mine
that you shall never be your mother like

Closure and finality my love indeed
history repeats endlessly repeats itself
teaches the same lesson over and over again
but a bad teacher it must be
because we never learn

Twenty six years ago today
I wasn’t there
but when I heard the news I raised my fist
and with my other hand I waved a sign
in that cold November air
and every year since then the same day I cry
but you have never shed a tear on the subject
- you the ever practical one
with your priorities always straight -
and your words are cold indifferent objective
almost journalistic-like
you go on as if nothing ever happened
- and most probably nothing ever did -
I remain stranded dwelling on aesthetics

I wondered aloud
about...
about
your mother’s weight
emphatically underlining my respect and admiration
for her person
before mumbling my aesthetic opposition
to the possibility of you
expanding - in the future - in similar to her
ways...

 Footnotes at the top.
1. Written some years back.
2. Unfinished, at the end, by choice.
3. A poem within a poem
4. Frederik: Frederik Nietzsche  
5. Salome: Salome Lou Weber (Sociologist, Nietzsche's contemporary. He had a crush on her)
6. The screenwriter (the one in quotation marks)
7. His leading lady (the other one in quotation marks)
8. A short ahistorical journey in history.
9. Martin and Jacques: Martin Heidegger and Jacques Derrida (Both offered lengthy interpretations on Nietzsche's work)
10. Narrator's voice: Not in quotation marks


DIARIES III
 
 6/27
“For you and only you
I will write my best story ever.
An epic melodrama of love and sacrifice
with a didactic effect simmering throughout”,
said the screenwriter
 
“As long as I keep my summer dresses
and all Es”,
said she, ever so gently
in contrast to her projected likeance  
on the giant screen.
 
“Focus on body language”,
he whispered,
“of bodies in a crowd of bodies...
Close up on her body
revealing two sarcastic hands
accepting a wrapped package.”
 
- Here is my Zarathustra, Salome -
Frederik stammered
- Make sure it doesn't fall
in enemy's hands -
 
6/28
“Zarathustra had already fallen, my love,
victim to history's ploys.
Deconstructed, defeathered, shivering,  
expanded by her hand's soft squeeze
stood there  
perplexed and wavering,
unsignifying and insignificant...
Nothing more was said
no other detail mentioned
Camera now focuses on the cold
slowly closing on the Nazi patrol.”
 
6/29
“Fade out!”
the screenwriter gestured ecstatically
enchanted by his narration of the scenes
surprised and fascinated by
(almost in love with) his own voice.
 
“Fade out
as camera rises above the patrol
and we get a glimpse of a giant Big Btother figure,
a simple, yet unyielding condemnation of...”
“I don't like my clothes!”,
she cut him off coldly, abruptly.
“long dress, heavy coat, the boots, the hat, the gloves,
it's not me, it's not the real me...”
 
He rested his head on her round breasts
“The real you does not exist, not yet anyway”
whispering voice of even lower depths,
“I'm creating it... I'm creating the real you...”
 
6/30
“Got to go!”
She was already turning the engine on.
 
7/1
“Screw the bitch!”,
he pleaded with the phone
that never rang all day.
 
7/2
Nothing
 
7/3
“Why speak on third person?
Direction lost, directness missing.
I will dare for you, Salome,
I will address myself to you  
naked, unpretentious, maskless
I will speak to you, Salome!
Salome, your L lies low, your L lies, period.
Your L looms, lurks, lulls my fears
and, yet, Salome,
your L lures me
your L I lust
for your L I lie
for your L I linger...”
 
7/6
“I lisp loose lingo in your ear lobe...”
 
7/7
“That night on the rooftop, under the moonlight
Frederik did not offer her a single glance.
He sat seemingly bored through her constant
and trivial chatter
though, really, he was wallowing in despair
unable to deliver the appropriate aphorism  
to finish her off...”
 
7/8
“You don't hear a word I say...” - “I hear... Boring...”
“These scenes define our love” - “And, where am I?”
“You are Salome, my Salome!” - “Why give me another name?”
“We travel history together” - “I have my own car...”
“You misuse your potential” - “I can only offer momentary intention”
“Emotional abuse is your game” - “You taught me how to play!”
 
7/9
“I will re-write the Nazi patrol scene.
No allusion to Big Brother,
instead, what terrifies most!
Absence of anyone in control
as everything is self-controling.”
 
7/10
Nothing
 
7/11
Alone
 
7/12
Horizontal, again
 
7/13
Silent
 
7/14
Absorbed but not absorbing
 
7/15
Day of the shoot, alone, horizontal, silent.
Absorbed in images
he could never imagine without a certain elation -  
the driving force of his creation.
 
7/16
“St. Petersberg.  
A smoke filled room across the street from the Winter Palace.
Twelve and one Bolshevics arrested by history
arranging its order, adjusting its details, smoking their pipes.
Frederik loving Salome on the window-sill
her soft cries of ecstacy beguiling his ears
- Now! Seize the moment! It's yours for the taking!
- Now never is! It only eternally recurs...
 
“Close-up on Frederik, surrounded by her mocking laughter!
He snatches Zarathustra away from her
he opens it on page fifty-two
calmly to her he turns his back
his soul in his voice sinks  

- Zarathustra, the seeker of truth, the lover of wisdom,
the rebel wanderer, a king shall never be!
 
“Slowly zoom outside the Winter Palace
on a crowd of proletarians
considering the concept of economic over-determination
as their frozen fingertips grope your warm and naked body...
Cut! Cut!!!”
 
He shook his head much in disgust
 
“This posture of yours on the window-sill in ecstacy
is so fake, so false, so untrue
A compilation of cliches from the commerce of orgasms.
 
I must rethink the whole scene!...”
 
7/16 to 7/22
Not a single thought
Not a single word
Not a single sound.
 
7/23
Single sigh...
 
7/24
The screenwriter rethought, re-evaluated, re-formed, re-addressed the issue.
The screenwriter recapitulated – never again did he reaffirm his convictions
Never again did he hold Epiphanies to be
the sort he thought a function of pigeon brains.
Now, illuminated he was by sporadic, often apocalyptic, yet elliptic visions.
 
7/25
Epiphany
 
7/26 to 8/3
One more Epiphany
 
8/4
Astonishing change of attitude.
Even he noticed on himself.
He made a note of it
 
8/5 to 9/16
A single, unexpected and unwelcomed
uninterrupted and unending
finishing Epiphany...
 
9/17
“Here's how it is”,
the screenwriter said,
“the last scene – that's the one that matters
About the rest, later... maybe... possibly... we'll see...
The last scene occurs early seventeenth century
in the woods – some forest in Alsatia
at a cold winter dawn.
 
“Frederik in a duel, Martin his witness.
Salome his willing and excited adversary,
Jacques her witness...
 
“Frederik declares his intention
to be the last to shoot – and in blindfold at that.
Salome Lou chooses her pistol presenting her credentials......

The pellet hit your breast
and took my breath,
my mind followed a rising panic
of realisation, I had taken a life.

I had laid the breadcrumbs,
hid behind the garden wall
waited in silence as you landed,
lined the sight, squeezed the trigger
it was all my responsibility.

Your body was still warm
as I tried to revive you
soft like you were filled with water.
The colour of your beak
the clarity of your eyes
the perfect design of your feathers
all wasted by me.
I buried you in the garden
and made promises
I have kept.

The following year I saved
a fledgling thrush
from the mouth of a cat,
raised it on worms,
set it free when the weather
turned warm,
gave it back your life.

He only visited the garden
a few times,
but I kept looking.
Maybe he made new friends
or maybe the other birds told him
what I was really like.

Say my prayers, roll the bones
Bruise feet dashing on stones
Holding faith, but it is running low
I love to wraith, but the pace is slow
Trying so hard to get a six. What a cast!
No piggyback and a little short on gas
Am strong, so i get the hardest fight
Knowing that joy will come at first-light.

She is the daughter of great God Zeus
Godess of love,lust,sex and prostitute
Once,she peer a young mortal recluse
Gazing at His vigorous manhood,
even the goddess got seduced
To aquire his Juice, She have to transduce

She disguises herself a Phrygian princess
Alluring & exquisite beauty even Anchises induce
Both Courting disaster,hanged on noose
Finally they come over a truce
He will accord her,his manly juice
She will parturate him their baby moose

She was dressed amused
like Colorado spruce
Mesmerized naked Anchises,
Displaying his HUGE Phallus
Dumbfounded at the sight
Disrobing herself in a hasty move

O! Godess
Your naked body is alluring and sultry
While breasts are swaying voluptuous fruit
Her vagina looks alike
A chocolate mousse
Fluffy and tempting outside,
filled inside with Amortentia juice
Apart from thirsty-throbbing sex
their lustful senses will not conduce

Ohhhh yess!
They had Sex & Sex & Sex
For eons-n-eons and ages
Until they both diffuse!!
Alms of Anchises' Juice
Her favourite White Juice...
the men's Sassy Juice...
The precious Spermy Juice
Which she can't loose
And as per the truce,
She conceive & Yes!she will reproduce

Yes!she will reproduce
Reproduce to their love deuce
Character of both mortal & immortal incubed

O! Anchises you're the true ideogram of mortal manhood
Even! the Immortal goddess of sex seduced
Even! The great Aphrodite seduced

   -Mojas©

One day, you won't have this anymore.
One day, you will feel a sudden change.
One day, you will see things disappear and go a different way.
One day, you will see everything from a different sense because nothing feels right when those old choices come up as bad mistakes and messed up lies.
One day, you'll wish for the world to bounce back and take away all the pain; preventing a field of corruption from all those who fail.
Stay away from the dark figures and never listen to the demons inside your head.

One day, you will finally come to God and say, "Is this the way up to heaven because i once felt everything when it was taken away and suddenly, I feel nothing less than what's infront of me but this time it's real. A perfect cold breeze of energy flowing back towards me and I believe it's all the Joy you ever have given me." I'll be here waiting.. waiting for you and me to live in nothing but Peace.