Moon Writes: Four walls

He’s coming,
frantically look for a way out,
but this room only has four walls,
and no door or windows in it.
(don’t ask me how he came in,
he’s a magician,
killing me is his best trick)

He’s here,
and there’s no escaping,
back then, there was numbness,
now, manage to struggle,
but screams fall on deaf ears.
(don’t walls have ears? can’t they hear?
but they lack mouths and can’t speak out for me.)

Open your eyes,
transposed with the darkness of
your room, is the nightmare,
can’t shake it away.
(be rational, dear brain,
your reality is safety.)

Deep breaths,
call on your to-go, knowing
the reply will come after dawn,
but you’ll be reassured, you’ll be heard.
(hey, hi, a reply!
heaven heard your silent plea)

“I’m here for you,
tired and sleepy.
it’s not real, your mind is just
sorting things, you’re just feeling
the effects.
(you know things will get
better, my love, you can do it)

I think this one poem talks by itself. But it was written during times of distress and feeling trapped. Thankfulyl things are better, but I still like the words that came out of it.

Moon Writes: Indoctrination

I wrote this poem three years ago. I can’t remember what made me write it, but I was annoyed at people insisting that being x religion or born in y country meant you were less human or didn’t know your own mind, so I ende up trying to sort through those feelings in this poem.

you who shout “indoctrination”
at others people’s beliefs,
beliefs you don’t like or agree with,
beliefs you don’t even understand or know about.

we don’t choose which country we’re born into,
nor how rich or poor our family is,
we don’t choose what religion,
culture and customs will reign the home we’re brought up into.

We don’t decide how much love or hate will surround us
and define who we are from the day we’re brought into this world.

You shout “indoctrination”,
but tell me…
if you were exactly in their situation,
wouldn’t you be who they are?

It is easy to say “no I wouldn’t”,
when you haven’t experienced anything like it.
And in a way, you are indoctrinated too.

the habits of your parents help define yours,
and maybe it wasn’t a conscious decision,
but you are shaped by the rules and beliefs 
that defined your family and your life.

Most countries define themselves by rules and “values”,
religions do too, culture does too (even inside countries).
Isn’t that in it’s own way, being indoctrinated?

Weren’t you brought up to love your country,
to feel proud of it and the achievements?
Weren’t you brought up to believe in good and bad
(regardless of what you define as good or bad)?

So don’t shout indoctrination,
just because you don’t like someone.
Because you might be John,
but if you had been born in a different setting,
could be Juan or Ian or maybe Yahya. 

Moon Writes: letters

as the sun comes (or goes),
on a journey that marks the passing of time,
sitting on a train or as i roam
this big city that never stops;
something tugs at my heart
and brings tears to my eyes.
barely there,
at first i can’t
make heads or tails of it,
but still
i try.
carefully i prod inside my mind,
what is this that shakes me
and menaces to break me?
can i give it name, or
shall it remain undefined?
don’t ask,
please, don’t ask…
[enough questions shoot my mind from the inside]
for i don’t know how to reply,
as i try to unravel this feeling that
crushes my chest
and nestles in my breast.
gather round,
for i have found
the name for what bothers me,
problem is
the solution is unnamed.
the lack of a place to call my own,
where i can find refuge,
for me to create or destroy,
where i can be myself without
having to hide anything away.
i have always
been someone small,
but deep roots grow
from my heart and soul
to the place i can call home.
just let me say,
in my defense,
that your
the care you have for who i am,
despite my being lost
and the circles i talk around your head,
trying to make sense of all the events
that brought me to where i am.
looks deceive,
words may be empty,
but what you do,
that is matters in the end.
many places have
at some point in time and space
been a home to me.
next to you,
is the nearest “place” i can think of
that may be called home in this today.
open arms that hold me close,
confrontation or sweet words,
how did this come to be?
how can you know what i need?
protecting my broken heart,
i find comfort at your side,
peace that calms my fears
and takes away my tears.
run and rush
towards you
and find my home
stay with me,
for we both know what this is worth,
let the world crash, let it burn,
but don’t give up on who we are,
for if you do,
it might all come to an end.
take me as I am,
let’s build a new life,
a secret we’ll hold close
to your hearts,
don’t say the words,
let’s keep them inside.
under the stars
inside a tent;
or maybe just in our bed,
the place is not what defines
where my home is.
valleys or mountains,
rivers or the sea,
nature calls us to be free.
o wait for me,
for you’re the key
for this locked world
inside of me…
x x x
kisses blown to the wind,
may they reach your lips,
and whisper those thoughts
i wasn’t brave enough
to word out loud
you are the cure to my sickness,
the home that is nowhere else,
my refuge and my calm throughout the storm,
you, you are the one.
you’ve struck my heart,
the tears and fears have left,
i am at peace,
at i am alive…

A poem written to have a verse/line starting with each letter of the alphabet, in order. Because the order and the challenge sounded like a fun idea. It is also one of those poems where I was exploring playing with not just the words, but the visual display of them.

Moon Writes: Cat II

She was white.
Innocence was her perfume, mixed with the spice of kindness. As he watched and took her smell in (white tea with a hint of berries, a mild sweetness), some of the children noticed her and made her part of their game. She seemed to fit in perfectly, as if she was one of them; barefoot, running around in bliss, happiness glowing from her.
They said she was much too young, and there was someone who she answered to already, someone that cared for and about her. Yet the more he saw her, the more something inside stirred and told him he had to try to reach her, be part of her life.
She was red.
There was always a hint of it in her hair that made you wonder if fire ran through her veins. But that day, the red was all over her, showing the world what she hadn’t been able to say. They said the shock of it made her freeze, she couldn’t react and was numb. It wasn’t surprising, for who was to know that the someone that “cared” for her would also try to destroy her?
Even when she washed, the red stayed all over her for a long time, as did her numbness. She was not entirely herself anymore.
He was grey.
The day the red permeated her, he stayed in contact. She was taken back to someone else’s house after measures were taken to ensure her safety. Temporary arrangements that meant “home” would be a foreign word to her for a while.
He cursed to the night that he had not been there to take her “home”, so he offered her a new home and a chance to heal. He wasn’t expecting anything in return, for he knew how broken she had been left.
Worry, in so many tinges of grey, filled his eyes for her.
She was black.
Ghosts of the past would creep into her eyes and dance away, taking her into places deep in her mind where he couldn’t follow. If only there was a manual as to how to deal with those that are permeated by red, he would have read it.
Some nights he’d wake up to her cries, when the red ghosts filled her with panic or terrors. At times, she wouldn’t even recognise him.
Eyes full of fright would look up at him, as he whispered “Hey, hey, it’s me, it’s alright, it’s me, you’re safe”, and once they found his face in the dark and recognised his voice they’d close and let her relax. Some times things were easier and just stroking her would ease the darkness inside.
She was brown.
Little by little, the darkness started to give way to light. The nights would be easier, as would the days. She dared to go out once again and explore the world. He would come back home to find her curled up in the couch, waiting for him. Her brown eyes would glint and hint of the adventures lived, even if they were just taking a few steps into the garden or daring to explore beyond the neighbourhood.
And he smiled, for he could see how good earth and replanting were helping her grow again and be confident with herself; what had been destroyed was being rebuilt.
She was beautiful.
Cigarette in one hand, a string in the other, he teased her with it in the garden. She was in a playful mood and would try to grab it in her paws. But the song of birds would distract her from their game, and then he would lovingly admire her.
White fur with hints of red, her soft “fox” tail swaying in the air, now short on her 9 lives…,
but still very much alive.

Second one of the series. A little less of a happy story, and the idea of the series was to play with wording and storytelling.

Moon Writes: Cat I

He saw her first.
She walked to where he was. Even though she was told his name, her mind didn’t register his existence at all. To her, he was just part of the scenery, a piece of this moment, she was not the focus of what was happening.
She still can’t remember if she said goodbye.
He remembers.
He was curious about this new being, the way she looked, everything that made her who she was. A tug of the heart, a leap of the soul, and somehow the need to know more was born.
Someone made her aware of him (yet again, for at the time she thought it was the first time), a name given to his being. She thought he looked sweet. But her head was lost in the tiredness of her body, and she left without really trying to connect with him. There was no need, she’d probably never see him again.
He had made her smile.
He strolled towards where she was living in the field. Mind set on finding out more, he was invited to wait while she ate and then, he was drawn. Sketched up, a part of the scenery that had caught her eyes.
He had been looking for her.
They kept each other company the rest of the evening. The fire warmed them up, and she let him rest against her thigh, while she sat on her chair. When she stood up to leave, she wasn’t sure if he’d follow, there was no debt there to make him do so.
Yet, he did.
The night wrapped them up with her darkness. They walked through the fields, and where she should have stopped and parted ways, the decision to keep on walking was made. So they walked and kept each other company until dawn started to break night’s embrace.
They parted ways at her doorstep, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d see him again.
She didn’t dare to hope.
Almost everybody was leaving, except those few that’d be gone the next morning since they were headed to another field. She was one of the former, so there was no hurry in her. There had been no sign of him at all, and she knew she shouldn’t hope.
He was a wild one, and she wasn’t ready to tame anymore.
It seemed like not being aware of him was a trick of hers she didn’t do on purpose. She almost stumbled on him before she saw him. He had been looking for her, again. Too busy minding his own affairs in the field, he still hadn’t forgotten her.
She was surprised.
He had to leave her.
And it wasn’t part of the plan for him to be on the next field. She had smiled knowingly, one couldn’t really expect one such as him to stay… So he was meant to be just a memory of the time spent in that field, good moments lived that would only be relived when looking back on the past.
She was taken aback, when a couple of days later, he arrived on the field. Not part of the plan, unexpected indeed. It warmed her up inside, and she felt flattered. Others noticed his presence and knew he was there because of her. Yet they didn’t seem to mind his being there.
Time ticked by slowly. Found them resting under a tree, enveloped by the night and mists, cold rattling their bones, so that they sought shelter. That night, his wildness tied itself with a pretty lace around her.
He wasn’t going to let go.
Once she realised it was a tight knot, she tried to push him away, untie the intricate bow. When she put her finger to work on the lace, he looked up at her. Round lovely deep eyes, in which she could get lost, won her over and she let go.
She tried to explain that she was not his best choice. The words she uttered just made him more resolute on his decision to stay by her side. She couldn’t understand why, and he couldn’t explain it in a language she’d understand.
Still, he made her smile.
If you glance into the window of their home, you’ll see them happily sharing a bed.
A contented sigh from her, her hand softly stroking his head.
And he…
He will softly purr.

I wrote this a long time ago, but it is still one of my favourite short stories. After a lot of back and forth trying to decide if I should post the “Cat” collection, I decided to be a little brave and open and post it.
The “Cat” series was written during a very difficult time in my life, and each one was written with a specific friend in mind, who had helped me along it. The title actually comes from the name of one of those people. And it works charmingly for the whole “reveal” at the end.
Hope you liked it and didn’t mind I added some writing in here.