METAPHOR BOX

From the Stray

and Timeless

Collection 

Hanging Off a Corner of Eternity *

THESE POEMS DON’T BELONG TO ME

(Work in progress © Alina Alens)

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MANTLE BREACH WARNING !

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We regret to inform you

that

the blade of cynicism, which has been deemed

blunt for decades in your case,

is now showing sharpening signs.

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MANTLE BREACH INSTRUCTIONS

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In the event of unpredictable accidents of fate,

when we regretfully inform you that the blade of cynicism,

the same that has been deemed blunt for decades of grace,

is showing signs of sharpening,

we highly recommend reading through

“The Incomplete Fantasy We Call Love.”

For your peace of heart.

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1

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 These poems don’t belong  to me

These poems don’t belong to me,

just as music does not belong to anyone,

just as love belongs to all of us,

just like life,

just like faith.

This

is

the part that streams forth

right under my eyes, yet

unrecognisable,

uniting a past and a present unknown,

foretelling a strange tomorrow,

if we ever get to it

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2

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While I’m still here

I choose to be the hand that soothes the early hours of the morning or the afternoon,

when the air is thin, too thin for soothing, too thin, really, for almost anything…

Would you hate me then, or love me even more?

. . .

While I’m still here

I am the hand that shelters the white of your dreams and covers up the iris of your nightmares

when you sleep, when consciousness is not yet quite awake…

Would you hate me then, or love me even more?

. . .

While I’m still here

 

I am the hand that shares a tenderness that nobody requests,

when silence takes the place of spoken words, and speaking eyes make promises

too big to keep…

Would you hate me then, or love me even more?

. . .

While I’m still here

I’ll be the hand that winds the clock, that oils its wheels

and wipes the dust  off sails, so that your boat will keep on sailing safely

towards new shores, new promises and new tomorrows…

Would you hate me then, or love me even more?

. . .

While I am here

I could go on forever…

Still,

Would you hate this minute, or love me even more for it?

. . .

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3

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Today I am an old man, walking slowly in a park

Today I am an old man, slowly walking in the park.

Yesterday I was a young girl with an arched-back heart.

Today I am an old man who slowly walks in doubt,

His shore of certainty denied, his lighthouse creamed with sand.

Today I am an old man walking slowly in the dark

On trails that lead and then mislead to arrowed points of light.

Today I am an old man, sitting for hours in a park.

Yesterday I was a young girl who couldn’t wait to start.

Today I am an old man, walking slowly in a park,

Hoping that tomorrow his youth will have walked back.

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4

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I couldn’t taste the salt…

No trace of salt in the tears cried the night of yet another loneliness.

Not again

A complete mystery, this life of ours, this life we try so hard to make sense of,

This life we live between imbalance and imbalance,

staggering from one spear end to the end of another spear,

pushing beyond, from one effort towards just one more burden to bear,

exchanging arrows as if we had endless to spare.

This life of ours, in which sometimes,

for once or for more,

I’d like to turn my time yourwise.

I couldn’t taste the salt

Maybe because tears are much too old to cry

in this drying age-old recovery of faith.

These poems don’t belong to me

I doubt they’re even mine to shed.

Always in the morning;

These poems don’t belong to me

Truth always looks a little different in the morning,

with the vague trace of a polite

‘What seems to be the problem, Madam?’

‘As long as he returns, my grandma used to say,

As long as he returns, return a smile…’

Oh, praise of visibility over the silence nestled in the heart, unseen!

The silence of so many voices…

Just as I couldn’t taste the salt in my own tears,

These poems don’t belong to me, not in the least, which I am sure you noticed long ago.

Now rest, truth always looks a little better in the morning…

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5

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I’d like to forget about myself, erase my own presence from memory

Always before morning

Show me how to perform this majestic trick

with no other vicious means but

plain magic.

I know I may be asking the wrong man.

You might be looking for this trick yourself.

One last question, or a question of last, I would hope,

What happens to us if the trick works its magic?

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