Unsteady Hand

Shine

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Photo by John Marthin Albayalde

Never ever ever ever

Hold someone with an unsteady hand

Have you ever tried riding on a pick-up truck?

And the road you’re taking is like a floor

Of marbles with different shapes and sizes

The feeling is like that, only it’s not like that

Maybe this one will describe it better

Look at your hands, look at them

Then use those hands to take a handful

Of something hard and irregular

Of something sharp and rough

Of something that causes pain and pain

Do you feel the blood kissing the sand?

The feeling is like that, only it’s not like that

Okay, this will be my last try

Bite your tongue

Hit your head

Amputate your legs

Annihilate your lungs

Cut your skin

Dissect your heart

Squeeze your brain

Rip your eyes out of their sockets

Break your ossifying bones

Does it feel anything like this now?

No, it’s not like that

Because it’s way more than that

Being held by an unsteady hand

Brings pain that’s unlike any of those

Or anything, so to speak

Why? Because its pain is the type

That makes you unaware of it

In medicine, it’s like a sedative

In chemistry, it’s amphoteric

In biology, it’s an amphibian

In math, it’s something difficult to solve

In philosophy, it’s a philosophical deadlock

In history, it’s a missing link

But in me, it’s anything that makes me wordless

I don’t know how to define something

That makes you cling to a metal wire

So thin that it can break easily and let you fall

Into the abyss under it

So alive, with a high voltage electricity flowing in it

While knowing that someone might turn on the switch

For what reason? For no reason!

Because he doesn’t like to explain things

He just does things and let them be

Then when you’re about to let go

Because the shock is just too much to bear

And the wires are starting to get loose

He turns the switch off

And he makes you believe in him

He makes you fear the abyss which is actually more beautiful

At least it is sure, unlike him

He holds you with shaky hands and feigning eyes

He whispers words like “One day, some day, perhaps

Maybe, soon, later, just a little, wait for it.”

Damn, how can someone be so unsure

While making someone feel so assured?

That’s the painful thing about unsteady touch

You live in a lie even before the touch leaves

It makes you believe in the existence

Of something which isn’t here

It makes you embrace bodies but not souls.

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Moving Bodies

Nostalgia

The silence that the world shouts

Is more than enough to make me cry

And the caress that the wind whips

Leaves with roughness where sting remains

The world has its way of speaking

To people whose voice is lost

During those moments when they travel

Along the shoreline of broken pieces

In the deepest trench of desolation

On the falling face of a fragile earth

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Photo by John Marthin Albayalde

And when I hear the world’s voice

I only hear the same thing, again and again-

“I will keep on moving, I swear”

The world doesn’t care

It doesn’t move for anyone

Not for the falling leaves

And splattering rain

And wrecked people

Like you and I

The world just moves because it does