MOONTRAP: A collection of English Poems

| introvertism |

~

Like that silent girl
on the last seat
of that cramped bus
which took us all to
the wonderful places of our
town, Kishimuro,
I felt silent too.
Like that silent girl.

~

I can't help but notice
the various caricatures
she draws in her diary,
which takes the shapes of demons
that haunt innocent kids
of age two or three or maybe
every one of us. 

~

I could feel a few words 
ready to jump off her lips
but she didn't say anything
helplessness clear in her eyes
the inability to speak words
the social proofs.
She hesitated in
holding conversations for long
or even basic things 
such as saying hello
or asking someone out. 

~

She didn't have many friends
but lots of books in her bag!
I could smell Fitzgerald, Tolstoy
and Nabokov's words,
and I could trace Sinatra's music
on her classic walkman,
like a cold wind in the autumn
struck woods. 

~

She would walk alone
in the shadows of trees
making eye contacts with
Dead flowers and stray cats,
passes smiles at
the pouty squirrels
or hums a few old
Plath's poetry in her deeply
woven solitude.

~

She is not alone.
She is just hesitant to talk.
She is just afraid of the world,
of the people,
and their expectations
and unspoken responsibilities,
the shells of society
the hypocritical world
and the web of lies.
She just didn't choose
to be a fly in the trap,
rather a storm uncontrolled
or a river running wild
or a silence taking over
and like that lonely 
cloud
which stayed away from others
and chose not to rain,
She chose too,
not to pour feelings,
fragments of her
to fill the puddles of 
everyone's broken hearts

~

She chose to remain
silent, and calm, and an introvert,
and a witness
to all the beautiful things in the world
like this squirrel taking
nuts from her hands
or that pair of shoes
which she gave to the poor
or the silent songs
she sang in the night
and I couldn't help but
listen to her melodies.

~

Kishimuro is indeed magical,
and surreal sometimes
as it allows me
to turn into a bird
or a gust of wind
or just a piece of nothingness
in the greater void
and without a sense of senses
or a pair of eyes
or a skin to feel

I follow her,
everywhere she goes,
and now she is again taking the bus
to the zoo,
or perhaps the lake Baekal,
in which one can see the reflection of
starlights and moontraps,
and sometimes one's own soul
Beautiful and in pieces,
broken and like a constellation,
and then she might talk,

with me 
or the nothingness
that fills her entire world,
she might talk.

~ August

__________________________________________

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