Let Go...

Some say I'm so blessed. . .
Some think I'm unthankful,
Some think I'm sweet. . .
I closed my eyes and shut my mouth and plugged my ears to keep this sweetness within.

Look at the newborn baby.
Her little fists were holding on to something.
It's like she didn't want to let go of the divine cord that bonds her with her angel,
with a soft lullaby in her ears. . .

Eventually she is going to let go. . .
Like when I let go of the fake sweet smile and everybody would panic . . . ‌"you're not smiling today!‌"

I looked at the long gray road leading to a tomorrow that I know minute by minute. 
I know we are not people of the earth. we are not people of boundaries. cause I just walked on the soft sands in my dreams and took a glance at the bleeding dawn.

I looked at the mountains, their curves . . . so beautiful and untouched . . .
only the soothing fingers of the rain clouds, running through their hair of wind,
comforting the sky after a big storm. . .

All I feel in me is the sands running through my fingers,
like my sweet memories slipping through burning fingers of God,
decant in the goblet of the ground,
absorbed and cooled. . .
like insomnia slipping to my coffee. . .

I should wake up someday and step on the mirror.
The sad girl would disappear under me, like my shadow in the noon sun. . .
I still feel the cold chain tying me to something in the past,
a hot summer day, that I long to let go. . .

Guess I am that little dark spot on the face of the moon.
Dropping from God's hand like a little rock in the bright lake of silver,
forming circles and circles for ever around me,
spinning and echoing my fall, I'm disturbing moon's peace
like a scratch on the lucid skin of God.

I have got to let go.
Maybe He's tired too; maybe he just needs a break from my sighs.
Maybe He's already gone.
I hope He comes back soon,

for these fiery hands are searing all the violets violently.

There's got to be an explanation.
The happiness it seems, for us was just a bite of the apple in that painting on the big painting shop
so unreachable that we decided to put it out of our minds.

We just looked at it from outside the window. 
I'm not even sure if we want it any more. . .you can see from their faces, they have forgotten the apple. . .
It must be rotten by now anyway. . .

It's not your fault . . . it never was.

If I could, I would lose my fingers one by one just for pointing them at you. . .

If only I could snip away my long green hope from its root. . .to let everything just go...float away from me...
If only I could believe that this is how it's supposed to be. . .
If only I was not so impatient
If only I could believe the tomorrows
...  If only I could, hold on.

Nov 14, 07