lilac in Tel-arwee

there is a woman…hidden,

in the crazies of the city,

Buried within the walks of life,

covered not by the sun but insanity…

…Morality, mortality and brutality.

this woman, in her purple-Lilac dress,

is she a ghost of my past? Or,

is she just a floating goodness of life?

 

I have envisioned a day with her,

this woman in a Lilac colored cloth,

I have imagined an afternoon of wanderlust,

I have envisaged a time underneath the sun,

through the hustles of the street,

myself and herself, sharing a platter of…

…of the most wonderful looking cod,

it shall overshadow the taste with whites.

 

I foresee an understanding,

though together, through the bustles,

we communicate through buzzed silence,

we sit in solitude, a book each for each,

reading to the other through invisible telepathy,

with no voice my book shall be understood by her,

for when words seep into me, it seeps into her,

for when pictures bleed on my page,

pictures dance on hers, like porcupines,

our world shall intertwine…

…It should.

 

we shall sit with our feet aloft,

resting on the pillows on the chair (or each other),

we shall see the world through our glasses,

or smell the rain if the sun should shy away,

we shall breathe in the soil and the dust,

we shall soak ourselves with the sun of Tel-arwee,

under the Bodega we shall please nature,

for it is against nature to not be under…

…to not be under the Bodega together.

 

we shall continue living like this,

in whatever universe or cause,

in whatever time or place,

we shall not perish like burned paper,

but we shall, for always, be immortal like words,

like swords in wars and like skies filled with birds,

we shall, arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand,

relive life the way we want, in a world we create,

in a world only familiar to us, and alien to others,

a world where only the woman in the purple dress could stand,

that Woman…my Lilac.