You Can Paint What I Cannot Write
I ask you to paint.
You, on the other hand
want me to write again.
But the ink in all my pens
has dried
and I am left here stranded
abandoned
Trying to capture with millions and millions
of words, what you could easily paint
in the stroke of a brush –
and when I think of the places we’ve been to
and the faces we’ve seen
and the conversations whose endings we left
thawing in rum and coke glasses I wonder –
I wonder.
What colors would you use to paint the
S I L E N C E?
That silence which lingers amidst grins of agreement
That silence that screams heartbreak and jealousy
And if you were to paint me
on the day you were leaving
would you have the tears trickling out of my
left eye
or right eye?
And if you were to paint yourself
Would you make your chest big enough?
- with a rib cage to fit this universe and all the planets in it -
and a monumental heart that has welcomed
every person it has met
Draw my hair – every strand a kite we run with
Draw your hands in mine – different dimensions collide at their touch
Draw our feet hanging out of white sheets – even the monsters beneath your bed would admire
I want to hold you, lullabies
I want to see you, rainbows lingering on eyelashes
I want to set you free, ukuleles on speeding highways
I want to love you, white gowns and church bells
You make me feel things all the books in the libraries I have been to have failed to describe.
Copyright © Maya Kaabour | Year Posted 2013
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