Sadness, Look how She dances.

I know, I know - no blog post for awhile and then of all the painful things in the world, a poem. All I want from you though is a> Uff, I can't be bothered to read, skim, scroll, close window. b> Eyes swim but actually read and realise it's a weak, fuck all piece with no backbone.

Just one over the other would suffice, just so I know. Please. Because it has been so long I can't understand my words anymore. Also, any title suggestions?




They all talk of it, Borges, Kundera, my heart,
The yearning for other places; mountain monasteries, riversides cafes
It fills up the day, inventing companions, travels, homes, children, interviews.

Sadness is bookmarked all over;
In polite waiters and Late Night Radio
People in uniform waiting at the bus stop with their tiffins.

In a disappointing subject, oh how the prospectus lied.
This city doesn’t enchant anymore, doesn’t inspire poems or elegies.
I’m tired of its universities and tombs, its markets and roads, its police and parking lots.

Sadness is in evening garb bought during the day,
In changing rooms with loud sexual music, thick drapes and flimsy party wear
I don't want to corset my jelly belly, I’d pick pajamas and my audioslave t-shirt for you to fall in love with.

I want to retreat from life for awhile
Go back to perfect pictures of European streets in National Geographic
Longing can be sustained more than hotel towels and air sickness and disappointment.

Sadness is in matching earrings, in sleeveless sari blouses
Summer smells in the midst of synthetic woolens, AC vents in a crowded place
No one to notice everyday secrets, Shampoo smells, timetables made and Band-Aid cuts.

Restlessness; I keep asking obvious questions
They answer in baroque, in hard bound bookshelf glory
But its never the one I’m looking for, I’m back to square one o one.

Sadness is in protesters lined up, tired, excited; not unlike a picnic
Weathered flags and sweaty headbands, couldn’t quite catch what the banners read
I looked in the papers the next day, why all that energy, that production, all it said was Traffic Jam.

And I pass by, I pass by. Never knowing exactly what,
Only vague noises at the back of my head, What could be important enough?
How could I not be?