t w e n t y

This is art of the highest degree. Your words transport me on the Jasmins of your dreams.

This is going into my favourites, to be cherished like a special holiday pebble.

Take care

The metaphors in this, and symbolism, is so intriguing! I keep re-reading and finding new meaning. A year older, and promises of less bitterness and more sweetness that will last... for some of us, it's trying to piece together parts of ourselves, or wanting the past years to be filled, and something we can look back on and understand. The theme of hollowness here, ghosts, and the way we can feel empty inside, like it's our eternity. The question of if we are the ghosts, since they are our only companions. There's also mention in this poem of your fear of never seeing someone again, which at first, I perceived as a person, who lives in reality, and the ghosts who remind you of the void make you feel like you will never be living and thriving with that person again. But then I also perceived it as one of the ghosts who visit you. Whose memory you don't want to ever forget.

So many parts I want to comment on here, but I'll still to the most poignant lines in my opinion:

"tangerines rotted every time I held them;
when did my skin grow poisonous?
or was it a dream that I never escaped from?"

- Your visuals in this are stunning, absolutely stunning. I liked that you mentioned the tangerine again, and the way it feels intimate, or like a favorite fruit, or something that brings you joy. Now, seeing them rot at your touch, brings a sense of terror and questions as to if it's you, or simply leftover from a dream. This wondering, this question of reality, and also who we become over the years. What power and poison we can hold, even if we don't realize it fully.

"there was a time when I thought
home was my graveyard, so I ran;
rain cloaked the town and running away felt
easier than swallowing a grain of rice inside the
empty walls of a graveyard."

- The comparison of home being a graveyard here took my breath away, because they seem like two opposite things. There's a sense of dread, like never being able to escape the memories and ghosts, so you feel the urge to run. But to where?

"early autumn mornings still bring me rotten fruits.
nothing I do can make them unlove me, they say."

- Again, the mention of rotten fruits is powerful here! What's also interesting is the "unlove me" part. Like the wholeness of a perfectly ripe piece of fruit is just an inconceivable thing now.

"and I thought I knew how god would console me
but I could only come up with a silence more silent
than the place I once called home."

- You tied everything together brilliantly here. From the beginning, when you pretend you can talk to god through the jasmines, asking for the spaces to be filled. And the despair in realizing he might not know how to do this, so there is just silence, a silence stronger than one you've ever known before.

I will keep coming back to this piece. There's still something so personal in this, and I was moved by the themes of wanting to fill the empty spaces, and the holes, in your life. I think it's an incredibly thought-provoking take on aging too, and how the pieces of us from the past may fade, and we wonder who we are becoming.

Love your work so much!

I usually don't like poems with no apparent form, but this one was breathtaking. There's nothing else to say. Great work.