I sometime wake up, searching for words, stories, videos, that can better express myself. More often than not, when I am searching for the broken rotten words like an trash picker, I end up with something that can not get puzzled together. With broken words and sentences, I sometimes become this frozen, robotic figure.
“Are you okay?”
I nod, facial expression becoming the usual standard protocol of etiquette, like a pretentious delicacy.
How can I be telling you what is in my mind and not get an “you are insane”, i ask myself. [i write your name]
I am not robotic, and [I write your name] I am just a person with a lot going on in my heart. [I write your name]
How can I take your hand and show you the beauty of my wor [I write your name] -ld. I guess I can’t do that, unless all the [I write your name] stars align and the moon is full brightness.
How can our ordinary words and sentences that have their own standard operating protocol let me accurately express the [I write your name] beauty of Your being. [I write].
The following is poem that may accurately express my sentiments for my Master. It’s by Paul Eluard and was featured in the film Maps to the Stars (2014) by David Cronenberg. For the purpose of sincerity, I will type it word by word again, reiterating the poetry without copy+paste. I hope it rewards you if you read it word by word too.
Liberty
On my school notebooks
On my desk and on the trees
On the sands of snow
I write your name
On the pages I have read
On all the white pages
Stone, blood, paper or ash
I write your name
On the images of gold
On the weapons of the warriors
On the crown of the king
I write your name
On the jungle and the desert
On the nest and on the brier
On the echo of my childhood
I write your name
On all my scraves of blue
on the moist sunlit swamps
On the living lake of moonlight
I write your name
On the fields, on the horizon
On the birds’ wings
And on the mill of shadows
I write your name
On each whiff of daybreak
On the sea, on the boats
On the demented mountaintop
I write your name
On the froth of the cloud
On the sweat of the storm
On the dense rain and the flat
I write your name
On the flickering figures
On the bells of colours
On the natural truth
I write your name
On the high paths
On the deployed routes
On the crowd-thronged square
I write your name
On the lamp which is lit
On the lamp which isn’t
On my reunited thoughts
I write your name
On a fruit cut in two
Of my mirror and my chamber
On my bed, an empty shell
I write your name
On my dog, greathearted and greedy
On his pricked-up ears
On his blundering paws
I write your name
On the latch of my door
On those familiar objects
On the torrents of a good fire
I write your name
On the harmony of flesh
On the faces of my friends
On each outstretched hand
I write your name
On the window of surprises
On a pair of expectant lips
In a state for deeper than silence
I write your name
On my crumbled hiding-places
On my sunken lighthouses
On my walls and my ennui
I write your name
On abstraction without desire
On naked Solitude
On the marches of death
I write your name
And for the want of a word
I rener my life
For I was born to know you
To name you
Liberty by Paul Eluard (1895 – 1952)
In all the unexplained silence, i go on to my knees, my non-literate lips a paint brush, i write the poetry at the top of Your feet,.
In all the unspoken language, i wet my tongue, my humble boot blacker, i shine Your pride.