May 25, 2024

by KATHEU KILONZO

Perhaps I Am The Devil  (inspired by “the fruits” by Paris Paloma)

You dug into the depths of my inner being

like the roots of a eucalyptus tree

rendering me helpless at your feet—

a disciple kneeling at the temple of your existence,

a child bent to the will of a treat that is you,

an artist that is unhealthily obsessed with work that isn’t theirs.

You made me fall from heaven

or whatever depths that I came from to find you.

You have been, for the longest time, 

the muse to my literature and art,

the thought that dominates my subconscious wrongdoings,

the reality that I see when I lose my sobriety,

the dream I would wish into being

whenever the Jin appears to grant me my three desires.

“learn to live with the emotions

until they no longer have a hold on your actions

rather than ridding yourself of them, for that will

blind you from the reality that they are a part of you, too”

You have quenched your thirst from my wells

with the very same roots you dug into my entirety

even when I stood to lose more than gain from you

but no more will you take from me.

I refuse to let you drain any more from my precious wells.

I refuse to allow you any closer to me than the devil is to God.

I deny you the chance to have a hold on me as you have for years.

I take back my life from the altar that I set it up upon for your worship.

I rip off the bandages from the wounds you caused me and never addressed

and walk out of your care that I kept hoping to receive, with my undressed chars. 

“do you know that villains were once victims too”

You were never the villain in my story, but I was in yours. 

I will no longer fight to be anything otherwise,

neither will I keep hoping that we become reacquainted;

I am picking myself up with the baggage that is weight I came with;

my love, my care, my pain, my unconditional availability,

and choosing the path that does not lead to you

or anything that involves or includes your specificity. 

*

Ludus Amor

The first days of love

oh, those erotic days of Ludus

like that early-morning sunrise;

exciting, beautiful and attractive

to the eye, mind, heart and soul,

and an attraction to the outside world,

with everything springing in color-

perfect blends of red, orange and blue

like those timely rendezvous,

blooming wild roses of unimaginable sight

as the same love continuously keeps growing

and the admirable ship keeps sailing

across the unseen sea of life and

pulling through storms of insecurities.

Thus, dear keen listener and reader,

keep your ship sailing even further

by following the communication equation,

and, as a result, completely allow

your ship turn into an exquisite cruise

for a lifetime or whatever amount of time

 that you will sail through life together,

living, loving, enjoying and growing,

because that’s just what cruise ships

of beauty with that of sunrises and sunsets alike

are meant to be like

always and forever.

*

A Gardener’s Love Letter

She landed in my garden in susurrations,

tending to the flowers in sirenic melodies

that had remained chimerical in my mind

reserved only and meant for eons before my time,

and drawing me indubitably to the cast of her allure. 

She proceeded to build a dwelling of her own

growing comfortable and warm in a place

that had been so numbingly frigid and unwelcoming

nearly every visitor succumbed to leaving

until she checked in despite being an unbidden guest.

She continues to feed as she needs

folding into her budding in her time

shedding off the skin of her past life

morphing into an unimpeachable beauty

and weaving me deeper into the web of her being.

As she flies outside her burgeoning

feeding on the nectar she claims delectable

I catch glimpses of the windows to her soul

and cannot help losing my way in her labyrinth

drowning the more in unseen waters of her love.

Beneath her command, I am beyond loved

and underneath her feeding, I am somehow fed.

In the holding of her delicate arms, I am warm and home,

and as she tends to my garden, she blooms the more,

building a world with just us two, melting in each other.

This enigmatic kind of affection, I thought, 

I was segregated from, denied by the gods,

until came this embodiment of chiliads of blessings;

a manifestation gentility and compassion

I had begged to touch the hem of.

This garden needs no guarding or protection

because in her presence is divine-like security.

Within this otherworldly loving, I need no hiding

because this kind of vulnerability feels like safety

and this kind of submitting feels akin to tender prudence.