Omnia - A poem by The Sun's Roof

One of my brothers from another father, possibly mother too, has been beaten by about as many bugs as have infested the blog owner, yours truly Yule.

I recently read a piece that talks about how an artist - which to me is a way of thinking, of living, of doing - invests his best writing in his/ her truths

 

Because at the end of it all, if as an artist you cannot make them feel, think or do -

not as you felt, thought or did - but as they themselves felt, thought and did in similar situations, then you fail before you take off.

Today, my brother, has failed not one bit.Here's an email I received from him early yesterday morning, about what one can only assume is the art of experience. Or is it the experience of art, drawn from experience?

 

And now, my brother Roof-sun. A poet, a writer, an artist. He also works as an engineer.

                                                                            ****

Her fragrance was Omnia. 

inThync Kenya

For an instance in time she engulfed me in its essence, her essence. 
And I, like many men before me, faltered...but only just so.
Days of hope and heartbreak culminated in one moment of resistance, 

the ultimate stand,
that I be the seducer and she the tempted one.  

At the edge, we danced, of fate, of life, of bliss and torture.
She side-stepped, I pirouetted, dizzy with the fantasies of youth and adulthood but caressed lightly.  

The night wore on, and so did we, languidly teasing each other, a sparring of hearts and wits.
Was it fear, or favour or what lesser men call common sense, that she whispered herself away into the cold night, 
leaving me with memories of longing and ponderings of time: past, present and future? 

Alas, as 'tis said, 'twas not but to be, that this perfect stranger, rakish and unsated, took flight on wings of sobriety, 
forgetting me in the twilight of our shared sins.
My heart now belts a steady nocturne, soulful and sombre, yet exhilirated at the taste of heaven seduced, 
the taste of hell's pleasures on my tongue.

She smelled beautiful.

She smelled like the promise of sex: feral and desperate,
yet barely contained.
A promise that was never made and somehow still broken.

Surrounded by a halo of electricity,
we were attracted to her danger: suicidal moths.
I spent an eternity with her in one night,
the one chosen from many...... Or was I?
Her kisses were dry and her skin cold.
Her smiles seemed empty, practiced and plastic.
Warmth I only found in whole women.
She was a trophy.

My pride was short-lived, a reflection of our shared insanity.
Yet, was she less because I could not claim her, conquer her?
Was she no more a woman, a lover, a friend,
because my pride was thwarted?

Much like the annoying moth?

In my weak moments, I wonder, what could have been?
What would have come out of our sinful union?
Green eyes watched us, as we danced and laughed
and made a mockery of friendship.
I lit that green fire and basked in its glow,
its radiance massaging this fragile heart.

Her fragrance was Omnia.

And, in a twist of longing and fate,
I seduced the green fire and turned it red.

Is this what it is to be a man,
to hold and to hurt and to promise to hold again yet only hurt again?
In the cold of early morning, my demons took flight,
Leaving me scarred and scared.

I saw my self for what I was: crooked and conceited.

This lust is a tantrum,

A mortal's obsession with the one considered angelic.
And angels are but demons and demons angels.

The dust cleanses with its settling and reality burns away the fantasies.
Yet, here I remain, watching, waiting for her return.

****