The Modern Tribe

The best thing about having bipolar is

You can assure yourself that you are happiest in the half of your life

Or your lips are curving to smile

While the rest of your heart is crying, stretching itself into

Something unreachable and going to swallow your entire being

The most banal equation our Teachers taught us is

Good education is good money

But university education is just like vagina

Once you put all of yourself in

You have no turning point until you touch the limits

With heavy breaths

Like other modern tribes people

We had talked about limits all the time

But she was not listening to me properly

She wanted to take a step to the sky and spread her wings

While I persuaded her to drive to the same distance

I wanted to take the mic down in the backstreet of broken dreams

Instead of fancy parties, public events

But there is a word tattooed on all our feet  

When she played chess

When she touched the pieces

With her little fingers with unpolished but neatly-cut nails

The chess board was growing into something nebulous

Something that melts down and evolves into a private journal

Where only the two of us are privileged to write on

Or a telephone circuit throughout this country

On which our conversations of two years still lingers

I told her, chess is similar to life

Unprecedented events can occur in a moment

But there always seems to be chances of recovery

She laughed like a kid who has just learned a new beautiful trick 

When she made a wrong move

Maybe she laughed to show the world that she is still fine

Despite the mistakes being made

Maybe she laughed because she was with the person she wants to be with

I took her knight, she took my bishop

Then she said I have three pieces out of the game and she has four

Which means she is losing?

It was then struck me if we were making each other lose in a very limited time of life

My eyes migrated from the board to her staring eyes

To let them pass through every vein I have

To record them for every suffocating evening she will be away

Before I finished absorbing sights of her into my living memories

She had a good excuse and she left

The game, unfinished

Pieces of chess, intact

With neither of us lost

The Sugar Crash

It will find a spot to rest on the horizon

Of my memories

After the prettiest moments have been said and done,

There's no motive to smile at

The morning sun or the raining sky

In recognition at their effort to make her move beautiful

Love, a token to the preposterous time

And transitory mystery 

But…

I know…

No kid, after all, stops having sweets

Just because he is afraid of the sugar crash

And we won't…