Shadowplay of past – my poesy, the streets
are sordid rivers of kajal. With tongue still stiff
I sip the bitterness of ale and coffeewords,
Too scared to leave,too scared to stay.
You left me to unsorted manuscripts
you left me to the deeds unsigned.
The welts across my thigh, a phantom pain
of fingertips and rusted words you left.
Across the street, a homeless man,
his hands are eyes, my gaze unlocked
can find the back door exit, my escape
on cobblestones, stiletto heels as drums.
His hands are yours. I’m his fiddle
left at mercy to kajal and coffeewords.
Credit Gerrit Photography
Linked to Magpie Tales, a little effort in unrhymed sonnet writing.
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September 27, 2015
Björn Rudbergs writings 
well written….thanks for your kind comments.
” a phantom pain
of fingertips and rusted words you left.”
Being left behind – feeling insignificant. You have summed it up.
“You left me to unsorted manuscripts
you left me to the deeds unsigned.”
there is a deep whiff of hopelessness here
thanks Bjorn for dropping in at my Sunday Lime today
much love…
There is a bitterness here, the words spit out…being left behind – I can relate.
the image and the poem meant, well for me, how a person is looking from a window of a coffeeshop reminiscing about yesterday’s love and how a homeless man this person sees from that window, represents his or her looking for an escape from his or her sadness…
Wonderful poem with depth charges decisive, I think quite agree on the interpretation of the picture!
Limbo Delirium
Black & White Abstract
The image your words conjure here drew me in to this world behind the glass and the reflection upon it…2 worlds
Shades of Stieg Larsson 😉
And dark you went with the black and white. Haha! I was not able to look up ” kajal” except to find it was a lamp oil make up from India? Please don’t laugh I loved your poem!
Kajal, is the black cosmetic used around the eyes.. 🙂 same as kohl I think.
Thanks now I understand Bjorn!
“Too scared to leave,too scared to stay.” Too many people are living in this linbo… Loved the imagery.
Must confess, I don’t know kajal definition. But I felt your yearning, a little bitterness, pain in the memories you conjured up here.
This is really quite haunting. Eerie even. The hands as eyes, watching. Left with so much to do. Kajal is a dangerous color. To be played as a fiddle, only an instrument of theirs. Its a bit of a nightmare.
Abandoned, with ‘unsorted manuscripts’ and ‘ deeds unsigned’ – don’t we all have to do this ‘life work’.;…’phantom pain’ – from thoughts and still alive memory, it’s healing and transforming experience, I feel…esp. with Kajal, ale and coffeewords. ~ Very cool rhythm even with no rhymes!
Stiletto hells on cobblestones….. dangerous walking.
You describe the lonely and bitter feelings so well.
I found this line “His hands are yours. I’m his fiddle” most capturing
beautiful
Almost a Gothic drama that cultivates mystery. Love ‘rusted words’.
You left me to unsorted manuscripts
you left me to the deeds unsigned.
Must have left hurriedly without any last words. Can be depressing!
Hank
Your brilliant incorporation of parts of the body throughout, give this piece a primordial aesthetic – starkly juxtaposed against the trappings of modernity. Awesome writing.
Wonderfully written, Bjorn. Thanks for the visit. Much appreciated.
Pameal
*Pamela
Such a Dancer to the Gods
Really liked this one Bjorn…and I like the use of the word Kajal…
The morph into the homeless man intrigues me and the welts across thighs brings up quesitons. I had to look up Kajal and only found the Indian movie star.
Rich in imagery and mysterious. I highly enjoyed it.
“sordid rivers of kajal” “a phantom pain of fingertips” the images you use have such a depth of hurt and despair. Wonderful poem.
With tongue still stiff
I sip the bitterness of ale and coffeewords,
Too scared to leave,too scared to stay…
This description really nails a certain milieu, so common in the present day. Great reading of the picture.
All the mascara in the world can’t hide that loneliness!
I love you tale – very noir.
Nice, Bjorn… Love the mood of this, and the wry observations.
As Rosemary said, this is very noir. I love the mysteries it conjures.
Seems it doesn’t really matter whether kajal is understood. It is that word which drew me into the poem as the dark around the eyes can be emphasise the mood and tears. Very emotive and suggests rather than tells.