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  • anguisette 74w

    Makoto Shinkai, The Garden of Words

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    Narukami no sukoshi toyomite
         (A faint clap of thunder)
    sashi kumori
         (Clouded skies)
    Ame mo furanu ka?
         (Perhaps rain comes)
    Kimi wo todomemu
         (If so, will you stay here with me?)

    Narukami no sukoshi toyomite
         (A faint clap of thunder)
    furazu to mo
         (Even if rain comes not)
    warewa tomaramu
         (I will stay here)
    imoshi todomeba*
         (Together with you)

    - Makoto Shinkai, The Garden of Words

  • anguisette 98w

    The thing about time travel is that you can no longer belong to the time you came from. You cannot belong to the time you went to. You are stuck somewhere not necessarily between the two, but rather beyond the two. It's like the world you've seen becomes a barrier between you and those that haven't seen it.

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  • anguisette 121w

    Distance
    changes everything,
    and as is often so,
    there is no distance
    greater than time.







    ©anguisette

  • anguisette 122w

    I shed my wings,
    and a hurricane
    on the other side of the world
    is killed before it's born.
    The people sleep a sleep
    that only ignorance may permit.
    But what of me?
    What is a butterfly
    without her wings?
    You ask me to make a sacrifice.
    But is the erasure of an identity
    lesser than the erasure of a life?
    When you die, you die human.
    But what do you call me now?
    I'm someone without a name.
    Again.
    An anomaly incompatible with life
    and yet, I live.
    I try to find who I am
    stripped of the identity
    I was given,
    stripped of the destiny
    I'd clawed towards
    all my life.
    My uniqueness attracts
    researchers, collectors.
    They offer to make my life easier.
    They offer me materiality.
    They do not see,
    I left that behind when
    I surrendered my wings.
    I do not want your touch.
    I do not want your glance.
    I do not expect your love,
    for you will not receive it back
    the way you left it.
    I only offer you my
    wingless vision,
    take it or leave it.
    There is a flight greater
    than wings can know.
    In every flutter of my mind
    is a dancing beam of light.
    Clouds fall into the sea
    and melt into rainbows,
    the trails in the woods
    trip upon each other
    and confuse their travellers.
    Pebbles shiver to the tune
    of dead dragons and
    their vibrations pull stars
    out of their slumber.
    They speak their history
    to the soil wherein I lie,
    wherein I listen.
    There is a flight greater
    than wings can know,
    and I'm almost at its edge.

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    anguisette

  • anguisette 127w

    Um eine Sprache zu beherrschen ist mehr als ein Kreuz auf einer Checkliste, mehr als ein Bestandteil von einem Lebenslauf. Nein, was genau definiert das Wort, 'Sprache'? Es ist ein Anschluss. Zwischen Gedanke und Ausdruck, zwischen was man sich nur vorstellen konnte und was jetzt auf seiner Zunge liegt. Aber es ist noch mehr. Wenn in jeder Person eine Welt existiert, ist dann Sprache die Brücke zwischen Welten. Die Sprache ist der Unterschied, zwischen jemandes Welt flüchtig zu sehen und sie anfassen zu können. Es macht mir traurig zu sehen, wie Menschen vollständige Gespräche führen können, ohne ihre Herzen zu öffnen. Gibt es nicht bereits zu viele Grenzen in dieser Welt? Was benötigt wird, sind vielleicht Brücken. Eine Sprache muss nicht immer kompliziert sein, nicht etwas, das von Regeln gewogen werden muss. Es kann einfach sein. Vergessen wir nicht, dass Stille auch eine Sprache ist, wenn auch eine Sprache, die langsam ausgestorben ist.

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    ©anguisette

  • anguisette 130w

    For a second, shone a beam of sunlight so powerful that it turned the entire coach a glowing yellow, and everybody stopped what they were doing. The people on their phones stopped looking at their phones, the people with their books and magazines stopped reading, the college kids stopped their playful chatter, the old couple looked out instead of at each other. We all did; we watched the world whooshing by in a blaze of light.

    In the next few seconds, an entire coach of people shared something collective, something hypnotizing, something so connecting. Something we wouldn't have a name for, not even after that beam of light passed and left us in relative darkness. So when it did, we looked around, almost a little confused, as if a spell was suddenly broken. And then we looked at each other, each one a stranger to the other, and yet maybe only for this moment, not really a stranger. Everyone looked at everyone else, no one spoke. We just exchanged smiles.

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    ©anguisette

  • anguisette 132w

    Under the banyan,
    a woman sits,
    cross-legged, eyes closed.
    What to her
    is lost, is held
    by the aged fingers
    of the tree.

    The leaf, withered,
    and yet a child,
    surrenders to the wind.
    He masters something,
    his mother, with her
    outstretched fingers
    never will; to let go.

    The woman
    brushes off a dead leaf
    that falls into her lap.
    She will not allow it
    to become a grave twice.

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    ©anguisette

  • anguisette 134w

    What if
    I'm not the poet,
    and you, the reader.

    What if
    I create a world
    only to see it
    through your eyes.

  • anguisette 134w

    "When you lose your mind,
    other things do you find."
    - Two lighters and a thief.

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    dead oesophagus

    Anatomy
    hasn't taught me to name
    the parts of my body
    that have become cages
    to wisps of songs
    that I couldn't let go.

    I step on the water,
    and my guilty toes
    break the surface easily.
    I drown a few bubbles;
    Because they had nothing to say.
    Why do their deaths
    sound like loud kisses.

    There were dialogues
    I'd staged on my tongue
    so many times
    with my lips shut,
    that when the time came
    they forgot
    they were curtains
    not walls.
    They are now thumbnails
    asleep under a bed of saliva.

    When the green
    turns into brown
    and your poetry
    has run out of rage,
    come to me.
    I'll teach you
    the dance of a leaf
    lost in the ocean.


    ©anguisette

  • anguisette 137w

    I do not look for kindness in April. I do not ask for rain. Life begins to bloom outside my window, and scars from last year begin to ache again. I freeze time with the click of a button, and time holds its breath, the rain, suspended eerily in the headlights of a car it hasn't yet been hit by. There is so much we'll have forgotten in the years that'll come. There is so much we'll only pretend to. This is a city that has taught its waves to break quietly, what to speak of crashes.

    ______________________________________________________

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    ©anguisette