auburncore

[auburncore]

The lines twist as though memory itself grew into the fabric. Threads spiraling in a language only the hands know. Leaves, ghostly, interlace— remnants of thoughts once wild, now stilled in blue and ivory. In this framework of silence, I find some embered thrums of my own being perhaps the pulse of a brewing aspiration or the sedated hum of stillness, each vine reaching toward something anomalous. Patterns repeat, but never the same, as if every repetition is an unuttered riddle answers to which are hire to the interlude of confirmation.

[auburncore]

- ac

[auburncore]

Amorphous silhouette from the auburn lore trapped in glistening glass doors © AC

[auburncore]

In the gallery of slow mornings that dons on a dusky afternoon like appearance, caffeine

lingers like a heavy and striking echo that clings to the filigrees on wooden panels long after

the last note has faded, staining the silence with the aroma of possibility that’s not far

removed from a chiseled conviction. Each moment feels like a sip, a slow melting of time,

ice cubes shifting in glass like thoughts in mid-air, half-formed, flickering between

what is and what could be. A hand pours, deliberate and steady, guiding the dark stream

into a cup that catches dreams: a vessel for ambitions both grand and mundane.

In the quiet corner, the French press waits, a still-life of oil bottles, a library of tastes

collected and stored like distant memories on dusty shelves, each drip a detour

back to some forgotten start. Cookies, misshapen but earnest, sit like relics of a cloying time,

draped in a paper shroud that crinkles like cushiony laughter. Don’t mistake them as

simply cookies like I did; they're forgiveness for the days spent running on empty,

the black-and-white line drawings of adolescence still fresh on plates that bear memories of a time

we knew how to dance with total abandon, with friends wearing our mismatched hearts

on sleeves that have since been rolled up & stained with coffee spills and hurried decisions.

[auburncore]

The projected shadow

of my hubris

looms like a colossal gate;

you dare not enter it:

you will neither

reach your destination

nor be truly lost.

[auburncore]

The impossibility of a shared heartbeat faded when the fingers interlaced in hypnotic ecstasy.

[auburncore]

The black hole hollowness

absorbs anything

that’s stuffed into it.

They dissipate tracelessly

into pre existence.

Sinews disjoin,

membranes dissolve

into vacuity.

Cells dematerialize

into an irrefutable void.

Formless haze of vestiges

across a vast expanse

percolate into

the infernal chasm.

Blurry shadows disappear

into a gaping maw

like the chance visitors

into the entrance

of a cavernous warehouse.

[auburncore]

There is a price to empathy. A suffocating despair consumes you, and in most cases it’s not even yours.

[auburncore]

Whispers of the Neon Dusk

dim electric hush of twilight

where city spires lose their outlines

obscured dreams unfurl like extended hallways

pavements slick

with the memories of rain

the stop and speed limit signs

like distant stars fallen

cast periwinkle breath across the metaphors

of a retroceding evening

flinty edges of existence soften

time dissolves into liquid vapor

windows of the lofty buildings flicker

with the pulse of lives never truly seen

mist conceals a constellation

of incontestable stories

heart beats through shadows and light

unwhispered secrets take the shapes of bricks

each glistening stone bear the weight

of unlabeled memories

the mosaic of moments shimmer in the neon light

streetlights are the sentinels of the dusk

the guardians of forgotten pathways

their lights a gentle persuasion

bending the silhouettes to murmured truths

the thick mauve air of longing

weaves between the spaces

of the seen and the unseen

blurring the lines between what is real

and what is merely dreamed

[auburncore]

Saffron Hour

impermanence! a voice speaks

I look around —I see nothing

nothing but this indiscernible violet haze

is it possible for us to fade

into the hues and in the depth of shades?

astronomical clash

of tides —is it what we actually are?

drops on the windshield

rolling one third of the way

then breaking

seeking an unmanageable permanence

writhing glory of an aging sunflower

against the russet afternoon sky

oh, could you hear any sigh

or perhaps the sound of silence caressing pride?

inconsistent! the same voice utters now

I see it —no, not the speaker,

just the electric wires,

holding back the outgrowth of a roadside tree

that looks like a Siberian exile

inhale! that’s what a harsh tone

now seems to say

I look for a raven in flight

in the direction where I hear

a tire’s screech

the confectionery closes

at the face of dark forest desires

[auburncore]

Spitting Image

Identical eyes, even the tresses

and the collarbones are not missed.

Her eyelashes dipped in midnight’s well

of bottomless toxicity,

covering a shell-piercing gaze;

the resemblance too hard to ignore.

I found myself murmuring, "Avert your gaze,"

though reason knew it was not you,

though there was no anticipation

of a transformative, essence altering encounter.

Yet I was seized by the dread

of becoming a transparent book,

predictable and easily decipherable

to her as I once was to you.

Your outmatched intellect is a perpetual summit.

Each day, you'd fight invisible battles,

and I'd remain oblivious to your silent victories.

You are like a wise general

who wins her war even without waging one.

Ascending to such heights

one would say she cannot try

but fear consumed me,

the fear of her looking into my depths,

where I'd vowed no invasion

will take place further.

What memory still serves

is her gaze across the meeting table

from our very first encounter,

a gaze with the same level of curiosity

as your questions about me had

when we first crossed paths.

How could I not notice her,

notice a spitting image of you,

notice a late entrant at the meeting room

struggling so unfailingly to catch her breath?

But why she would do the same,

like she had seen me before,

is still beyond my guesses.

Months later I still feel the need

to limit bumping into her,

to let smile be enough as hellos and hi’s,

but sometimes there’re unavoidable interactions

and every time she flirts with me,

obviously not as subtle as you,

she involves in the conversation

the person standing next to her.

I wonder why a witness

is required here.

[auburncore]

"Locked"

Heart's locked in Hades' chamber.

Persephone is not unkind

but can she give me back my heart?

Her touch will get the heart

palpitate all over again.

I hope she reaches for it undisturbed

and holds it against her bosom

where spring fields are vast

and do not ever age,

where the songs of the elusive birds echo

in the air of humming tranquility.

I hope she hides my heart in her robe,

brings it to me at the end

of the Orwellian nightfall

and places it inside my frosted ribcage.

[auburncore]

Invasive melancholy in your eyes; one glimpse of it and I fear if I can ever heal.

[auburncore]

"Luminous Scars"

How many nights

have you spent without sleep

in the false fervency

of dreams inescapably deep?

What extent of excruciating pain

have you endured

to have finally mastered the art

of sculpting a smile so pure?

How many steps have you taken girl,

and stood up after the worst defeat

to feel nothing with a thorn

stuck in your bleeding feet?

How many rivers have you cried

in numbing silence

to love so unconditionally

against fate, in fearless defiance?

[auburncore]

Everglow

The walk is tireless

in this path knighted with flowers,

anointed with

lakeside silver flashes.

The road ceaselessly unfurls

like a stonewashed ribbon

into the lightless horizon

that was a saffron dome

some seven hundred steps back

or perhaps more;

you lose count

when the unsaid words

talk in the dialect of the twinkling

but conservative eyes,

and the uttered frivolity,

the seemingly pointless giggles

fuel the stride

like an ever renewable source

of euphoric ambience.

Laughter’s echo mingles

with the rustle of unseen wings

as the treaty of unveiling mysteries

is wordlessly signed.

[auburncore]

"Conundrum"

In the russet void

the search for truth continues

but have I not lied to myself enough

to confuse truth with lies,

facts with illusions?

Imagination replaces memories

but the pages from the diary

testify otherwise.

Mind plays the ancient trick now:

wearing a camouflage of half truths;

stemming as a truth

but swapped unnoticed with unsuspecting lies,

a glimpse of fact

inspiring a creative stretch of the narrative;

a serpentine polyester thread

weaved in the fabric of the same color.

The lips dry out in want of a confession,

overburdened with bruised thoughts.

When the eyes fail the polygraph test,

metaphysics take over,

spattering the hues of a questioned reality.

Traveling against the gravity now

a firework of thousand versions of truth.

[auburncore]

"Climax"

What unfolds in the final act? We sit, absorbed, eyes fixed on the flickering light of the screen awaiting the climax. We could skip ahead, can we not to see the final frame? but wouldn’t seizing it prematurely forsake the voyage?

Each part of life’s unwritten script is but a fleeting brushstroke on a canvas vast, woven threads of sorrow and joy in a tapestry. To bypass the weaving, to grasp at success without the loom’s labor is to hold a hollow shell, a victory stripped of its marrow.

The harvest of life comes through the patient tilling of time, through drought and deluge, through the steady hands of perseverance. Rushing to the pinnacle without the ascent, leaves the summit barren, its grandeur unseen.

The success without the pilgrimage looks like an empty chalice, bereft of the wine of experience, bereft of the savor of struggle, and the depth of being.