We’re like two thick ropes coiled together
and we love doing this, cutting and knifing
at the expertly woven threads of each other's
we'd like to think of as “complex”.
But baby there’s nothing complex
about battling right on the teetering edge of a cliff.
Swords dually broken,
bodies equally on the verge of collapsing.
Yet we persist.
Not till the last ounce of power has left us,
and it’s one of us that throws in the last hit.
Then we are falling at an incomprehensible
The last thread-like line of the rope snapping inaudibly
as we fully submit to each other.
Please give a detailed explanation about the meaning and main idea of this poem.:
This relationship is not "complex" because of the two people, but because of the complications they have built up, mounted and piled between each other. However they are not simple, and do not plan on making themselves out to be. They are two expertly independent woven threads because they both have spent and dedicated much time on self-cultivation, individually interconnected in mind, body and spirit. Yet if they can bring out the best of themselves in each other, they can also bring out the worst. With each individual strand knit tight together, neither of them will succumb to the other but it's all the corresponding cutting and hacking and tearing into each other that brings them to manic desperation. One of them eventually gives in, but not if they can't bring the other down with them as well. And in the crazed split second of mutual and self-destruction, a single understanding stands above them both: They will both die together, or they won't at all. this way, neither of them have anything to lose. Their relationship is not easy an easy one to name or to mark. To know whether they stand on the ground, on a single rope or nothing at all. It is as minacious as it is a loving, as sacrificial as it is consuming. however that single understanding will always remain: everything everywhere and all at once, they will go through it together.
Please explain your writing and thought process regarding this poem.:
as a person of the present, I would call this a gift of the past. sure, my writing would have improved a quite a bit since the last time I dabbled into writing poetry. but me now or ever, would never be able to replicate something of a design. this poem was created at the height of when emotions and circumstance carrying it bore down on me to its fullest extent. everything was taken into account, the white rage, the twisted satisfaction from striking even if you're struck in return. the desperation to understand but the unwillingness to give in. to give up and give in, or to wait till we arrive at where the smallest slivers of light touch the cold that becomes hope for an exit to the end of the tunnel. or am I blinding walking one where darkness is meant to stretch out infinitely?
Why did you choose to write this poem?:
I write to relive. to retell. and to revive an experience, a painting, a song, a person, a story, a feeling or anything really unique to my own lens. completely subjective, my fantasy and personal art. and a space I keep away from the normalities day to day life carry along with it.