poem: supernova
written: 4:50 p.m. on Tuesday, Nov. 11, 2003

Supernova

his beauty is choking
like a loose noose around Snow White's slim slender neck
a retarded death

but he's not tormented or broken.

he's full of pathos, though --
arrogance, too,
and maybe i was half-asleep
when he wrote the moon in the sky
directed it to shine
brighter than the sun.

he takes the wind, the rain,
the snow --
melts them together -- elementary music --
terraced fields are gone now,
back to bare necessities
and the farming life charms him
because he misses it

and he writes it out for us,
writes his heart out for us,
and he's not an idol to me --
no, he's more -- much more -- than that.

his broken melody -- no, not really --
sings with haunted beauty or irreparable damage
and his slanted eyes, arrogant features,
wince with pain and his hair golden brownish
blond
he changes his looks his image

but never his style his heart his soul

his music.

i wish to compare him to
the moon that glows with a soft hint of a smile
on a lonely mid-autumn night
or to the supernova in the sky that
explodes with light and life
when ignited, dancing with eloquence and beauty

for it is he that connects me to a culture buried under the debris
of the West -- my culture --

and for that i wish to compare him to
the Chinese guitar, the elegant fingers that pluck the delicate strings
for he is life and he is light

he writes the moon on his piano
he composes the stars on his score sheet
he mumble-sings with efficacy
and i don't hear, but feel
the words that he didn't pen,
the words that he feels.

he spins a web of magic
in the concert theatre
in the recording studio
on the basketball court

he calls out, NOTHING BUT NET!
and the ball sails home,
licks nothing but net,
and he pumps his fists into the air --
VICTORIOUS

and we get that sense
when he opens his mouth,
releases truths unknown to the rest of the world

it's a secret he's sharing,
discreetly, mysteriously,
he whispers it with a confident smile,
a twinkle, a sparkle, in his eyes,
and we are the only ones that can hear it.

he takes the stars the moon the sun
entwines the galaxies
demolishes the barries that separate
US from THEM

and it's an epic journey he's on --
whether he knows it or not --
and it's been a while since i last
felt the urge to
carve his image in the clouds,
just to let him know that
he's bigger than life.

but he goes back home,
back to his childhood, where he grew up --
the deepest love he knows
is the love of his mother.

he smiles sleepily,
wraps himself in the blanket that he wet
just a few years ago,
curls up like a foetus in his baby cradle...

the dye in his hair is gone,
his hair is pushed out of his eyes,
his billboards go up in flames
downstairs

and he's no longer in da hood

now, only his music remains.

the music that speaks like Eternity.

the Eternity that he wrote.

11/11/03, 4.11 p.m. for -- guess who?

before sunrise // before sunset

Previously:
- - Tuesday, Aug. 29, 2017
I'm moving. - Sunday, Jul. 11, 2010
In all honesty - Tuesday, Jul. 06, 2010
What I want for my birthday... - Sunday, Jul. 04, 2010
On Roger's behalf. - Friday, Jul. 02, 2010