Tag Archives: #magic

of hidden magic

magic hides

inside of us

sometimes

it tells us

all we need

~○~

is that a

complete hiding

or is it

an enduring

secrecy

of things

misunderstood

© Niliema Karkhanis Reference photo by Adrien Converse from Unsplash

of hidden magic

My favourite bookstore

Probably one of the biggest influences on my writing ever is a bygone overstock, discount bookstore in a relatively small local mall I used to go to. I loved it so much anyway, but got to go there even more because it was where I did a bus transfer.

I read a lot of short plays in those days, because I like how plays look on the page, & the way the story moves along. Plus they’re enjoyable to read in commute. & of course I was reading poetry, always poetry, but like, kind of in secret.

I’ve often hidden my love of poetry, because Idk, I think until more recently, loving poetry was kind of this thing you kept to yourself. I mean, especially writing it too.

It’s still one of my favourite bookstores of all time, because it had all this like off-the-shelf lit from who knows where & why they were selling it in the first place.

I never would have read about, or even known about many of those works, had it not been for this otherwise regular brand boutique-sized, warehouse bookstore in an otherwise very regular indoor mall.

I still remember the layout of the shelves & the smell of the books there; the excitement of finding a neat, lesser-known work for $3 instead of the $25 cover price.

It was exhilarating & quietly so. The echoes from the mall, the cracking sound of carefully opening the new paperbacks & the soft thud of replacing a massive hard-back anthology; I remember those things from there more than from anywhere else I have ever held a book.

When you read like that, you learn about what kinds of writing writers have done other than their famed works, & you absorb about some of the more raw edges of their writings. You are not as pleasantly distracred by merchandising, but by sifting through the collections.

I love a certain degree of awkwardness in writing, or maybe an unfinished quality. & reading through smaller, shorter, more obscure works, you get so deliciously much of that.

The magic & mystery of my favourite bookstore, a portal almost, it stays with me. Me far way now. It long closed except in memories.

© Niliema Karkhanis

Featured photo by Jaredd Craig from Unspash

They stood at the edge of the world 

They stood at the edge of the world  & opened a small container

Inside a light and a song Inside all the questions And all of the answers Inside all the noise

And all the silence

How could something so small and simple Something at the edge of time and space

Hold everything

& hold […]

They stood at the edge of the world 

They stood at the edge of the world 

They stood at the edge of the world 

& opened a small container

Inside a light and a song

Inside all the questions

And all of the answers

Inside all the noise

And all the silence

How could something so small and simple

Something at the edge of time and space

Hold everything

& hold nothing

Here at the edge of the world

Everything and Nothing

They stood at the edge of the world

They stood at the edge of the night

They stood at the edge of the light

They held to the box

Of everything

& nothing at all

Somewhere

On this sphere

In their hands

Meaning

Abides


She stood at the edge of the world

 Ⓒ Niliema Karkhanis

Star-crossed

Photo by Igor 

from Pexels

Star Crossed

The heart sounds

Resounds

With the mundanity

Of all of it

Why does boredom

Have to hurt so much?

It’s not boredom

It’s fear

In that one song 

He said it:

Life is a fear

Of Falling

And

He

Wasn’t

Wrong

I spent myself

On withered leaves

Because 

Like them

My value was lost

On me upon

The coming season

As I knew

All along

We were 

Star-crossed

Still we were

Our own

Magic […]

Star-crossed

© Niliema Karkhanis

At the end I left my body

Photo by Rakicevic Nenad from Pexels

At the end

I left my body

I return occasionally

For warm teas delicious teas

I cannot entirely leave behind

For tender awakenings

They are few & far between

Like us

Now 

you are 

Being 

There

Here am I

Holding close 

To this corporeal form

The earth has made for me

In case I can feel again

In case I can feel again

Until then

This is magic

Not all of it 

That we wanted

Not all the magic 

We made

In stories 

& in songs

Magic enough though

Wanting crystal entities

We held dainty watch hands to task

Where you loved me

That place

Forever in gravity

Clear & sparkling

Always

It ends me

The lost quality

That even this pink most radiant nebula cannot kindle my being 

Either to fly wholly & forever or to return to my falsely contested shape-shifting body

Held

In biological logic

Are we so 

Different from flowers

So different from stars

My love I wish you were here to answer all of my questions about the make-up of the universe & what together we somehow meant within it

When we were us

You are the most beautiful love I have known

You are why my soul has left me here

& that is why I must dissipate into the multiverse

To preserve the remains of my broken aura

It lives now in the furthest reaches of the clouds

The ones from which we were made

To exist without the pain of leaving

Such clouds they take their time

Matter can be ancient

We are new & become old in a mere fraction of this existence of beautiful darkness

For what else brings the entirety of the universe to life

Like the benevolence of black soil 

my consciousness lives in the pink with the stars

Floating on vapourous clouds

For an eternity lost

The blackness of space holding me

While my broken heart holds this linear time thing to a quest 

A plea for an end to this unfettered disbelief 

A hold so deep inside my body my soul had to leave

That is anatma in its most potent form

For I am not soulless

I am suspended

Like stars

Like the vapours of nebula

I live & I die

At the same time

Sent

I leave

I return

I am nowhere

I am everywhere

Without you

With traces of your presence

Your absence

You

So that I may breathe again

Even though you are gone now

Wanting

Foregone

Finding these moments

Where are they?

I

I

I

I can’t quite make words about it

Anymore

More

Was too much

& less was too much

More was too little

Then less was too much

© Niliema Karkhanis

https://link.medium.com/qIVECT4fWdb