Apoorva in Amsterdam

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Month: October, 2012

In Amsterdam

They ask me what I do there in Amsterdam
I now have a family here in Amsterdam

We lament the weather and curse the bloody wind
It does rain a lot here in Amsterdam

I don’t bike to work and I’m told I’m nuts
I usually take Tram 4 here in Amsterdam

I still don’t speak Dutch, I revel in my English
And thank the British empire here in Amsterdam

What became of Dutch Jews during the second world war
We’re telling you the truth here in Amsterdam

But village folk hate this city, they say:
When they’re gay, they’re really gay, there in Amsterdam

A Moroccan shop in De Overtoom, a Turkish baker in De Pijp
We have bucketed coexistence here in Amsterdam

The Dutch are pretty direct, they say it as it is
But life has a subtle nuance here in Amsterdam

They like me in general, but sometimes do ask:
How long will you stay ‘Mat, here in Amsterdam 

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Moment of truth

I appraise my past in this moment of truth
I fancy a future in this moment of truth

The party’s on, I’m wearing my good shoes
Should I take some wine to this moment of truth?

This Autumn is viscous, its texture is layered
Are there surprises in store in this moment of truth?

They smile a lot, but there’s deceit in their voice
Should I dissect all angles to this moment of truth?

Should I believe what I see, or go by what I sense
Am I even prepared for this moment of truth?

Do they really want me, or could they also say
Just fuck off ‘Mat from this moment of truth

Filthy fragrance

In Autumn too, my world smells good
The woods smell nice, the garden smells good

The soul resigns, the heart retreats
But the mind wakes up, and the thought smells good

The script is torn, the plot is lost
Tulips start to fly, the butterfly smells good

Expectations exceeded, surprises galore
The sun comes out, and the path smells good

As dusk sets in, and hope gets a chance
My lamp burns bright, and the candle smells good

You’re filthy as hell ‘Mat, your core reeks of loss
But you pretend very well, this facade smells good

Seeing You

In your full-sleeves shirt

And when you wear blue

I see me in you

 

The way you mediate in fights

The way you act as glue

I see me in you

 

And sometimes you withdraw

Staring at the sky – seeing through

I see me in you

 

You always want to be fair

You always want to be true

I see me in you

 

You like being in a tram

You fancy train rides too

I see me in you

 

You crinkle your eyes

And disappointments don’t rue

I see me in you

 

But – for what you want – you can fight

That’s the way to go – that’s indeed right

Don’t be like me there, my son

To learn from about that – I’m not the one

 

You’re a handsome big boy

And you’ll be a fine young man too

I’ll see me in you

Confessing love

Early morning in Amstel Park

When it’s cold and still a bit dark

On the grass – there’s a touch of dew

I’ll confess my love for you

 

In the tram and on the bus

When life goes on without a fuss

Nothing to mull over – nothing to rue

I’ll confess my love for you

 

At Pekelhaaring shall we Lunch?

Of Arancinis – just grab a bunch?

With white chocolate cheesecake tasting true

I’ll confess my love for you

 

Shall we meet at the Rembrandtplein?

Catch a movie at Tuschinski, maybe dine?

With the Three Sisters in view

I’ll confess my love for you

 

Along Beethovenstraat we could walk

Hold hands, kiss a lot, talk

I will stick to you like glue

I’ll confess my love for you

 

I love my life with you – bright and free

It’s beautiful – what you do to me

Can I always be next to you?

I confess my love for you

Learning Me

In the frivolity of wind
And the resolve of a tree
I see the point of me

I stumble two steps forward
And get dragged back three
I see the point of me

In Mead’s discourse on self
And Goffmann’s dramaturgy
I see the point of me

I humbly accept advice
When I crave empathy
I see the point of me

In a heart fraught with knots
Though my face shows glee
I see the point of me

I am stereotyped as ‘big picture’
And bucketed as INFP
I see the point of me

In a world of constraints
When I yearn to break free
I see the point of me