Tarik Murrell
Bio
A physicist learning to write.
I wrote a book! $10 and it's yours.
I want to eat from my writing. I feed it , so it can feed me.
Stories (20)
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heaven
Heaven help me. I call to the cosmos because the earth clearly doesn’t speak my tongue. The winds know my name but carry it to deaf ears. The soil knows my pain but won’t share it with me. The Earth’s indifference to me reads like malice. It Sees. It can’t be ignorance. Ignorance is the realm of mortals.
By Tarik Murrell2 years ago in Poets
Lovers
I’m not an intelligent lover. My romance isn’t practical, it’s not pragmatic. I love like stars, balanced by their own mass and their thermonuclear fusion. I’m desire restrained by – what- reason? The things you have to say out loud to make it make sense to another person? When I love we are all the heart of a dying supermassive star, everything around us becomes fuel for our gravity. You are drawn to us. The event horizon of us changes you forever. We’re the ever studied black hole. The ever compelling supernova. Enigmatic and Charismatic.
By Tarik Murrell2 years ago in Poets
To Be ; To Become
I am never nothing, I am endless. Even when I do nothing but draw breath, I am the second law of thermodynamics. I am. So then, can I ever do nothing? Is that death? Maybe, but in death, I am fodder for life. I am holy ground for the silent and scorned. I am the Birth of lives I will never see, of generations of organisms whose ancestors watched my ancestors become.
By Tarik Murrell2 years ago in Poets
And what do we say to the God of Death?
And what do we say to the god of death? We say thank you, Uncle, Father Time would have spent so many years lonely without you. Two titans of existence who do thankless and unenviable work. The little brother of the cosmos. He and my Mother -Earth, life itself – working together to balance every being I’ve ever loved and loathed.
By Tarik Murrell2 years ago in Poets
dReAm
I dream again. I am not a conscious dreamer. I cannot tell you I’m dreaming until I’ve woken up. Every dream I have may as well have happened. So loose is my tether to the understanding of the world. I close my eyes into my night and wake up in a friend’s car on rusted train tracks. The air smells green and tastes like rebellion. The tracks rumble and I see how it could end but I know, somehow I know, I don’t die here.
By Tarik Murrell2 years ago in Poets
