THE HUMAN ANVIL

Category: man, love, poem, poetry

  • Dewdrops in the Ocean

    I close my eyes
    And the dewdrops upon my palate
    Rise, like an ocean left unattended
    On hot stove
    Left to seethe and boil
    Fold and uncoil;
    Echoing towards an inconsequential eternity
    Where nothing rhymes
    Beneath the repeating waves
    Washing themself at the shore
    At the feet of a silent, silent kingdom
    Rooted in reminiscence
    Of a homemade horizon promised
    Upon an unpromised path
    There the shriveled hearts sprout as mushroom
    In an endless cortege
    Moving in stillness
    Like taste upon the tip of tongue
    And snail upon the lips of spine
    An ode to the essential
    Both the dirt and the divine

  • Twilight’s Candle

    My soul doesn’t shine anymore
    Like the star it was before
    And though there are those who wish for me
    To be found abandoned by the sea
    These waves, they won’t let me drown
    With my head yet heavy with the crown
    And heartless people crowding the shore
    Chanting: mon amour, mon amour, mon amour…

  • Iris

    Do not let me die
    In a hall with white walls
    Near windows overlooking
    The world’s asylum
    Filled with paper praying people
    Watering themselves
    Towards an early spring

  • Pulp

    I dream of dry oceans
    And suckling on burnt milk
    From the seeds long sowed
    Upon the shores of homeless towns
    Waiting to flower
    Once more
    At the sunrise

  • Luminaries

    I lean against the firmament
    A droplet of escaped life
    Weaned from the threshold
    Crowded with corpses:
    Waiting to enroll and muse within their scholastic attire
    The drama that began with naked men
    Wandering across blue deserts
    Looking for stars
    Falling, from the firmament.

  • Blueprint

    Life begins and ends
    As a circle
    But the sad thing is:
    Most of us architects
    Keep crying for corners

  • Verbatim

    There is steel in my eyes
    And the world with its tuning fork lies
    Asking me to mourn along
    Knows nothing
    Of that cold, hard touch
    For I am no maker nor master
    But only a thinking man
    One step away from disaster

  • Touchstone

    Most people are nothing more
    But a day older come the morrow
    And that O mine Ache of Past
    Is the cause of everyday’s sorrow

  • Through The Lips Of Living Ghosts

    I live my life
    Through those who lived before me
    And triumphed,
    For mine are eggshell victories
    Inchoate brush strokes of the blind
    Left behind, listening to the faceless sounds
    Dreamt by dead branches and wayside stones
    Alone in their darkness
    Wherein all ashes intone
    The pleasure of being burned alive
    Only to never feel, another touch of life.

  • The Half Past

    It was half past ten
    In the broken clock
    Light flooded from the bathroom
    Vintage; as if streaming from another time;
    A past not yet undone by dialysis,
    I laid ankle deep in silk
    The shawl around my neck and feet
    Splitting me in two tragedies;
    Naked and none, while
    The feathers of my pillow whispered in their broken flight: “Do not close your eyes or all that you fear shall come alive”
    There was something in those words
    That left me speechless
    And so I slept
    Wide awake
    Breathing only for breathing’s sake.