Love, come closer
And you would see far too clear:
The world with its mist of strings
That makes most of us disappear
Tag Archives: life
Little Bit Of Everything
These verses I bind
With threads in my mind
Are cobwebs from corners
I once failed to find
So let it linger now and sway
Like dewdrops in day
Or beads of red rosary
No monk holds to pray
Encore, Encore
They walk alive
In rigor mortis
Of routine;
The selfsame adventures
Over and over
Till memories are maimed
Coagulated
In an endless reel
Of a single frame
Until that very end
When all goes black
And it begins again
Without palpable pause
Amidst absent applause
Dreamer’s Dream
I go searching on a deserted street
A river breathing and hissing
Like milk from melted moon
But only the shadows are awake
Drowning in silver lake
That Sfumato lagoon
Reflecting the roots of paradise
A silence more verbose
Than that of a breathing statue;
Standing one step less of the precipice
Yet hovering over the horizon
Wingless, blind to the bottom
Of an everlasting yawn that
Morpheus divined in a dream while
Walking on a deserted street
With a burning candle in high noon
In search of river breathing and hissing
Like milk from melted moon
Diurnal
Days like firefly
Burn away
And those ashes remaining
As wings of memory
Cannot fly
Without a flame
Bargain
Those few; they cry,
For the gold in their gauntlet
While the rest must bleed
To hold the bread in broken fist
And yet and yet, the scales they stay even,
For the fleece of the fawns weigh far less than the fang of a beast
Light From Another Star
The tommorow lingers far,
Like light from another star,
And there is mist,
With eyes in the middle,
That speaks with tears,
Of smoke and tar.
I talk not of human,
And their negligible nuisance of narcissistic necessity,
Nor of the world with it’s viscous veracity,
I speak of nectar, world of gods,
Poets and paramours, artists and art,
Of the innumerable sand,
Dreaming upon the beach,
And those stars falling every night,
Who never truly reach.
I speak of the brilliant acting dumb,
The sensitive roughened numb,
Blind men holding hands,
Children without a stand,
And oasis with scarlet seas,
Gold honey, dead bees.
I invoke the untamed,
I call the wild,
Into this land of frozen blood,
Where once were sowed diamonds,
Now remains but dried mud.
I know, my voice is hoarse,
And these sharp words are truly coarse,
For I too am of your kind,
The omniscient God without a mind.
Life In Ripples
You poise by the preface,
Starlike; extravagant,
Tilting waist,
Measuring love of men,
Who dipped in your fragrance,
Sway like honey heavy flowers,
Drunk against sunlight,
Leaping emerald across boroughs,
Spilled with spring.
Lilac dreams, enchanting,
You wave away tapered, transient,
All lifelike features, that taste of earthly leisure,
Absent.
For you dream of Angels,
Angular symposium of embroidered life,
And divine imitation,
Though you know it not.
For far too pleasure shatter beneath your feet,
And the sound, what feels like cloudburst to us,
To you is but a gust of wind that lifts,
The violet hem of your dress.
Yet one day,
Your face shall melt,
Into a weed filled pool,
With a weeping fountain in the middle,
For all too pass by and forget,
Even when the blue rain, would clasp,
And hold you, immortal,
No nymph nor Naiad,
Or man, mermaid,
Shall know your depths, ever.
But every other night,
When solace would have left you speechless,
And the silence; a silver mirror,
A shadow shall shape in your womb,
Desirous, delicate,
Cascading down, sweet and sour,
Like a citrus kiss of longing,
And you will be alone, no longer,
But one with the moon,
Dancing on his tunes,
In trance like ripples.
Magnum
Deep into this journey,
Long after the deep susurration of life,
And the sense of longing,
Of natal desire,
Is dried and shorn as bark and wool,
And bright as the nectar corals,
Burnt with tired timber,
Does the dull truth of things,
Worm in.
Baleful eyes, kissed with Kohl yet
Empty inside,
Burrowed by the undoing of this ethereal Magnum,
This caustic world,
With it’s walls of freedom, aching,
Breaking against blindness,
Seek,
Weep,
And speak, no more than what the silence taught them in form of tears.
A panacea,
To all immutable happenstance. Measured, immeasurable,
Paraded or parodied,
Through one life iterated, in many lives over,
Rags and rags, covering a bareness,
That reflects in no light,
But unfurls in each darkness,
Like moon upon lotus lips,
Of philosophers and Pharaohs,
Of travellers and treasurers,
Of hunters and hoarders.
Unceasingly mitigated,
Yet never really moving,
Until stillness itself stills,
And all forms, wither into one,
And all one’s merge into none.
Panacea,
The answer to no question.
Paramour.
A soul meanders,
Blossoms, bursts.
Silent night,
Hold me still,
You, yesterday, were a pretty thing,
Under liquored light,
Dancing upon ropes, of tangled treasure,
With fairy arms, you, pretty thing,
Said nothing, just the calm closure of your eyelashes,
Like a mirror with opened wings.
Speckled stars, speckled stars,
Tiara of Love,
Tiptoe, swan like, across shinning snow,
And find, warm hands;
The shape of parting sea,
To hold you, O Silent Night,
Sipping, our bottled memory.
