Forlorn face Hollow heart Granite grace And me Together we Are falling apart Like shadow of the tree And though they make a single sound All leaves are not the same The sky is blue But never new And memories; They have no name
I can smell the brown sugar Melting in my tea pot And I am rooted Between two oak trees Made immovable By the stone lips oaring my depths Reaching for the sky silhouetted against me But the ache of it does not feel like tooth decay Nor the pleasure makes me shiver and rain Glass beads and spirit of grain Into the hands of praying men
I can feel my skin Breathing under your fingernails Like snail on a hot tar road While your voice in my ear Whisper garbage Something about me, my hair, My face and the rest Of me but not about As if your eyes are nothing but mirror Or old shoes spit polished this morning And my heart wanders like flies on foodstuffs Unable to digest The truth of you touching me In and beyond Anymore
Steel on the tip of my tongue Marble on the base of my back I am pierced and pinned to the pedestal A naked butterfly At once transparent and tarnished Bruised, battered and bludgeoned into being; Beautiful sans beauty
So I stare like a light bulb numb in its holder: The roof is blank A grey slate False sky Absent mind White chessboard And the omniscient blind
Dear, I know it is too late to write It’s midnight here too, the sun is lying dead at the bottom of the ocean With the dry lipstick caps You left. I rinsed their marks off the sink you know, The bold maroon, the autumn orange and the pink of summer blossoms I hope you are wearing something else now A colour I could never know; otherwise all the bite marks you left Like a river of pain From the nape of my neck to the small of my back Dividing me; amongst myself Would be futile.
See! No you cannot, but I am, seeing The stars, do you know they are long gone And the light that we are looking at Is no more true than those promises we made In bed, everyday Looking at each other Melting under the red haze of love Or else I would not be alone Straddled between both lampshades Stretched midst two lights And the same, same darkness Shifting me out of sight
And yet, oh yet I miss You with your half asleep smile Carefully constructed To be dreamlike I miss the time when we were us Shared shadows in the day And in night our silhouettes I miss your half baked cake And bitter burnt coffee With me humming the song You love at three; in the morning Watching just watching Nothing at all But the same thing Always the same
There was a time when I used to write for you When I should have written about, But I was naive; eggshell white, A crystal goblet balanced upon the edge of a two-legged table Drunk with my own wine And I know the fault was mine As ever the fault was mine Flowers wilted and the fault was mine Winter came and the fault was mine Nothing remained Everything changed It began again And the fault was mine And so I am no more Than a corpse carrying out a chore Dreaming of a world before It broke upon my door Oh yes well before I even built the door…
I look at the wrong things and cry But tears are taboo, aren’t they? Like used razors or sandpaper towel Or the last page of a living novel And yet I do, not because I cannot avert my eyes From the still beauty Subdued by time But that I would witness In those aching final ages Filled with long and random sunlight My disappearance Into wet satin And gossamer ash Of original nothingness
If fire could speak of pain And water too of how it feels to suffocate Beneath the weight Of drowning men They would But flesh cannot heal the sky Nor blood fill a river dry For all thoughtful fantasies are unwritten tragedies Beginning at birth And only deepening when you die
So I weep for the ocean of sadness Clenched inside my throat I pray for the lambs sheltered In the veins of my battered boat And I yearn to leave the answers With my back against the dying day To rest amidst the sleeping shepherds For I have nothing more to say…
My bed is in the corner Of an empty room The irony is self imposed But not without reason I have heard that darkness Gathers more in the deep And perhaps it shall help me sleep Faster than dying by lying wide awake Counting seconds, falling and rising With time’s unreceding tide.
The curtain hanging by my bedside Often flutters in the night And it’s breath though purposeless Fills me with envy By it’s act of pure motion Sans a shred of emotion How can I be more than me When everything I seek I deny to see?
Dreams; they die, my own are no exception Even when I have them Caged behind a glass case Cuddled in red velvet Caressed by Mozart’s Sonatas The flowers shall wilt, roots die and fruits decay Nature by nature of unrequitance Shall swallow none but one’s own For birds do not nest on trees unsown And those that I watch from the moonlit window They shimmer and shine Like gold and wine Broken; yes and crooked and white But they know unlike me the taste of sunlight.
Flesh and light Bone and stone Are same, similar; a synonym Of everything
I gazed into the night Fragmented by the city lights Knifing the dreams dead in their tracks
Scalped thoughts Hanging from the cumerbund Of the comedian Laugh with the wind
There is no framework for fame Nietzsche is not a name And all that I know of shame Came from the fingers that blame; Et tu? Fuck you Bad words don’t exist At all For thoughts know not their origin But only the sin Of being The way they are
Broken mirrors Cannot mend the man And broken man Never has a mirror
Everything is going to disappear soon And the leftover void shall know There is nothing known as nothingness For even in silence the silence shall grow
Death, do not cry I know; you are no one’s friend But that does not make you; a foe Like all who have been and are being swept away Like a clove leaf upon a current You too are destined by design To sow and grow; sorrow That abandoned thistle tree Which all passes and pretends not to see
Death, do not cry When your choices go wrong There are so many voices asking To add another verse to their swan song But you know as do I That music is sweet only for so long And it starts with no cymbals and shall end with no gong
Death, do not cry People do care about you a lot You may not always be the fountainhead But you are almost always an afterthought And we may not think of you as we breathe Or when we play the games of Holy Land But we do rehearse our union every night Though not all of us understand
Death, do not cry We shall meet for once and forever But before that I must ask an honest, humble favor: Of all the places for us to meet And greet, if you could visit me when I am fast asleep Then there shall be nothing for me to weep As I skip; the curtain call of my every emotion And be like a nameless raindrop falling into an aimless ocean
I can hear the roots tear Across the breast of resting soil Like blind fingers, stretching the Depths of darkness, Those long forgotten by time For the hours; they fly only above the ground The black womb is all silence And frozen thoughts: Except those murmurs of memories Left by faded footsteps And shadows parched under the sun Of people who could not turn, away. I hear them too, their thoughts, In the leaves yawning with the wind And fruits falling with the same It’s bittersweet syrup; tears and sweat of toil gone unremembered A destiny dismembered Like roots they yearn no reason Nor do they desire The crystal sunlight reserved for carving men All that is needed for the flower to bloom And the fruit to bubble without bursting Is this truth soaked with pain That they stand alive and upright On the shoulders of hanging men
I have danced Many a dances Without a song in my mind And I saw many a chances Yet pretended to be blind There were reasons For these decisions But those reasons were not mine I was a stone, sought for statues But born on an incline And so I fell down the narrow Walls, without a ledge Trapped between tombstones Out of time, for an age And now I await in the dungeons With my heart on the ground In search of an echo That can be heard without a sound