Tag: love

Kohl

There is shadow under her eyes
Eclipses she called them
From the tears left behind
Of the pain that came far too late
To flow and feel with the pulse of time

I look at her bare back
With the bedsheet pattern
Still alive on her skin
The crests of her shoulders
Peeking like crescent moons
From under the sea of argent hair

So I turn away
To another day
A still life, blur, Monet.
Years ago to this Tinseltown:
People leaping out of their skins
Skeletons dancing in glass cases
The enamel skulls selling
A hollow reed laugh
And a touch at the base of your spine
As a keepsake

She was standing
Under the irreparable light
Doused in city flames
And dressed in the dark left behind by dirty minds,
Counting cars that passed
Without halting for her

My feet were silent
My thoughts far too loud
As I hovered round her shadow
Like a leftover cloud
With neither thunder nor rain
In the threads of my vein
But the promise of a shade
And the warmth of a bed

It’s been years since that night
And every night since then
Whence I swallowed her sorrow
And she pardoned my pain
And together we have slept
Counting each other’s scar
Some dealt amongst us
Others unremembered for far
And yet I can hear her
Counting cars passing by
And there are eclipses under her eyes
From all the kohl she forgot to dry…

One Drop Of A Lifetime

Would I sleep tonight
Knowing you have slept too
Tucked into blankets without borders
Dreaming of everything new
Would I sleep tonight
Knowing you have a mirror beside your bed
Which answers all your questions
With everything I left unsaid
Would I sleep tonight
Knowing we shan’t grow old
Share wrinkles in the grey of night
As we did lips in the days of gold
Would I sleep tonight
Knowing our fingers won’t anymore entwine
For yours are ash upon the altar
And I have ceased to saw my own as mine
Would I sleep tonight
Knowing you have slept too
Tucked into blankets without borders
Dreaming of everything new

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.