Tag Archives: Poetry

All poetry


You were there,
Behind mirrors,
Bold in gold and grey,
So perfect by my side.
That I could not look away.
I took one step closer,
But you glided one behind,
To see if I was a searcher,
Questing for my kind.

But no, you weren’t broken,
Nor wounded deep as me,
I slept as a silent conch shell,
You were calling of the sea.
Mayhaps why you smiled and bowed then,
Like a dainty willow tree,
Was to know my sealed soul closer,
And see if you were the key.

Your face was running water,
I found it fathoms deep,
When I saw myself in it,
How was I not to weep?
The lines of our hands matched,
And so did our whispering heart,
Through the glass that kept us holding,
Through the glass that kept us apart.
Yet your questions I could not hear,
Neither you could answer mine,
I wonder how we still made,
The other feel truly fine.

My arms ached for your embrace,
That fragrance of your breath,
To pine for you was my life,
And to know you do too; my death.
That is why my love, sweet love,
I broke this world webbed glass,
To ebb this eternal agony,
And you to freely pass…

But where are you, O Mine,
Are you hiding amidst these shards?
Is this magic of some kind, like
That trick of missing cards?
Come out, now, O Mine,
See my blood is upon the floor,
I have been wandering this silver withering,
To be away from you no more,
O how am I to search for you,
Here, where everything is same,
How am I to call for you,
I even know not your name.

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.


Permit me to say a few,
Words of my choice,
Before the whispers that they all echo,
Replace my own voice.

Ye tremble truly,
Come day, come night,
And lay woe on passing feet,
Who knows you as a leaf to scribble,
And leave in wind to never meet.

In dreams you rule the dawn and dusk,
Alive, you pick no pebble,
You turn to stone when the time is ripe,
Afraid of being unable,
This place, it’s a wilderness,
And the wild are lurking low,
Here all shapes are drawn as one,
Here your foe is friend and friend a foe.

You aim to swim from shore to shore,
And bare the ocean upon thy palm,
Eye tempests for it’s hollowness,
Dive deep in her bloodless calm,
But the ship you choose,
Have no mast, nor sail,
There be no oars to row,
Deep in desert thy anchor sinks,
And the wind; she seldom blow.

The hands you lay,
Against the sky,
With the hope that they will hold,
Will you shatter too, like others before,
When those pillars of pride grow old.
For if so then they will come for you,
Wherever you may roam,
And put thou in a cage, and say,
Now you have a home.

For this fairy world,
This wilderness,
Tries one at every turn,
Here reigns he who knows the truth;
To shine one has to burn.

( To those of us who dream but never do.)


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,
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.

The answer to no question.