The Arc

The old and the dying
Stood hand in hand crying
Over the winter that came knocking
When they were busy talking:
Of the winter that won’t come knocking
When they are busy talking

Brushstrokes In My Brain

O these times
These lonely, lonely times
Of a single tear falling
From a broken, crooked eye
For the meadows sunk in shadow
And shadows that each day die
On the tar road turning homewards
To pink hearts falling from the sky
O these people quietly standing
Waiting that single boat of hay
Here are lovers with their children
And servants with silver tray
All waiting to be carried
Somewhere in the ocean
Where faces are not of plastics
And even fishes have emotion
O these homes are now softly falling
Like snow on winter’s eve
Left faded to fill a dry canvas
With damp colors smelling new
And there is no one to wake the silence
And no one to hold the door
Only brushstrokes that breath to say
We are here for you are not anymore

Ascendance

And slowly we all
Shall fall asleep
And know no more of each other
Or of those who knows us no more

But the stone shall remain stone
The sea shall remain sea
You shall remain you
And I shall remain me

Yet we, the us, that immutable thereof
Of shared spaces
Of pendulum breaths
Of eclectic existence
Will change
Into dust
Into wind
Into silence
And rescind
Motion by motion
Memory by memory
Till all that is left
Is only the sense of leaving

The Soft World Shenanigans

Dry roads humping shredded towns
Ghostlicked with cactus eyes quietly watching
Deeper dreams
For answers within answers
For silence within screams
I see, I see
Footsteps upon gravel
And red lips on ice
Dissolve
In purple chimney smoke,
Behind the farts of dust- rimmed truck,
Where the grey haired goats grazing in saltpits wonder
Why the fairies don’t give a fuck
Clippety clop, clippety clop
Horse hooves on silent sand
Burnt toast, stale butter, wooden knife in my hand
I see, I see
Tears and bright ties
Choking velvet throats
Those colouring the white lies
Like spit on anchored boats
Bell jars in cotton
Woodpecker in denim
Breathing tinfoil fantasies
Of midnight mind raining, whispers upon paper:
‘Wheatfields underwater
Ether in eclair
Cornflakes made of daylight
And tulips in dark hair’
I see, I see
Last thoughts of dying beasts
Merge with me
So that I roar and I bleat
Being eaten as I eat
My own war-torn monkhood
My altarboy retreat
So I see, So I see
Dry roads humping shredded towns
Ghostlicked with cactus eyes quietly watching
Deeper dreams
For answers within answers
For silence within screams

The Night

• 

The Night smiled and the world froze into a mirror:
An eye without eyelids
A face without feature
But timeless in its taste
Like truth without teacher,
With flowers on her forehead
And sweat upon her thigh
The sea painted on her toenail
And the sun a firefly
Dancing just dancing
On her gold lips as lullaby

And oft she would curl up to sleep
Unwanting to know the names
Of those who suckled her milk
Only to sell it for pixie dust
And white rum to last a lifetime of
Blood on her hands
Flames in her hair
Dreams stitched in her dresses
Leaving her perpetually bare

Pendulum minds
Prone to tongue tennis and cold showers
Stare out the window
At the hips of dark roads
Fading under street lamps
Like sunset on a shore
Shriveled drops of moonlight on their face
And she watching the cold blue sky
And those blind stars; invisible,
Laughing in the background
Like extras from silent films
Happy to beheld
The recurring eternity
Of everyday life…

Alter

• 

Life is rain
Then river
And the sea
First alone
Then together
Till there is nothing more to be

Birth

How far can one walk
Away from the night
Without knowing
That it was the dark which said
“Let there be light”

The Sailor

There was dust upon his eyebrows
And stars under his eye
Each for one color of the rainbow
Taped to the woolen sky
I was swimming on a rose bridge
And saw him drink the sea
He was a dolphin from the desert
Dressed as a honeybee

So I fell for him forever
Like lovers on rainy night
And my heart was Christmas carol
Raw as Eve’s apple bite
Thus we drowned in whispering voices
Pouring out our crystal skin
There were wings upon our shoulders
And a shared velvet fin

But the man he was a sailor
With a thirst for sea green ocean
All I had was sky blue eyes
And a sense of moonlight motion
So I kissed his salt shaped lips
And set his anchor free
And I watched him drift asleep
On a heavy wooden sea
Now I am swimming on a rose bridge
Alone on rainy night
And I have apples around my ankles
But no heart to leave a bite

Shipwrecked

Chained to the dust
With my own lock and key
I was standing by the tide;
Remembering the sea

One Winter of Embers

One winter
Two flowers bloomed
Three days apart
And of all those who saw
None survived
For one winter
Two flowers bloomed
Three days apart….

P. S – In the living memory of Hiroshima and Nagasaki