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.

I Hope You Hear

Come closer,
Feel my breath,
Like the bitter winter bile,
Holding onto you,
Trailing mile by mile,
Never coming closer,
For I stay,
Forever futile.

My tangled self lay broken,
Somewhere in the dark,
In past a prodigy,
And now without a mark,
Neither smell which one can find,
Nor sound of any kind,
Only feelings left to dry,
Salted under sky,
Staring at the sun,
Mindless to the burn.

I have lost,
O how have I lost,
For not rhyming at every cost,
For being against the wind,
For scribbling on ivory tower,
For passing without a pause,
By thrones of men in power.

Perhaps my delicate hand,
Had gestured something rude,
To test the biased scales,
By indeed doing good,
But the blind, apostle of Justice,
Had her eyes on me after all,
I with my own kingdoms,
Buried behind my wall.

For she came to me unbidden,
One night with the stars all dying,
Holding their splinters,
As witness to my lying,
Asking me to confess,
My two faced, scarlet tricks,
My fallen casuist ways,
And my skin of metal bricks.

And they of noble heart,
Whom I raised from graveyards lay,
And they of proud profession,
Did not even pray,
When I was dragged, bones bound,
Collared as maddened hound,
For slipping their truths,
In crystal cups of lie,
My brethren saw me leaving,
And not a hand raised for goodbye.


There are times,
Bleak, like glade without flowers,
When I alone, as a wayside stone,
Trickle through the brook,
Crashing, colliding
Joining the solemn, sweet rhythm of it’s music,
So to ease my own nothingness,
My everyday simplicity,
Of existing without inertia;
A slave to the force of motion,
As salt upon the flesh of ocean.

Tender Thoughts

I came to love you,
Little by little.

First your voice,
Then the sound of your name,
The way you laughed at my reindeer,
Playing shadow game.

Second are your eyes,
Those wrinkles at it’s tips,
How they rhyme with your mood,
And the shape of your lips.

Third comes your hair,
Falling on my face,
The way you weave them,
To match your every dress.

Of fourth you know too,
It’s something you do,
At the end of the day,
At the start of the new.

Fifth is a gift, The way you smile at me,
Like I know all your secrets,
And that sets you free.

I know this meagre words,
Are all short of it,
Of what comes to mind,
Of when we always meet,
To me it’s a dream,
To be with you still,
To rest on your shoulders,
And quietly feel,
The summer of your skin,
The spring of your hair,
The winter holding fast,
The autumn we lay bare.

I came to love you,
Little by little,
And little by little,
Has love come to me.

After Me.

You loved me as a woman would,
Loved me as you understood,
That I am yours when the night is old,
For in day my darkness thou cannot behold.

Lay there now,
And dream of me,
Of a world,
Where you can see,
My face in the onyx sky,
Stars for eyes,
That never cry.

I hope no one,
Can hold your hand,
The way I do,
Warm fingers,
Veins aligned,
Blue on blue.

But soon shall age, this wine,
When you will slowly find,
That this dull ache of mine,
No longer keeps you alive,
Then, beloved, do seek,
A hand that you can keep,
Through laughing thick and weeping thin,
White in blessing, red in sin,
Which knows, every edge of your face,
Every grain of your lips,
Every contour of your curves,
From thighs to fingertips.

For only then would I permit,
This poem to end,
Only then would I ask,
This poet to lend, me,
A pause of his prose,
So I can fill it with my breath,
And gift you,
This lullaby of ours;
To thy ever after
My Forever Yours.

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.