Holy

What am I? Just one of your strings.
One of the many things
you tickle into life.

So gratifying,
losing myself to your fingers;
getting caught into a sway -
living, mellowing and dying,
all in a musical moment!

This being an instrument to love!
The drape of every meaning on me
is nothing but the sacred lisle
of love.

Play me.

Holy.

Dead Wings

All the flowers were but birds with dead wings -
betrothed to the ground, flaunting the green cords
that rendered them legitimate and true -
they were to be seen, objects and subjects.

What was the sky to them - a disruption?
Erupting red like the fires that wed them;
carrying the weight of dew drops upon them -
they knew that one cannot marry the sky.

So they looked up to the bland nothingness
and in it they saw themselves getting stirred.
They invented their trance and smiled awhile:
to be contained in the dervish's circle!
One last act of their infidelity.

Ikebana

Love has branched, an unruly poem -

the moon has dwindled in its clutch.

Soggy, cracked, it hijacks our eyes -

yellow leaves, we're carried

to its hollowness.

There's a storm, a storm,

swiping the time away,

sweeping us like dust

into the aperture of our Universe,

the moon.

Are we going to settle two gypsies,

laurelling the wind

with our being?

Cut, bent, tilted and torn,

coloured, looted, wilted, shorn,

will we be shamed (tamed) into beauty?

Our souls are being pared

by the spades of separation -

maybe we are to meet in transit?

Two stems singing a design,

too simple to be true.

A Chance Pilgrim

I have been a chance pilgrim -
swapping stories with destiny
to be led to you.

Never halting
at your sacred threshold,
never needing to consume.

Never trying to remember,
I walk across this town
where you dwell.

I have no souvenirs,
but my happiness has stayed.
I have been a chance pilgrim.

Lately

Do you know I've been drinking lately -
pouring into the window, a black street,
gulping with my eyes mansions stately;
sipping all your sins, swallowing concrete?

You know, I'm drowsy with discovery -
finding you everywhere in the nothing.
Do you know I don't hope recovery
undoes your beautiful spell into something?

What sickness is life, what bestowal, death?
What saturation, never having owned
your lover; drinking but an absent breath?
The moans of your silence have had me stoned.

Tone - deaf, this heart of darkness only stings,
stings as it sings us, two separate strings.

Deprived Arms

What convinced
this supple face of a moon
into marrying a cripple,
the night?

Maybe Black was pious
and all that White needed
was to trip into a love
that let it palpitate
a heart within a cage?

Maybe that which is less
is the true infinity,
replete with depleting dots -
a revelation
that frees.

Endless darkness,
is perhaps, light in essence?
Disability, a bestowal,
a power, in a sense?

Moons dangle
in leafless branches -
love is often found
in deprived arms.

Renouncing the Act

Juggling two eyes,
I humour the Universe,
being.

I humour Time,
seeing.

Struggling to rise,
Vision screams -

"Time is a tumour
blooming like a lie,
a tie on your eyes.

Rise, do not see,
do not be.

Life was the rumour
that killed you and yet
never killed you.

Joker- ace, Poker Face -
give up, give up the game!
Look, how Passion billed you,
built you.
Do not, do not build 'you'.

Rise, Ace -
give up, give up the struggle.
Juggle, if you may,
your two selves...
once and for all."