Thursday, December 31, 2015

I am that woman

I am not that woman,
the one you see
at kitty parties
with painted nails and lips,
whispering sweet somethings
in passing,
while stepping on stilettos
on the surface of things.

I am not that woman,
who plays every role
to perfection -
a perfect wife,
a perfect mother,
a perfect daughter,
a perfect sister,
a perfect friend
or a perfect lover,
a pretty cut-glass bowl
sitting inside a glass cupboard,
wowing passers by.

I am not that woman,
who will shape her wings
to fit through windows,
not because
those don't become her,
but because she is meant
to fly into an uninhibited sky.

I am not that woman.

I am that woman,
the one who slips
through your fingers
like water,
the one who breathes fire
into herself and out,
cutting through the dross,
seeking not you, but herself,
perfecting herself
for her own sake.

I am that woman,
the one you sometimes
don't want by your side,
who pushes you
to your limits,
as she pushes through hers,
breaking every mold cast
for what cannot stay
but flow.

I am that woman,
who will stand by you
through every heartache,
loving you fiercely
for all that you are
and could be,
with a devotion
that grows roots
not in you,
but in her own self.

I am that woman,
who chases her dreams
like a child catching butterflies,
with eyes
that wander happily
both into the blazing sun
and those fleeting fireflies.

I am that woman,
who loves
the dripping magic of rain,
drenching herself to her bones,
dancing in the freedom
that comes
from washing away
all those many coloured skins.

I am that woman,
who listens intently
to the lingering howl
of wolves in the forest
calling out to her,
to be who she was meant to be,
not who you thought
she was or should be.

I am that woman,
and I ask you
not to love me,
but to look
for that woman
who loves you,
in the wild forests
of your own dark self.


Flame

yes, I rise when everything
around me
falls
with a flourish,
a celebration
a silence -
a leaf,
a raindrop,
a feather,
a stone,
tugged
by an unseeable presence
of worlds
folded
within worlds;
yes I rise,
even as you try
to hold me
to your dark bosom,
a flame
setting herself on fire,
rising for no reason,
to the stars
from where I come,
then disappearing,
into the burning
emptiness,
where I belong.



Thursday, December 24, 2015

Innerscape, Outerscape

I've had a dream
since I was a kid,
of standing
on the edge
of the cliffs of Dover
on a full moon night,
listening to the waves,
the darkness,
and the silence
of a turning world
speak slowly to me;

today, I stand
threshed by the waves
of time and space,
on the threshold
of a cliff
between two worlds -
supple white limestone
in an endless conversation
with a whispering ocean,
who holds the silence
of all sounds
stretched over her bosom,

and I look into the
fullness of the night,
my languid form
sanded and shaped,
merging into and shaping
the mystery
of an innerscape
that never leaves me,
but only graces me
with her often wild,
intangible presence.

Wednesday, December 23, 2015

Dark Mosaic

don't look to me
to complete you,
for I am not here
to fill in the blanks,
to help you find yourself,
all those other parts
you don't even know are lost;
I am not here
to bring you joy
or peace
or anything else
that you think
you don't have,
I am here
to simply walk
with you
for a while,
holding your hand
if you like,
laughing,
crying,
giggling,
our broken shards
thrumming
to the song
of the silence,
as we step,
as we skip,
into the magic
of the dark mosaic
of a glowing night.






Letting Go

the world tells me
to let go,
to let go of you
every moment,
but how can I?
when every time
I watch you go,
I don't see you only leave,
I also feel the million ways
you've already become
and are becoming,
a part of what is left,
what's flowing
and standing,
even before
you left it behind.

Tuesday, December 22, 2015

Light and Shadow

it does not matter
if you turn your face
away from
or towards the sun,
your shadow falls
in the same place
and follows you,
as does the light.

Monday, December 21, 2015

Rage - A River of Love

when I feel
your eyes roll,
your lips twitch,
your jaws clamped,
your breath hardened,
your limbs taut
and frozen
as they flail,
I see, I feel, I touch
only love
pouring out -
a love reined back
for too long,
a love for you,
a love for me,
and a love
for all those walls
waiting
to be raised
and razed,
a river
remembering
her roots,
her course,
her flow,
through
a raging flood.

Solstice

while the sun
stands still
on the horizon,
a quiet light
draws me in
into worlds
within worlds.

sometimes
dipping
and swirling me -
a tiny tea bag
in and out
of an abyss,
in one swoop,
then sucked out -
a bird
soaring out
into an endless sky,

sometimes
switching worlds
on and off
in a flash,
worlds so real
I could touch them,
and smell them
one moment,
even as they changed
their garbs
the next moment,
to wispy, uncatchable dreams,

and I feel called
to stand still
in the light
of my inner sun,
where darkness and light
stand as equals,
glowing,
growing,
and merging,
only to rise
again,
in another moment,
yet to be born.



Sunday, December 20, 2015

A Ribbon across the Sky

and Life stretched me
beyond my limits,
so I could become
a ribbon
changing colours,
dancing,
gliding,
waving,
across the emptiness,
in a joyous celebration
of everything
that is.

Saturday, December 19, 2015

When a river meets the sea....

let me wash over you
like a river
meeting the sea,

as I carry my whole self
to your open bosom -
a clear stream
birthed somewhere
in the far away hills,
stones jagged, rounded,
hard yet yielding,
brown earth
mixed and tossed up
by ruthless waves,
waste and carcasses
of things
not needed any more,
and everything I thought
was not me,

let me wash over you
like a river
meeting the sea,
gathering herself,
with a longing,
a current,
unstoppable,
that she cannot fathom,
until when
she - the river
meets the open sea.

Friday, December 18, 2015

How the Day Grows

the day grows
slowly
she is in no hurry.

the ocean heaves
and waits
on the fringes,
caught in a timeless web,
a golden disc
throws herself
into an emptiness
that changes colours
like silk scarves
on a young woman,
little boxes of concrete
pretend to stand still
and emotionless
in an unfaltering line,
ripples skip along
first one way
and then the other,
choreographing
their own little dance
with the tides,
doors, pots and pans
bang and clang,
sharp voices
and distant honks
catch each other
hurriedly,
too noisy to hide
the busyness
and restfulness
of a growing day,
dying surely
to a seamless night,

and I,
I find myself
in a moment
scattered
here and there,
between arrivals,
and departures,
just being,
becoming,
a pause.

Touch me again, Life

sometimes
when you touch me
my skin comes alive
with a million eyes,
ears and tongues,
hungry
for the gifts
that you bring
with every stroke,
light or deep.

sometimes
when you touch me
I shiver, then melt,
as I remember
how it must have been
before I arrived
into this staccato world,
a glorious, naked form
without a name,
now clothed
and trapped
in frivolous accessories.

and I say to myself,
"Touch me again, Life."

What is Beauty?

what is beauty?
she asked once,
a demure bud
imagining herself
to be a flower
she was not,
touching her tender folds,
too scared to open
in the harsh light
of a blazing sun,
and so she held her pleats
twirling at night
under the shadows
of stars,
her breath lighting up
dancing fireflies, and
blowing dreamy moths
into the feverish white.
beauty was, what was not.

what is beauty?
she asked,
a blot of red
amidst splashes of green
and a ring of thorns,
her singed petals
awash with drops of dew,
crumpled, tousled,
by the fickle wind,
yet standing alone
in her red fullness,
between becoming
and dying,
her blood-stained form
fragrant, resilient,
as she rose,
a single rose,
with her thorns.

Thursday, December 17, 2015

Subject to Change

don't hold me
to my words
my form
my desires
my dreams
my name
my skins
my masks,
and your memories
of everything
you thought was me.

for they are not me;
they are portals
through which I fall
into those dark
inner chambers
where everything
I touch, feel, see and hear
is subject to change,
breaking all laws
of space and time
and well-worn ways
of feeling, being
or doing things.

don't hold me
to myself;
walk with me,
let me go,
and watch me
become
my own person,
an uncarved block,
always
subject to change.

Nir-Bhaya


I watched you on TV.
you were talking to a reporter.
"did you get justice?",
she asked.
and I wondered
if she was asking
about you
or your daughter,
for I believe
that somewhere
we've mixed up
the two.


I saw that faint glint
in your deep-set eyes
as you spoke,
your lips pursed
tighter than usual,
pupils lifeless, furtive,
and a voice firmer than stone;
it was a call
for the weight of my flesh,
nothing less,
and I suddenly saw
myself in you,
possessed,
by the smell of blood
and the closeness
of the jugular,
to quench a hunger
that's not mine,
but ours.

and so I ask you
without looking at your face,
without listening to your heart,
without touching your skin,
what would you do
if I were your son,
if I had raped and silenced
your daughter, my sister?
whose life would you ask justice for?
yours, hers or mine?

today,
I feel 'Nirbhaya',
I don't run away
and hide from Her,
I look into her eyes
like a man,
and she looks at me too,
and I ask you
to look into her eyes too,
and then meet me
some day,
somewhere
on that water's edge,
where fear walks free,
hand in hand
with love.

Use Me

use me
like a doormat,
leave behind
the dirt
that you are too scared
to take with you inside;
use me,
and thank me
as you step on and away
from what you leave behind.

use me
like a log of wood,
axe me
with your love, not fear,
take me
to feed yourself,
to warm your hearth,
to rest upon for a while,
use me,
and thank me
as you cut me
from our roots.

use me
like a pool of water,
dip into me,
let me wash over you,
as you soak
your skins and wounds,
only to rise
with a freshness
and lightness
upon your sun-spangled form;
use me,
and thank me
as you rise up and walk on.

use me
like a blazing fire,
sit close
to warm your tired feet,
share your stories, sing songs,
sit in a deep breath of silence
as the nights flow along;
use me,
and thank me
as you feel the flames rise
inside you,
tempering your dreams
as you wake up and move on.

use me
as you would yourself,
knowing
that every step you take
or don't take,
has its roots
somewhere
in this blessed earth
where we once met.


Self Love

I searched
and searched
for one person
who would love me
the way I wanted
to be loved,
and every time
I was shown
a mirror
to me.

The G-Spot

dear Life,
you turn me on
to myself,
making me grope
between
darkened walls
that move and shift
constantly,
taking me deeper
into a void
that I cannot fathom
with restless
hands and eyes
that can only look
for what they know;
dear Life,
you take me
to that sweet spot,
where pain and joy
are born and die,
the G-spot
that holds me
in an orgasmic dance,
turned on
by myself
and all of you,
dear Life.



Wednesday, December 16, 2015

Surrender

carved and gouged,
by stabs and tugs
of fast-changing winds
across space and time,
I stand
as myself
with gaping holes,
head up,
shoulders stretched,
eyes and chest open,
unflinching
at the marriage
of pain and joy,
opening myself
to all of life;
and I let the wind
take me
like a lover,
as he hums and sings,
engulfs and flows
through every pore,
skins peeling off
effortlessly,
ah, the ecstasy
in sweet surrender!

Tuesday, December 15, 2015

don't feed
on my darkness,
feed on yours,
and then we'll meet
somewhere,
gut to gut,
navel to navel,
heart to heart,
eye to eye,
lighting up our worlds
with the stars,
digested
and spawned
in the dark,
where our roots
remain and grow,
enmeshed
in one tight embrace
of a forgotten love.

Birds

this morning
my eyes
were plucked out
from the cold screen
and into the warm blues
that came alive
with the wings of birds
of the season,

some rose together
in a crowd,
an amoeba changing shape
with the winds of desire,
some flew against the grain,
joyfully exploring
new skies and ground,
away from their flock,
while some others
chose to soar alone,
as if to embrace
the whole world
with their out-stretched wings,

and I thought to myself,
how the waters inside me
come alive
with different birds
in different seasons.

Monday, December 14, 2015

Raining Love

there was a time
when I was
too scared
of rain,
every drop
piercing me
like a single shard
of sharp glass,
tearing open
many hardened skins;

water became blood
flowing from
a stinging heart,
that knew not
how to dance
in the rain,

today,
when it rains,
my skins melt
like happy clay,
puddles form
and disappear,
trickles
become rivers,
then roaring rapids,
happy feet
do a little dance
to the pitter-patter,
a heart that's young
writes little love notes
on paper boats,
blotted by drops
that gave them a life,
laughter and tears
wash away
the sleepy silence,
and a heart
quietly remembers
how to love.







Monday, December 7, 2015

Harvest

the seeds are sown,
the earth is tilled,
the weeds are plucked,
the prayers blown,
and while I wait
in the warmth
of a nourishing hearth,
I don't watch out
for rain clouds
or the perfect sun,
I cuddle in the arms
of my beloved,
cook a simple meal
with a song on my lips,
as he takes me into
an impromptu dance,
and in those sacred pauses
in between,
I catch a dragonfly smiling,
an impatient crow
at someone's window,
bright bubbly ripples
playing 'catch' with the sun,
and a hint of a jasmine bud
upon a hardened stem,
and I thank the Gods
for a harvest I'm given
even while those seeds lie still
in the fragrant earth beyond.

Saturday, December 5, 2015

Dewdrops

I stopped waiting
to see dewdrops
on straight blades
of wild grass,
a long time ago. But
they still came
in my dreams.


somewhere
in the moistness
and heat
of a long night
alone,
they lived
awhile, and
they died.

today,
I woke up
to my face
cupped
in your hands,
a wet kiss
lingering
on my forehead,
a light love song
shattering the silence
upon your heavy lips,
a slow dance
with you,
in your arms,
and I felt
those little dewdrops,
collecting them,
stringing them,
holding them
in my blessed palms.

Clothesline

beliefs hang
limp, wet,
and heavy,
lifeless
clothes
on a line.

until
the sun,
the wind,
and vastness
of the outdoors,
dry them out,
on the line,
another place
to be
and become.


Make Love with your Eyes

Make Love with your Eyes

make love to me
with your eyes,
eyes that you
can call your own;

not eyes struck by
a wanderlust,
not eyes that hunger
to fathom the mystery
of my broken heart,
not eyes that yearn
to caress
those smarting wounds
still tender and raw,
not eyes that want
to fill the holes
that you see in me,
but not in you,

make love to me
with your eyes,
when you've seen
yourself stripped
by my eyes,
and your own,

when both darkness
and light,
pierce through
shifting pupils,
twitching eyelashes,
restless eyelids,
unspeakable longing
and the stillness
of an unflinching gaze,
when you've come to know
that all gazes
are born from you,
and die with you,
and you alone.

make love to me
with those eyes,
eyes that you love
to call your own.



Thursday, December 3, 2015

Lump of Clay

a lump of clay
slapped
tapped
pinched
stroked
smoothed
shaped
into a form -
a first step,
a lesson in reverence
and surrender,
and yet,
of no use
to the world,
as I am,

and so I'm burnt
at the stake,
fired in the oven
of this impermanence,
heartbreak,
and breakdown
by Life,
holding the fire
that feeds, burns
and hardens me,
inside walls,
that will break
and soften again
some day,
back into
an ordinary
lump of clay.

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

She called them home.....

and the ocean
she spoke to her children
from the distance,
did you hear her?
when you were lost
in a tizzy
of saving yourself
and other helpless lives?

I heard her
whisper softly,
to the parched rivers
now exploding
in their forgotten fullness,
to the rivers sullied
with the stench
and murkiness
of things human,
to the brimming lakes
holding up
their long-dammed love,
to the trickles and puddles
orphaned on straight tar,
and to the rainclouds
bursting open to release
their long-carried love,

yes, she spoke to them,
her children,
all of them,
calling them home,
drawing them in,
into her growing folds
of endless, boundless love.

and while I watched her sit
in her unshaken stillness,
I learned how to wait,
to allow the ripening
of time,
and dissolution of space,
and what it must take
for what we love
to show itself to us.




Tuesday, December 1, 2015

A Square of Light

it takes courage
to sit and gaze
at this square of light
day after day.

lines frame reality,
what's real and true,
now,
the angst and despair
for a world
coloured grey
today,

perhaps tomorrow
there will be
another square of light,
holding a rainbow,
or the moon,
or a spotted night,
drawing me out
from behind these lines,
and into curves
of endless sea and sky.

a square of light
where everything fits in,
all shades,
lines and curves,
a despair of life,
a love of life,
our shared humanity,
and a simplicity
of what is.



Monday, November 30, 2015

Spirals, not Circles

I dream of a world
beyond stifling circles,
and heads stuck in
outdated tracks,
energies held close
in black and white
time and space.

I dream of a world
where we can
sit and speak,
listen and move,
in spirals;
where eyes and hearts
can dance at will,
through spaces
in their togetherness,
through order
in the randomness,

shifting footprints
that challenge
indelible grooves,
moving off
into the distance,
into an adventure
of becoming
and dissolving,

into untamed dreams -
the curls of incense,
the daunting vortex,
the sleeping helix
in our countless cells
waking up to an orgasm
that never ends,
and this journey
of spiraling
into the infinitesimal
through infinite
unknown steps.


The Ground of our Dreams

and the tree
said to the leaf -
"I let you go,
for you belong
not to me,
but to the wind
who makes you dance,
to the sun
who laughs with you,
to the moon
who tickles you
with her magic wand,
to the rain
who softens your fall,
to the earth
who gathers you
anytime, into her
wide open arms,
and so go,
without a turn
of your sprightly face,
as I watch you
weave your blessed path
across worlds,
into the ground
of our dreams -
those we hold
close to our hearts;
for our dreams
are not
castles built in clouds,
they are the seeds
planted
in the core of our being,
they are the roots
that give us wings
to rise and fall
all over again."

An Ocean in a Drop

a little heart thrums
a soulful song -
of a love
not received,
an ocean
contained
in a drop.

softly pulsing,
an unspeakable joy,
a singeing pain,
flushing
every cell,
holding lives
of a thousand dreams
and worlds
untouched,
unborn
still

a lump of clay
moistened
with a drop
of the ocean,
waits
for gentle hands,
for thoughts with wings,
for the first rain
of the season,
for the sloshing
and squishing
of happy feet
lingering
screaming
dancing
and a necessary
washing away
of unlived dreams.

Sunday, November 29, 2015

A Cup of Tea

a cup of tea
waits,
lingering
in the special quiet
of a morning sun,
inviting curls
of warmth
speak
to parched lips

growing silent,
steeped
in the mystery
of blue,
languid strokes
of December
upon cheeks

and the slow
passionate
darkening
of a cup of tea.


Friday, November 27, 2015

yes, I buried her alive

she tormented me
in the dark of the night,
she mocked at me
hiding behind the stars
in the light of day,
she envied me
in the silence
between all things,
she spied on me
like a mother
possessing her child,
and so I killed her.
yes, I buried her alive.

yes, I buried her
in broad daylight,
under the open sky,
with the blazing sun,
the quiet moon
and the distant stars
looking over us
as I dug her grave;

yes, I buried her alive,
as she shrieked and kicked
and rolled and flailed
her arms, her legs,
her hands and her ghastly face,
I watched her slip into
the quickening earth,
eyes rolling, open wide
like never before,
as she looked at herself,
at last,
even as she looked out
one last time,
into the world;

gasps for breath,
screams of terror and hate,
faded into the silence
of the ground
upon which I stood,
and I looked on
as the mud
that blinded her eyes
moistened
before they swallowed
the darkness
she had refused to see.

and then,
when all was done,
and the voices grew faint
and then quiet
inside my head,
I bowed down
to the contours
of the womb
we shared,
saying a prayer,
and giving thanks
for her life in mine,
taking her name.

and as I sat down
to take a fistful
of that sacred earth,
and hold it against my chest,
I said what I could not say to her
when she was alive,
and I knew
that she would return
someday
from that very ground,
to stand face to face
as equals in this game,
and call me
by my blessed name.

yes, that's why I buried her alive.

Invisible

I love the time of day
when I'm alone,
when time overflows
from the silence
of immovable walls,
into everything
that's not me
and me,

when I can become
invisible
and wander aimlessly
to the doorway
between two shades of blue,

when I can perch atop
a lingering cloud
and look at the world
and scream out loud,

when I can rest
for as long as I like
upon the wings
of a bird
moving effortlessly
between worlds it doesn't own,

when I can float upon
and jump from ripple to ripple
in any direction
and still flow on,

when I can come back
and sit upon the banks
in the motionless sand
and snuggle close
to the dancing sheaves of grass,

until I want to move
as me
into a formless world
that gives me form.

Hungry for Life!

you know that feeling
when you wake up
some mornings,
with an empty mind
looking into
an empty sky
impossible to be contained
by a line of blue?
yes, that's how
I want to wake up
to every moment,
hungry
for life!

A Prayer for You

you asked me
to pray for you

and so I looked
into myself
to notice
a soft, steady trickle
of clear water
like a mountain spring

growing,
changing,
listening
all the while
to the trees,
the sky,
the birdsong,
the pebbles,
the crickets,
and the clarion call
of a faraway ocean

and then flowing out,
awakened
to the silence
resting deep
within
words,
this world,
this womb,
the arrival
of a new you
and me
I cannot see,
and a voice
that can finally speak.
a prayer for you.




Thursday, November 26, 2015

Hungry Mouths

every time I speak
I feed
or starve
hungry mouths.
mouths within
and without,
gaping holes
waiting
to be appeased
to be filled
with something,
anything,
everything.
not nothing.
and so I learn
how to be
a mother,
to feed
hungry mouths
enough,
just enough,
so we can all listen,
talk and eat.

Walk on

sometimes,
like today,
I walk like a ghost,
thorns sticking out
from every pore on my skin;
and I walk on
through an emptiness
washing over me
like a gust of wind
that I cannot escape
or still with my measly form,
I can only walk on
feeling it shake those thorns
stinging every cell,
and eating into the flesh,
right to the core,
where a heart thrums
not knowing what to do,
but simply walk on.

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Into and Beyond the Light

today
i want to light
one little lamp
in the quiet
of my temple.

not for visitors
to come in
and take a peek
and marvel
at the darkness
and light,
to take them
to that same void
where I've been sucked in
many a time,

today
i want to light
one little lamp
just for myself,
not to feel safe,
or trump evil eyes,
or hope to save the world
with the light,

today
i want to light
one little lamp
just for myself.

i want to feel
the heat rise and engulf
my parched skin,
i want to feel
every wrinkle and scar
light up and burn,
i want to feel
the heat get to me
in the closeness,
i want to feel
the urge to get up
and walk away,
to do something,
anything,

and then
in that threshold
of one inflamed silence,
i want to feel the flame
flicker and grow
and die
in the stillness
of my temple

and feel the desire
to light it
and not light it
again.

today,
i want to light
one little lamp,
just for myself,
in the quiet
of my temple.


Monday, November 23, 2015

Lotus

I feel you
in the depths
of my womb,
a stirring of new life,
soft contours of mud
dissolving into water,
bubbles rising up
and popping,
before they reach
the skin
of upturned green palms
holding the immensity
of the sky
in their bosom,
ripples leaving
without returning home,
as fire sits with fire,
burning away the dross,
and somewhere
in those murky silent depths,
a lotus blooms quietly,
turned on by her solitude,
parting her folds
with the gentlest touch
of the first morning sun.





North Star

when you can walk
that road alone,
that road
which is the edge
of many worlds,
morphing
into each other,
not two or three

where you walk
as if on water,
between
needing me
and yourself
and the world

when you walk there,
where you find yourself
lost
without a map
that's charted
by a hysteria
to get somewhere and fast,

then,
and only then,
call out to me,
and I will be there
with you,
as you proceed
to walk that road
alone.

Saturday, November 21, 2015

Diversity

I dream of those times
when you and I
can exchange
our differences
like clothes,
wear them
like our smiles,
let them go
like our tears
and laughter,
touch them gently
like a hand shake,
hold them together
in a hug,
and look at each other
in our 'different' clothes
like friends
together,
yet a-part.

Skin


breathing
between
worlds
of form
and the formless,
living
the essence
of both
in a touch
a kiss
a wrinkle
a bruise
a scar
and a depth
now lost
in the overwhelm
of a death
and a life
waiting
in the wings.

Fish Out of Water

between
sky
and
water
is a place
I like to be

fringes
are spaces
between
impending struggle
and tarried freedom,

a tight-rope dance,
where a fish
learns to be
not a fish
out of water,
but a bird with gills
who can surf and dive
into sky and sea.


Friday, November 20, 2015

What do I want?

'what do I want?'
I ask myself,
eyes perched
upon a horizon
which somehow retains
a caged sameness
everyday

surfaces and edges
that clamor tirelessly
to camouflage the aliveness
that draws me in,
an invitation
to stand
on the sacred stage,
where life meets life
naked
all the time,

where what I feel
sets aflame
my insides,
stoking something
unknowable
unspeakable
to foreign eyes,
and a white hot desire
to live
and die to
the adventure
that is,
this one life.

A Living Frontier

at the cusp
of something
I can feel
in my bones,
is it a living frontier
of a becoming
and a dying?
or a simple feeling
of what is, and
what could be?

I wake up quivering,
and let the vastness
and depths
of the firmament
pierce my eyes,
its feelers sinking
into my tender pores,
groping with tentacles
into the void
within, and
touching everything
with a gentle presence,

ah! how it makes me
come alive
to everything
within and without -
one feeding
and digesting
the other,
all the time,
exchanging
secret recipes

what it takes
to make
a stone,
a snowflake,
a seashell,
a leaf,
a bird,
a critter,
a flower,
the darkness,
a smile,
a loss,

and,
a human teardrop
poised
on the edge
of a flood
just waiting to happen.



Thursday, November 19, 2015

Loving My Body - The Journey Within - Part 2 - Nude

We were at a small sea-side town called Borgarnes in Iceland. We had been told about the geothermal pools there that we should go to. We were all excited, but I was filled with fear as well, although I had promised my son that I would give it a try. I have never been in a large pool before.

I have this extreme fear of being in large expanses of water. I love the sea, the rivers, ponds, waterfalls, etc. But I am equally terrified of them. Yes, I feel terror and the beauty in each. Equally. I have shared this great fear of mine with my son, who has always listened and gently nudged me in his own ways to step into those fears by simply trying. Something that I have not been able to do. But this time, there was some shift which happened within me during the retreat that I was in in Romania. At least that is what I think. And there was this urge to give it a shot....to simply try.

My friend had told us before the trip, how the most 'Icelandic' thing to do was to drive around and keep dipping into the geothermal pools along the way :). I had smiled to myself when she told me this, telling her how I didn't think I would ever do that. 'You must', she said and we left it at that. Some unconscious part of me must have been at work while we packed for the trip, because I packed an ancient swim suit that my dear son and husband had made me buy on a holiday, just to get into a private jacuzzi. That was the largest expanse of water I had been in and just once!

So yeah, we were at Borgarnes, at the place where the pool was. We paid the money and were given 'strict' instructions on what to do. Raghav and my husband went together into the men's room, while I tiptoed timidly into the women's room, my stomach churning and fluttering, filled with the fear of exploring the unknown. I sat down on the bench, took off my socks and shoes, put them away and took a deep breath to calm my nerves. I was shit scared.

I stepped in gingerly into the space where women and kids were dressing, undressing, showering etc. Each one was in a different state of undress! And I was simply shocked! Never before had I seen so many people in the nude, leave alone women. And never before had I been in a situation where I had to be nude too! 'Could I just leave right now? I don't want to get into this!' I said to myself. But I couldn't leave. Perhaps I didn't want to. And of course, my son and husband would not know I had changed my mind....I had no way of telling them too, until I got to the pool! I was stuck! I felt trapped......by my own fears.

It was not a fear of just being nude. It was a fear of being nude in the midst of people I didn't know at all. It was a fear of being judged and rejected for who I was in my body, my form. 'What will people think of me?'

I ogled at the women with shock, disbelief and then a sheepish curiosity. Some older with huge, sagging breasts, some fat with heavy thighs, some skinny, some graceful, some stiff, some middle-aged and younger with pubic hair, some clean and hairless, some with skin bruises, some with scars and blemishes. Yes, that's where my eyes went......to all those parts that I had seen in myself with dislike and shame and lack. Parts that I had begun to love slowly and gently. And suddenly something shifted inside and I realised that we were all the same. And beautiful. It was a warm, happy feeling and I suddenly felt a little more at ease and safe. Yes, it was so important to feel safe. Safe in the body.

None of the women even seemed to care or even saw me ogling at their bodies. They just carried on doing their own thing as if nothing else mattered. Phew! That was what made me relax actually. I found my locker and carefully and slowly started undressing. I asked a lady if we could take the towel to the shower. She smiled, shook her head and pointed to the towel racks near the showers. "Keep your stuff there, take a shower and then wear your suit," she said and turned away to carry on showering. Yes, we had to strip down to our skin and in front of everybody. There were no private showers. No doors to close and hide behind.

I shivered a little as I walked nude to the shower from the locker. It was just a few feet. But I felt like a streaker, walking a ramp across the whole world. I felt as if a million eyes were following me. I heard voices yell out: "How can you do this?", "You shameless creature!", "You know you can walk out if you want....you don't have to do this." I felt something pulling me back. Yet, I walked on. Shamelessly. Into the shower. It was all over in a few minutes. The flow of water started and stopped automatically. I went to the rack and took out my swimsuit. I put it on with a sense of both relief and liberation. As if I had walked through the fire that I needed to walk through. And no one was watching me. No one but myself.

When I walked out the other side to the hot pool with the steam inviting me in on a bitterly cold day, the smile on my son's face was something that I could have died for! He hugged me and thanked me later for what I had done for him. A moment and a hug that I will always cherish. A hug that was for me, a celebration of a liberation that I had longed for, and realised how much I had longed for, only when I experienced it.....experiencing my fear fully. And yes, I enjoyed being in the little hot pools of water, holding on to the walls, leaning back and enjoying the feeling of weightlessness and wetness and warmth soak me up like I had never experienced before. Bliss.

A week later, the day before we left Iceland, we went to another geothermal pool. This one was much bigger and more crowded, more touristy. There were similar rules. But this time, that part was almost a breeze. Yes, I was terrified of letting go in the pool. It was large and much deeper than the other one. I felt like a toad would perhaps, in the sea. I held my husband or my son's hand tightly all the time. That was the way I could enjoy the experience. And yes, it was beautiful in its own way, as we held each other and moved across the water in search of warmer waters, as our faces were doused with freezing cold rain and wind! What an experience!

So yes, all this could have happened with none of this drama and heartache perhaps, back in India, where there is no need to strip or be nude before you get into a pool. It could have been much easier and more enjoyable. But that simply wasn't to be for me. This seems to be the fire I needed to walk through to journey into my body even deeper than before. And I am happy that I could open myself up to life to work on me in the best way possible.....for me.

Here is a poem that flowed through me later that night as I sat alone in the cottage, saying a quiet thank you to Life for bringing me all that I had ever needed on this great pilgrimage, and for choreographing it all to perfection .....

Broken Waters

and as I stepped out
from your womb,
my fears held safe
in your depths
all these years,
I felt the smelting
of heavy chains,
of unspoken terror
leaving me,
and I looked up
to the winter sun,
filled with a lightness
of a heart and body
that's finally learned
to feel and cherish
the wetness
and freshness
of broken waters,
given birth
to a sacred life,
waiting to be held
and worn.


~~~~~~ 

Here is a lovely film that came up today in my news feed and was the trigger that got me writing this post.....

https://vimeo.com/125692953?ref=fb-share

Without Reason

a sunset
is a sunset.
why make it
into a moonrise
that's on its way?
or a sunrise
that's passed on
into a finite day?

a sunset
is a sunset.

see me
for who I am.
feel me.
now.
not for who you thought I was.
not for who you want me to be.
love me.
through all seasons.
without comparison.
without reason.

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Stuck.

frozen.
inside my soles.
I can't take
a single step,
even as my eyes
roam the horizon.
and the earth shakes
violently
beneath my feet.

muscles twitch
to feel an inch
of stillness,
in a world
with no margins,
no lines to follow,
no imaginings
to form patterns
with even wispy
beginnings
and ends.
only spirals.
endless.
folding into themselves.

cocooned
by Life
who knows
how to work
on me,
tired eyes
find their way home,
muscles twitch
and come alive
in the craziness,
dancing in skins
centuries old,
loosening their grip
on faithless bones,

and a tiny seed
opens itself out to the world
from its imposed tightness,
sinking invisible roots
into the sticky emptiness
and beyond,
waiting,
noticing,
becoming,
the effortless flow
of life within Life.

At the Altar of Death

put down
all your beliefs
your stories
your identities
your dreams
your whole self
first
at the altar of Death

leave them there
for a while,
as you bow down
and open yourself
to the fragrant breath,
feeling it flow
into and out of
your every cell

and then,
receive it all -
everything you put down,
as an offering
from the God of Death,
wearing them
with reverence
and grace

remember
their fragrance,
their softness,
their lightness,
as they lay strewn
like colourful flowers
with death on their wish-list,
ready to offer themselves
up again, any time.

and then you will know how to live.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

November

Water and sky
rest on stage
in each others' arms,
after a frenzied tango.
Suddenly, there's a hint of sun
lightening the grays,
as above, so below.
Dragonflies dance
across still eyeballs.
Islands of seaweed float by,
setting to work
on unfinished business.
Flood waters recede
to unknown shores,
their mission accomplished.
Crows prompt the lost silence
with their frantic calls.
While I sit back and cherish
the curling fragrance
of my warm tea,
having played my part
in this one-act play,
cheering myself, my life,
for the inimitable courage
to live through
and celebrate
every season,
and this dark grey
November.

I walked out of the house today.

I walked out of the house today.
a house I thought was home.
stung by the barbs
of my own skin -
identities,
insanities,
fantasies,
lies I told myself,
comfy beds I snuggled in,
strangers I invited in,
mirrors I gazed into
that distorted my face,
pores clogged with indifference.

I walked out of that house today.
a house that could never be home,
I walked into the starkness of the night,
naked, my tender skin
splashed with blood
from plucked out barbs,
a blood-red heart now come alive,
thumping out a new song of love
for myself and the world,
and suddenly, I could breathe!




 

Born Free

today,
I want to talk about
my pain mother,
not yours;
the world sees
and extols
your pain,
but what about mine?
is it any less?
or more?
who would know?

did you know
I thought I was dying
as I slipped out
of the safe,
nourishing void?
squeezed,
pressed,
pulled,
pushed,
and wrung out,
my frail lungs
crushed
between walls
without an end,
daggers plunging
into tender skin,
I struggled
and gasped
through
the darkness,
a terrified ball
stretched thin and flat -
perhaps my
first painful lessons
of how to fit
into the trappings
of a fitted world
I had to make my home;

yet,
the song of my heart
exploded
into the sleepy silence
of an alien world,
with the rush of blood
from incessant stabs;
my heart throbbed
and expanded
with that first gulp
of blessed air
I swallowed
without your help;
and my insides
they came alive,
announcing
to the universe,
that I had
indeed arrived.

and the world
looked at me
with ignorance
and awe,
smothering me
with pitiful eyes,
they only saw
a helpless child
swaddled in fear,
they didn't know
I was born free,
held by life.


Monday, November 16, 2015

Ring of Salt

there's a storm out there,
where bodies prowl
over haunting shadows,
scrounging
for a flicker of light -
anything would do;
while deep inside
in a temple,
circled
by a ring of salt,
a lamp burns
unattended,
standing
in an eternal stillness
that feeds its bowels,
where a fire
gives birth
to itself,
preserved
in the salt of the earth.


Sunday, November 15, 2015

Vignette

dressing her for the pyre
with a sari
that she would never wear
draping her tiny form,
a mother presses
the last round bindi
onto her baby's face,
whispering words
of love and loss,
for a life
taken away too soon;

a daughter draped
in red and white,
and a bindi
centered
between her brows,
lights her father's chest
with a handful of fire
torn from her burning gut,
and she whispers nothing;

a deathly silence
smudges the edges,
and deepens the colours
of a wordless void
etched in the ether -
of a mother,
a daughter,
their loss, and
an unbordered love.


Blind

somewhere
in the dark alleys
of a bustling city,
blood flows
in the drains,
shots explode
into a ghostly silence,
voices tremble
with nameless fears
falling into a void
that swallows it all,
and a feeble voice
starts a revolution
to pump blood
into tight hearts
longing to expand,
to expunge
the darkness
with one fell sweep
of an unfelt love;
somewhere
in the same moment,
in the deep grooves
of a virgin earth,
vines suck on juicy trees,
rafflesias devour innocent flies,
dogs swallow their sickly pups,
birds abandon beaks
too weak to hold food,
mantises gorge on mantises,
with weapons
tucked under folded arms,
tireless armies of ants
eat up forests
in one giant nibble,
and we,
standing in the same darkness
stay blind
to what we cannot,
will not see.





Saturday, November 14, 2015

Eyes of Molten Steel

how do I paint the world
that breathes inside me?
staid colours
cramped brushes
walled palettes
belonging
to another world,
all speak half truths,
when there are so many colours,
containers and strokes,
that have never been seen
by eyes trapped in pupils
straining to see
only the visible,
even in a changing
invisible world
lit up by eyes
of molten steel.


Thursday, November 12, 2015

Boredom

this boredom
is a waiting room -
a pause
within
a spinning pause;

sometimes,
a fish tank
with roving eyes,
prying open
a masked existence;

sometimes,
a magazine picked up
from a corner rack,
filling
an unmistakable hollow
with a fleeting delight
of forgotten selves;

sometimes,
muted piped music
pulsing through
a sleepy heart
ruminating on the speed
of turning wheels;

often,
a necessary sabbatical,
nudging a self
to get back
in conversation
with an ordinary life
that's always alive.


Sunday, November 8, 2015

Space

and it wasn't until
a gust of salt wind
struck the stiffened jaws
of my pinched face,
that I even knew
I was stuck

in a small, tight room
I had made my home;
unopened windows
now open,
billowing lungs
inspired to purge
and stretch
into the divine aroma
of a long breeze,

converging eddies
in deep pools,
wind and water
leave veins of salt
and empty riverbeds
exploding
with a passion
to breathe,
to feed life,
to live, and
to live well.

simple joys

when you speak,
I wish I could feel
the wind dancing
through every pore
of your glowing skin,

when you laugh,
I wish I could curl up
in the corners of your smile,
and watch the world light up
as I jiggle myself to sleep,

when you move,
I wish I could follow
the lines and curves
of your fluid body
in their timeless postures,

when you grow silent,
I wish I could drop
into the mysterious folds
of your heart
to hear its unbroken song,

when you rest,
I wish I could catch
the fragrance of your breath,
lying still and alive
in the space within,

I wish I could be with you
in the simple joys
of meeting, of merging -
mind to mind,
heart to heart,
skin to skin.




Friday, November 6, 2015

Winter

today,
I want to speak of winter...
of the empty white solitude,
the bone-chilling cold -
a harsh reminder
of what needs to thaw,
the skeletons of trees
dreaming of new forms,
and the silent breeze
feeding fresh lives.


yes, today,
I want to speak of winter;
not of the glory
of autumn or summer,
of the warmth of color and skin,
and the prettiness
of what's obvious;
no, not even of spring
and the bounce and smiles
of things exploding
into themselves
and each other;
for many have spoken
about them.

today,
I want to speak of winter.
of the unspoken,
of the unmet,
where life is on hold,
in the stillness
of a white womb,
yet changing quietly,
with the slowness
and grace
of unseen wheels
turning in the darkness,
and the innocence
of what simply is;

dressed in pure white,
is a mother waiting,
soaking in the harshness,
to feel the warmth
of skin against skin.

Thursday, November 5, 2015

yes, today....I killed a man.

yes, today
I killed a man.
a man who lived
inside me,
choking me
with my own hands.
yes, today
I killed a man.
not for the world
to watch,
or weep,
or join in
in the revelry.
I killed him
in the quiet
of my own temple,
where I first lit a lamp
to call in the gods
to stand by me.
yes, today
I thrashed him,
I shook him up,
until he opened
his fear-filled eyes,
so I could gouge them out,
and stabbed his frozen heart
until the dark red
oozed and dripped
onto his dead white skin.
yes, today
I killed a man,
who was spent,
a man who I'd wanted to love
but couldn't.
yes, today
I killed a man,
who didn't need a temple,
for he believed he was god;
who was too ravenous to offer
food for my soul,
and so, I let him go;
yes, today
I killed a man.
I fed the pyre
with the burning logs
of my wounded heart,
and watched them burn
as white became black
and crumbled to grey.
yes, today
I killed a man
with my hands,
as I offered myself
and him,
to the gods.


Endless Wonder

and while the world
watched shadows
play out
in empty fields,
eyes flitting,
unaware,
between
the stolid black
and unreal lights
on misshapen forms,
you and me,
we sat still,
under the vastness
of the night sky
rolled out
for all to see,
our eyes lost
in the endless wonder
of distant stars
dotting
the virgin canopy.

Monday, November 2, 2015

Stories

and we cling to our stories
like leeches
sucking out
every ounce of life,
to live and outlive
the lies we tell ourselves,
the warm blankets we need
on cold, dark nights,
the fires that we light
over and over again
with different travellers
each time,
conversation starters
and sometimes enders,
avatars we incarnate into,
to become the gods
we already are,
even without them;

yes, of course
we need our stories,
to sing our songs,
to dance, to rise,
to fall, to chime in,
to let out
our long-trapped voices
in cracks of stone;

but let's not be bound
by those chains
that slit our wrists,
let's not breathe
their stale, heavy air,
let's not make them
our flesh and bones;
let them live
in the warmth of our skin,
until it's time
to shed their outlived lives,
let's celebrate their death
like the skin of happy bubbles
popping every now and then;
for they are not raging gods
and goddesses
out of incredible myths;
they are but specks of dust
gathering together,
to dance awhile
in a slanting sunbeam
resting upon
the dark
of another unborn morn.

Saturday, October 31, 2015

'You are Here'

There is something about us humans and our affinity for maps, lodestones, landmarks and guides (both animate and inanimate). But even that does not seem enough! No, just a random map would not do, it would not serve any purpose. We just have to know where we are, and where we have to go, don't we?. We panic when we feel lost. We are too scared to die into insignificance.....to become a black speck in the inky darkness that we find ourselves in every now and then. And so we come back to holding on to ourselves over and over again....the 'You are Here' spot, which fills us with a balmy warmth, from where we can breathe again more freely. But where are we really? What is that spot where we think we are? Do we even know? Would we? If we were not followers but explorers?

After two weeks of intense yet relaxing traveling, I am back home.....to what I think and feel is home now....after finding and living in many homes over the last few weeks.....homes in beautiful countries, homes in beautiful hearts. As I stepped in, I felt a wave rise and wash over me, taking me along...to a space where there was only darkness - not a darkness that often presupposes 'a lack', but a darkness that exudes mystery....and I found myself in the very same space that I had been all along, for many years, and more ...that space of not knowing where I truly belong.....of feeling like I belong everywhere, and so nowhere,.... or belonging nowhere, and so everywhere. And suddenly, I feel no need for a map like I used to. Or maybe the map has changed. Or I am exploring uncharted territory and so drawing the map as I go along. And so, yes, I feel lost. But it's a happy kind of lost.

On the 27th of June, I was talking to a dear friend on the phone and shared how I was going through something...and feeling lost.....because I did not know where I belonged. I hung up and went to see my father who had been a little sick for the last few days. I don't know why, but when I saw him and he started speaking to me, I hugged him and broke down. I shared with him what I had been feeling deeply.....that I didn't know what 'family' meant anymore, that I didn't know where I belonged, that I felt like I didn't belong anywhere. And he hugged me tight and cried with me too, telling me how much he loved me. A few hours later, he took in his last breath and let go of that last breath in that human form. Perhaps we shared our angst of not knowing where we belonged, in those few moments. But I will never know. What became clear to me in that moment and later was this - that I was no longer as worried about where I was, where I belonged or did not belong.

Today, as I entered the house after being in so many different places, all those moments flashed past my eyes, and the inside of my throat lumped up. I missed you, appa. I remembered you, appa. For I am still there - lost.....not knowing where I belong. But there is no sadness about that this time. The sadness that is there is that you are not here. Otherwise, it's different. There is a peace and a freedom of simply being.....being me....happily walking that uncertain, intangible, fuzzy edge of not knowing where I am and where I belong.

And yet, I can also see how a part of me clings to a story....one tentacle grabbing onto something to survive, to thrive, for now....for as long as I need to. And so I hold on to the grief of losing you and the joy of receiving your blessing - the last blessing that we were graced with as you closed your eyes. Yes, you told us how much you loved us. You told me how special I was. You wished the best for us three, asking us to mark your words.....that we would go places. I believe it is a blessing we were so privileged to receive.

Yet, I missed you for being the only one I knew of, who was always a partaker in my joy, with no agenda, with no feeling of lack, and so being able to receive it fully and openly. Today, I am so happy. Happy with my life and where it has taken me. I am happy and grateful to all that has come my way in the form of opportunities, people, places, wealth, art, experiences and much much more. Yes, I am so happy appa. But you were not there physically present to feel this with me, like I knew you would have, if you were alive and in a body. I miss touching and feeling you. I miss your hug, your laughter, your presence. And yet, you are very much there in me. I can feel it, sense it, hear it, even though it is not the same. And so I imagined you calling me and asking about our trip. I heard the conversation so clearly.....the tone of your voice, the words, your smile through the phone....all pointing to the happiness you were feeling just knowing that I was happy and listening to the story of the magic and how it all unfolded. I yearn to share joy like that with people.

So yeah, that's where I am. In a space of ease and lightness.....of being happy with not belonging anywhere, and so belonging everywhere.....to be able to walk along the fringes when needed so I can jump into anything I want to that draws me in, whenever I feel like it. To respond to life. To wait to be invited to the party. And to simply invite myself by telling life that I am ready to be invited....that I am here!

And that changes the way I look at the 'You are here' spot on the map that is forming now. While I saw it earlier as a place on an already charted map, showing me where I could go, which direction I could head in, I am now seeing it very differently.....I see it as a beautiful spot in an unexplored land, where I can simply stand, marveling at the beauty of the landscape, and tell life loudly and clearly.....that I am ready and here for it to take me where it wants to take me, and where I need to go!

To just know that 'You are here'! Ah! What freedom!

Hungry

everywhere
every moment
in every leaf that falls,
in every dew drop
poised on edge,
in every blade of grass
brown or green,
in every seed
waiting to be spent,
I see hunger,
the universe gorging on itself,
driven by a raging fire
to thrive, to feed
everything alive,
dead or dying,
hungry for a taste
of anything called life;
the feast of a life
well-lived.

Heading Home

I wonder what it was
that drew me to you,
and away from you....
was it the sudden expanse
of stark wilderness,
of wind-sheared mountains
against bald brown,green and blue;
or was it the sheer uncertainty
and hard compassion
of fast-changing tides of wind and water;
or was it the simple innocence
of a black and white life,
where every dimple and blob
breathed fire and ice;
or was it the ever-growing mystery
of virgin depths and shrouded heights,
of limpid morns and surreal nights;
what was it I wonder,
that took me in,
that made me stand unfazed
against the slanting rain
and powdered ice,
or the blood-curdling winds
and the veiled wintry sun,
without a cover or name -
a faceless face in a paltry crowd,
where everything
felt warm and safe,
where suddenly an island
transformed into a continent,
that grew wings and feet and arms
from closing waters,
rising and falling
with the wisps of clouds,
singing the soulful song
of wild geese
heading home -
a place where I can return,
so I can leave and live,
another life, in another world,
just another place
to rest awhile,
where fire meets ice,
where days meet nights,
where black meets white,
where will meets longing,
where fear meets love, and
where life meets death,
so I can be born
all over again,
and again.

Thursday, October 29, 2015

Kali

I came to you
with a head full of
stories, questions,
heroes, heroines,
soap operas, tragedies,
flippant comedies,
and gifts that I thought
I bring to this world;
and then, at the cusp
of a limping daylight
and the ravishing black
of a buxom moon,
I stood before you
completely undone;
one look at your
imposing form,
your thousand arms
piercing into eternity,
and the enticing pleats
of your bellowing skirt
drawing me into
a deathly trance,
and my heavy head
bowed down
at your still feet -
the altar of all things human,
pouring out nothing
but words of glory,
while you, through your
frozen white
outstretched tongue,
consume it all,
in one gulp,
mocking at my foolery -
to frill up the cracks
in each shard
with a new incomplete story,
a desperation for wholeness,
when everything that is,
is broken and breakable,
in your hands
of death and life,
O Black Goddess,
Kali!
dancing mountains of water
hungry beaks piercing
life blood flows through frozen veins.

Monday, October 26, 2015

prim firs pricked with crystal light
leaves in white coffins
She heals herself in silence.

Listen

listen to me
not with your thoughts,
not with your words,
not with your feelers,
trying to make sense
of what you are
or who I am;
listen to me
with the silence
that swallows it all,
where you don't know
where you begin
or end;
listen to me,
lie still, in me.

Broken Waters

and as I stepped out
from your womb,
my fears held safe
in your depths
all these years,
I felt the smelting
of heavy chains,
of unspoken terror
leaving me,
and I looked up
to the winter sun,
filled with a lightness
of a heart and body
that's finally learned
to feel and cherish
the wetness
and freshness
of broken waters,
given birth
to a sacred life,
waiting to be held
and worn.

Black Anger Rising

black anger
rising
from still ground,
no frills,
no flowers,
no camouflage,
no airs,
just an ashen skin,
white hot,
smooth and plain,
dusted
with the whiteness
of a heart
that knows
only one way
to love -
a ferocious love
that destroys
things with a shelf-life,
to recycle,
to create,
a timeless world
beyond life and love.

Black Mountain

and you drew me
with your steady,
one - pointed gaze,
into your spent bosom,
the blackness and stillness
of your stark eyes,
of your majestic form,
lit the pyre
of my wayward thoughts,
as I swallowed you
in one breath,
of fear and love,
with nowhere to hide
but in your barren folds,
now mine,
drinking in a love
that you do not give,
but help me find myself;
rising from the ashes
of long-dead logs
from other worlds,
the black goddess
comes alive
to kill with a love
for Black Mountain.

Sunday, October 18, 2015

Prayag

and when she touched me,
I remembered
the longing,
the pilgrimage
I've been on,
looking for that something
without a name,
until I reached
the prayag
of pain and joy,
where I dipped
my weary soul,
cleansing the pores
of a body
clogged by the grime
of unlived lives
and moments
too stubborn
to be washed away
by mundanities,
as if waiting
over lifetimes even
for her to walk in
and bless me
with the stillness
and Grace
of the gushing river
in her soft hands;
and I rested
in the womb
of a mother
I never had.

Monday, October 12, 2015

Ruthless

once, long ago
a four-legged human
dragged himself up
to the terrace,
on his last mission,
his mouth frothing,
his hind legs limp,
terror and peace
swirling in his eyes
at once,
as he howled
a prayer
one last time
to the black heavens,
while I held him close -
trembling skin and fur,
rocked upon a raging sea,
who churned out
from her wildest depths,
the first sharp breath
of a morning sun,
and the ruthless violence
of dying and being alive,
as he fell against
my sinking heart
and feet.


Between Worlds

a butterfly
unfurls
her fairy wings,
waking up
forgotten flowers,
flitting between
two worlds -
encased
in the freedom
of what's real
and what's a dream.

Sunday, October 11, 2015

In Hiding

and even the sun,
in all her brilliance,
slips into the stillness
of her dark womb
every day
at twilight,
hiding herself,
away from eyes
that cannot hold
her ravishing beauty
for long -
eyes that want to
devour her glory,
tossing and turning
through long, dark nights,
all for a glimpse of her;
and then she arrives quietly,
without fanfare,
while the world still dreams,
burning shadows
along her way,
and fanning the flames
of those hearts
that fear not to walk
in their own light
and shadow.




Saturday, October 10, 2015

Half-Burnt Logs

and we sat under the stars,
skin to skin,
eye to eye,
heart to heart -
little points of light
growing
dark and heavy
with the descending
heavens,
coming to meet
the curling smoke
spiraling up
from the guts
of a sacred fire,
crying out the song
of half-burnt logs
and the tyranny
of being human.


Friday, October 9, 2015

Breath of Life

and I stood there
with my head
resting
upon my heart,
as you thundered
through my every pore;
you whipped me,
caressed me,
carved me,
hollowed me out,
and ground me
to insignificant dust,
to carry me upon
your mighty shoulders,
and hold me close,
so I could feel
and merge with
the breath and flow
of all of life.

Between Longing and Being

in the first brush
of orange on inky blue,
in the parted beak
of a koel setting a tune,
in the fading call
of crickets
lulled by the morning breeze,
in the cry of a heart
that wants to call
something it cannot own,
its own,
rests
the silent grave
and womb
between
longing
and being.

Thursday, October 8, 2015

Falling Into Myself

and I fall
with the cherry blossoms
in their prime,
joining a dance
with the moist earth,
unfettered
by longings
or flattery,
crushed
by impervious feet
and stone hearts,
who know not yet,
the beauty and joy
of this quiet
impermanence.

Sunday, October 4, 2015

In the Near Distance

why do you torment me?
why do you tease me?
stalk me, chase me,
as I run away from your duress,
that's always too much to bear?
and then,
when I find myself
rooted
in the stoned silence
between hushes,
you catch me unawares,
your waters breaking
all over me,
taking me to a reverie,
and yet sometimes,
just leaving
my orphaned toes,
yearning for that one brush
of elusive closeness,
still taunting me,
drawing me,
into your heaving bosom
in the distance;

and I remember how
the moon makes waves
all the time,
being herself
in the near distance.

Ground

and I must not forget
that I stand today,
not upon the shoulders
of those long left,
but upon their hearts -
who, though terrified
to look into the labyrinth
of light and dark,
led me into
the presence of things
that I can only add
to my growing years,
stitching up the ground
so I can stand
and peer into
my own roots
and wings,
of darkness
and light.

Saturday, October 3, 2015

i

i am the one
who stands guard
on the fading edge
moving and changing
always a little more
than I would like it to;

i am the one
who paces up and down
the turrets of your being,
with eyes prying open
and scavenging
the faintest challenge;

i am the one
who holds the elements
and ravishing energies
washing over and flowing
inside you
as one mighty river;

i am the one
who leads you home
on that final stretch,
clinging to your burning skin,
leaping into that abyss
between humiliation and hubris.


Friday, October 2, 2015

Said the Canvas to the Artist...

said the canvas to the artist:
"sometimes, I wish
you'd just pick up
that resting brush
and stroke me
with your lingering eyes
and uncertain hands,
splashing colours
across my bosom;
isn't the emptiness
that you see,
inspiration enough?
to feel and create
depths in surfaces
longing to be met
in quiet serendipity?


Dancing Cells, Shimmering Stars

and then, Life said to me:
"why do you
first build walls,
and then carve
doors and windows
to open and see?
step out for a moment
in the still of the night
under the shimmering stars,
feel me in your
wild dancing cells,
and you will know
all that you are,
and all that you can
and will ever be."





The Wave

and I hold myself
in the depths of who I am,
choosing to stay
in the midst of the swell,
to be the wave
who never reached the shore.

Thursday, October 1, 2015

Somewhere, Everywhere, Anywhere

somewhere
in a distant forest,
a leaf twirls on tip toe
to the yawning ground;
somewhere
up in a mountain,
the first raindrop smudges
the dust off a weary stone;
somewhere
in the haunting darkness,
a firefly lights up herself
to blaze a trail without a trace;
somewhere
up in a passing cloud,
a puff of air grows silently
into a thundering storm;
somewhere
which could be in the middle
of everywhere, anywhere,
silence becomes the swell
of a new wordless song
waiting to be sung.



The Embrace

and I didn't quite know,
until you raised your arms
as your being smiled,
and circled the walls
of a crumbling bastion
I had held on to
for perhaps too long,
that the waters from
the womb of our eyes,
breaking into a swell,
as they met for a moment
in a timeless embrace
of water and earth,
fire and breath,
gave birth to
and held close,
the kiss of a new
unlived life.




Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Fallen Grace

look into my eyes
so you can look
into my soul,
for when I've fallen
from my own
ruthless scrutiny,
my pupils cringe,
my eyelids go limp,
my lashes stroke
the falling tears,
and in that collapse
into a self-made prison,
your eyes
hold me
lift me
and carry me
into the heart
of fallen grace.


Monday, September 28, 2015

Loving Me is Loving You

love me
like you would
love the moon,
waxing and waning
in your eyes,
that always remember
and hold
her fullness
in her impelling darkness
and radiant light;

love me
like you would
love a song,
holding the magic
of the words and the tune,
the canvas and strokes
of a heart
who knows only
how to paint herself
in everything around;

love me
like you would
those faraway clouds,
that come and go
in the vacant blue,
watching them go
where they want to,
in search of a stillness
that they can feel,
only as they move;

love me
like you would
love the earth,
who weaves the sensuous
into the ordinary,
touching everything
with a curiosity and warmth,
feeling the weight of herself
and everything in her
that she gives roots to;

love me
like you would
love a warrior,
fierce and passionate
about a cause
that makes her feel alive in her skin,
where a battle is won
not with a beating of chests,
but with the inexhaustible weapons
of trust, love and unshakable truth;

love me
like you would
love a rose
resting on a sun-drenched morn,
not to be plucked
or tucked away into a pretty vase,
but to be cherished
for her fragrance and gentleness
that you can feel
only when she is amid her thorns;

love me
like you would
love deep secrets,
enticing you into
the growing darkness
where all the adventure lies,
free-falling
into an uncomfortable openness,
just waiting to be unearthed;

love me
like you would
love the universe,
making space
for all that is living,
growing and dying
before your eyes,
spiraling into nothingness
and yet exploding
in a celebration of itself;

love me
like you would
love yourself,
for in that love,
you will include
not only me,
but one who is most valued,
and most cherished -
YOU!







Sunday, September 27, 2015

Forest Trails

today,
I don't know why,
but I think of her -
there is a longing
to rest
among the dark pleats
of her silence
and remember home...

the forest has a way
of doing that to me -
trees look like family,
greeting me with a warmth
that I cannot feel here
in my clammy skin,
drawing me into
their haunting depths
like an old repeating dream,
or a particular piece
of a familiar song
drifting along the quiet breeze,
whispering a million stories
of heartbreak and joy,
of all the living and the dying
that they've felt, heard and seen;

the forest has a way
of filling me from afar -
for when I walk the trails
that lead me gently
to her sacred bosom,
I remember what it is like
to be home.





Freedom

wings flutter,
talons retract,
eyes focus, and
passion storms
through every cell,
as I yearn for flight,
but cannot leave
the home
where I grew wings,
for what I have
does not belong
to me,
it made me,
free.

Love

and I chase
and I grab
what cannot be held
in the narrow folds
of my palms,
but which slips
through the crevices
between
my restless fingers,
making space
for a largeness
and depth
that I can only
hope to feel
with my
beggarly fingertips.

Come, Be a Mountain!

and Life said to me:
"Be a mountain!
come, take your place
between the heavens
and the earth,
for you are not alone;
come, stay where you are,
for in that space of being,
you will find your place
in the family of all things;
yes, you cannot move at will,
but that's why you can grow roots
into yourself and a landscape
that's ever-changing -
where rivers meander off
like prodigal sons
never to return to your folds,
where birds arrive and depart
like restless pilgrims
always in search of something,
where trees rise and fall
with every wobble
of the slowly turning wheels,
where paths and trails
cut into your very soul -
those that you'll never walk on,
where men and women come
to conquer a mystery
and flaunt their valour,
only to end up exploring and discovering
their own smaller and larger selves;
come, dear one,
be a mountain!
and rest in the stillness 
of all that is,
and all that will ever be."





In the Blue of the Flame

I don't want
to sit around
or sing and dance
and tell stories
around a sacred fire,

I want to stand
in the blue
of the flame -
naked,
groundless,
yet alive,

tempered by
an unquenchable longing
to meet myself
in my fiery wholeness,
reclaiming the majesty
and insignificance
of what I am
and what I'm here to do,
in a world that's content
to share stories around a fire,
too terrified to burn
its fingers and toes.




Saturday, September 26, 2015

Autumn

and a forest falls silent,
to listen to the sounds
of falling leaves,
and changing hues,
of sunbeams cracking open
trembling boughs, and
silver highlights drumming
upon dancing shadows;
where the air is rife
with a tingling freshness,
lingering memories
and unborn dreams,
dying into the stillness
of this one moment,
where a new song
will be birthed
from this sacred womb,
and carried into the silence
of a long-hushed tomb.

The Warrior

don't pull out
your staggering sword,
don't work out
to the end of your breath,
don't carve your muscles
out of your porous skin,
to brandish and soak
in the blood of glory
flowing through your words;

for when you are spent
and return home,
from a battle
you thought you'd won;
you'll feel the longing
and the emptiness return,
your eyes brimming
with the softness
of withheld tears,
your skin smarting
from the raw tenderness
of old untended wounds,
your breath falling
like a forgotten coin
into the empty hollow within;

and then, you will know
how to hold
the love of your life,
in every step you take,
what battles you must
take on and fight,
and when to lay down
your arms with grace;
and you will know
you can pick up
the waiting chisel,
instead of a swiveling sword,
to carve your heart
upon the fiercest chest,
the true warrior
who is up, for every test.








Friday, September 25, 2015

Dreams

I wonder why
our dreams
carry us
across the heavens
on fragile threads,
that could
make or break,
our tender hearts
wandering
like lost flotsam
suspended
in timeless uncertainty,
carrying the smell
of our deep longings
and our flawed humanity;

I guess it takes
one dream
etched across the heavens,
carrying us
toward the darkening light,
to find our roots
or wings.






Can You See Me?

can you see me,
not in the cards
I deal out
for all to see -
what's taken,
what's rejoiced,
what's abused,
or what's rejected,
but in the cards
I haven't played,
what I've singled out
and held close to me?

can you see me
as I am?
where the glory
and the gory
are friends,
not warmongers?

can you see me
as I am?
where your heart
meets mine,
for in that seeing
is a knowing
of all that is me,
not what you think
is me.



Roots

and so that
my intricate world
can entangle with yours,
my veins of blood
can mix with yours,
my fragile walls
can crumble with yours,
my engraved lines
can smudge with yours,
my restless thoughts
can dance with yours,
I grow roots
into your heart,
your soul,
so I can feed
and feel mine,
for what are surfaces
but depths
into the pain
of our being,
waiting to be met,
explored,
and loved.



Thursday, September 24, 2015

Grace

and as I stand
a little closer
to my grave today,
when strands of silver
line the oval of my face,
I am learning to look into
the half-glowing heavens,
in silent curiosity,
with a steadfast faith
coursing through
my pulsing jugular,
and with one full breath,
call out my own blessed name,
and raise a full-throated song
giving thanks to this world,
which always gives me
my choicest meal,
without ever asking
for my name.



Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Overflow

there was a time
when I was afraid
of fullness,
too scared to reach
the frontiers
of my emotions,
and the dark edges
of my fallible existence,
and so I would skirt the shores,
keeping away from the waves
rushing in excitedly
to sweep me off my feet,
and I would watch them
with feigned indifference,
from the safe rims
of my half-open eyes,
and dip my trembling toes
into the receding waters -
the easier part of the flow;

until that one moment
when I looked into the eyes
of a foaming wave,
running in to gather me in her arms,
filling me with a terrifying anticipation,
washing me over with her love,
and grinding me to a deathly pause
on the sands of uncertainty;
and in the quiet presence
of the firmament above,
my being rested among the waves,
as I was held in her endless dance
of arrivals and goodbyes,
of losses and renewals,
of belonging and abandonment,
of fullness and emptiness,
and I knew then
in that one blessed moment,
how to hold myself
as a brimming cup,
where parts of me took form,
from the brink of that fullness,
born from the overflow
of a love
that cannot be held back
but only given and shared,
with a world that thrives
on quiet unseen abundance.



Tuesday, September 22, 2015

The Book of Your Life

there is a joy
when I pick up
the book of your life
and open it
to read a page
in silent reverie,
where words
become stories,
where spaces
become pauses,
where memories
become new arrivals,
crying out to be held
against the softness
of my palms,
where lines
become the web
of our one entangled,
sacred existence.


Monday, September 21, 2015

Becoming Me

and when I'm not full,
like that mellow fruit
on a pregnant tree, 
I let you in -
to fill me,
to become
you in me,
dying to what I really am -
a soul that's not up for sale,
the harvest of a love
that cannot be demanded
or plundered,
but only given,
in quiet patience,
as the tree holds her fruit
and her wholesome shade,
for those who care enough
to stop by and relish her bounty,
and sit under her radiant boughs
that speak incessantly
to the sun, the earth
and the dark heavens,
singing songs of love
flowing from the fullness
of a heart that hears
the stirrings of the universe,
and what it takes
to let you be you,
and to 'become me'.


Sunday, September 20, 2015

Wall of Words

and you throw words
in the way
of my seeing,
so I can first
touch and feel
the walls of your heart,
so I can grope
and stumble
and fall in
through the black tunnels
of a love
that does not seek light
but only wants to live,
and feel
unapologetically
alive!

Friday, September 18, 2015

Skin to Skin, Heart to Heart

and when you speak,
I feel the world
come alive
under your skin,
throbbing
with the waves
that rise and fall
with my skin,
as I drop into
the silence
of uncharted depths,
drawing me through
their smudged creases,
now spiralling,
free falling,
into the abyss
of a love
that can be felt
only skin to skin,
heart to heart.



Thursday, September 17, 2015

There is Something in the Silence

there is something
in the silence
in the kitchen,
while I stand there
chopping, stirring,
pouring, swishing,
tasting, smelling,
reaching for, or
putting away,
what's needed or not;

I hear the dry rattle
of paper thin wings,
that belong to
a golden dragonfly;
she was circling the light,
as if she knew
when to close in
or move out and across
invisible walls of light -
now resting, now dancing,
now changing course,
encircling herself
in that strange silence;

there is something
in the silence
in the kitchen.