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.