when you've made love

don't look to me
to make love to you,
to pander to your every whim,
to stroke you where
you like to be stroked,
to tell you how beautiful you look
with your curls and curves,
with your sweaty sinews,
and your hair in the right places;
don't tell me you want me
because you love me,
because you love to fill,
because you love to fuel,
because you love those walls
exploding into themselves,
because you love the keenness
of the blade that cuts
and bleeds at will
for its own masked love;
don't tell me you want me
because,
come to me
when you're undone,
when you've loved
every ache and scar on your skin,
when you have felt in your bones
what it means to simply love
for nothing, for no one,
for no earthly purpose,
or divine longing,
come,
when you've made love
to yourself
over and over again,
when you can speak about it
with no covers of shame to hide in,
and then let's make love together,
you and me,
under the light of night or day,
right here
under the gaze of the world,
when there's nothing left to speak about,
when there's nothing to give or take,
when there's nothing left to prove or flaunt,
except the love of our own skins
inflamed and glistening
under the moon and stars.

undone

I watch you try too hard sometimes,
to fit in, to connect, and understand
what people are saying,
I hear that voice grow
from inside you,
reaching out with pointed fervor,
like tendrils clasping a stone wall
with their softness,
words coiled gently
into feelings held
between lips,
in a quiet yearning
for their place in the sun,
where silence reigns
in the vastness
between
and around
leaves, stems
tendrils, soil,
and stone,
all undone.

two feet

we stand on either side of walls
we can never climb over,
we walk the ramp
trying to be someone else,
we wage wars
over what's yours and mine,
when we claim  it's ours,
we build bridges
to get to the other side
of nowhere,
we walk barefoot
for a cause that gets us moving,
we stick our soles
into a mire we've come to love,
we leave footprints
others can walk on
for eternity,
with these two feet
walking as one,
using lifetimes
to find and stand
in that two feet of space,
that's right here,
with us!

the shoreline

I've never understood boundaries.
The word bound me to something
I could not put my finger on.
I felt suffocated.
I felt I was dying.
rigor mortis.
wails.
pangs.
ruthless stabs.

I had a dream.
I was walking along the shore.
sun-dappled sand.
dancing crabs.
shells clinking beneath my feet,
like coins pouring out
of a slot machine.
footprints washed dead.
eyes pinned every now and then
to a blurry horizon,
waves running away,
then catching me by surprise.

boundaries.

the intersections
where water
meets land
meets feet
meets crabs
meets shells
meets desire
meets silence
meets emotions
meets eternity
meets now
on the shoreline
always changing
as I walk
or stay

the flame

of what use is the flame
sealed inside those embers
of dark coal?
giving the word a chance
to name the unnameable,
the hearth of endurance
fanned by an unknowable breath
that stays and expels,
embraces and lingers
upon the coffins of time,
where aloneness steps out
into the vastness
with a million eyes and arms,
inviting the half moon lover,
stripping to both the night and day
without a word, without favour,
walking away from the confines
where breath cannot live,
closing the door of a home
that is much loved
but must be abandoned now,
with dreams left untended
in the fallow soil,
doused by the pangs of humiliation,
of being human,
and still walking on
as if the road never ends,
carrying with us
that single flame
of an unspeakable longing
for something that we all want
no matter where we stand,
what we see,
and what we leave.

deafness

speak to me,
pour your words
into this open vessel
without a lid,
fill it to the brim
with stories
that must be heard
one way,
for you don't know
there's a fire beneath
the silence,
from where bubbles hiss
as they rise,
singing
their one fervent song
that must be heard,
not by you,
not by the world,
but by me
and the distant sky.

shame

shame trickles
slowly across
the dry river bed
held by the banks
of two stories -
one seeded then
and one now met.

afterthought

some words
are like afterthoughts,
sprinkled glitter
on wrapping paper,
cherries on a scoop
of favourite ice cream,
a swirl of cream
in a hot bowl of curry,
enticing you
to train your eyes
to the whole,
while you dwell
in the afterglow
of parts
that make you feel good,
where good never was.

these walls

these walls
are double-edged
worlds,
that keep things
as they are,
a testimony
for what it takes
to open doors
and windows
to either side,
or to simply
scale down the walls
to a human love
waiting
on the other side.

everything not bird

as the sky wrapped herself in dark grey,
my eyes wandered across to a little bird,
flapping her wings fast as she flew north,
stilled for a few moments,
by the lusty wind forcing himself on her,
as she gasped and gave in,
rooted in her love for those wings -
a frozen frame of strength
and self-assurance,
while she looked ahead, with eyes wide open,
staying still with every flap -
not moving, but moved
by the love of the cosmos
and everything not bird.

freedom in every step

a seed
lies somewhere
in the soft
loamy freedom
of darkness,
life held
within
a hard shell
of freedom
cracked open in time,
the perfect intersection
of worlds
breaking in
breaking out
breaking over
into another freedom,
another release,
another rise,
another fall
into life and death
every step of the way.

one step at a time

I walk along a path,
alone now,
darkened by eyes
that cannot see,
carrying what I must,
what I truly need,

when every door,
every way,
closed behind me,
this one opened
in the eerie silence,
calling out to me -
the howl of wolves
stroking and waking
every follicle of hair
on my clammy skin,

and so I look ahead now
with reddened eyes,
stoked by flames rising
from this coiled belly;
there is no way
but this one now,
as I walk alone,
held by the ground,
unfolding with the light
of every step taken
into the swirling darkness,
where I'm never lost,
only found,
one step at a time.

two eyes

I sometimes wonder
why we have two eyes,
and not just one,
two that see as one,
effortlessly,
witnesses
without a judge
passing a decree,
or a priest
holding a sermon,
eyes that see
what must be seen,
without fear or favour,
eyes that grope
even through fogginess
in unison,
eyes that belie
you and me.

joy inflamed

I was in the kitchen
making rotis
on a burning disc,
when a tiny moth
looped in front of my eyes,
dancing and flaunting
her infinitesimal ordinariness
for a few moments,
until she dived
towards the flame
without a thought,
to the instant death
of a life lived
on the wings of a joy
that cannot be named,
only inflamed
with the breath
of impermanence.

this time

numbers dance
in a frenzy
under strobe lights,
thoughts flailing
and writhing
in a sound storm
where I am trapped
and lost,
as my breath quickens
then freezes
into a deathly calm,
waiting for the thawing
of a life lived
anyhow,
to flow again
in a new way
this time.

orphan

sometimes
you give birth to children
you cannot feed,
or hold in your arms -
who die before they are born,
who suckle at a breast that's dry,
who look away even as you yearn
for but a glance,
who are one mouth too many,
who you abandon in no man's land,
wrapped in the muslin of faith,
and the salt of a heart
hardened to keep you fragile,
where the arms of the world
engulf you with their kindness,
bringing you up somewhere
where you truly belong,
not in this womb
of miscarried desires
and dreams,
orphaned by a longing
that splits my gut,
between a heaven and earth
that must be joined
by sacrifice.

sepia

I saw her leaning against the frame
of a door, that took her into
the arms of a flaming sky -
her eyes filled with the burning musk
of her dreams smoldering
in the moist earth,
when she wanted to scream
so the world would wake up early
and listen;
and so she took her pen
and etched it into the brown
of another skin
shed and born.

everything can wait

the world may call it 'running away',
but go if you must,

when your heart listens to the call
of the sky dressing herself up
a thousand times every day
in her simple loveliness,
there is nothing you must do,
only what you want to do
that rises from the roots
of your longing,
that's no different
from that of the sky
rappelling down the depths
of her own mystery,
and so, leave it all -
the dishes in the sink,
the unwatered garden,
the phone call you must return,
plans for tomorrow
and ten years hence,
write a note to yourself
and anyone else looking for you -
'I'm gone sky watching;
you can join me if you like;
or wait here until I return
after I've made love
to the simplicity and loveliness
of an unfettered life'.

everything can wait
when you stop waiting for
and running
your Life.

listen

stop walking.

stop looking

for something.

pause,

take a deep breath,

go silent.

close your eyes

and linger

on the fringes

of my story.

listen to the drumbeats

as they rise from the hollow

in the middle,

drawing you in,

stay a while

around this fire

fueled by your interest

to simply listen

to more,

and then sit with me

under the stars,

or walk away if you will,

without a word,

knowing you and I

have both changed.

footprints

walking along the beach
in my dreams,
I see two sets of footprints -
of friends walking side by side,
of lovers holding hands,
of parents clutching little fingers,
of humans daring to dream,
until a feisty wave
washes across
the embossed sand,
opening my eyes
to the smarting salt on skin,
and the starkness of this body
walking alone with the sunset.

there are not even
angels and gods
carrying this heart of sand,
walking into itself
in every breath
without a trace.

celebration

there is a place
out in the darkness,
I'll meet you there
when we die,
where stars are birthed
from the splatter
of our laughs,
when we finally
get the joke
of what it is
to be human,
of what it is
to birth the pain
of vestiges of dreams,
and the joy of a life
imploding into the fullness
of this one moment
of utter darkness,
with nothing left to do.

the hermit

the day's been long,
in the blazing sun,
with the drone of waves
now lulling me to sleep,
I've been out too long
in this hapless world
of games and make-believe,
my shell's parched,
with unsung songs
lying silent
in this burning flesh,
I'm trapped between
two longings -
to dance upon
these singing sands,
and to find a dark hole
to slip into and rest.

mirror dancing

when I was a kid,
I'd spend hours
watching a tiny sparrow
dance into the mirror,
fascinated,
looking at herself
from different angles,
pecking at her own eyes,
calling out to herself,
flying here and there,
like a yo-yo gone wild;

some things never change

today,
I stand in front of a mirror,
not knowing how to move,
staring into the eyes of Desire
looking back at me,
watching how she dances with me,
with every move I make
or don't,
as she laughs into these pores
now stilled into a trance,
baring their roots,
while she swallows me whole
wherever I choose to go,
as I follow the call of a heart
enamored by the mystery of a life
that can be lived anyhow.

speak to me

when you stand
in front of a yawning sky,
tracing the lines and curves
of those voluptuous clouds
with your lusty eyes,
when you drop
into the mysteries
of a dark night without stars,
stripping yourself
of everything you believed was you,
when you walk
by those unflinching shores,
surprised by the caress and kiss
of waves that come and go
as they please,
never questioning your fidelity
or theirs,
speak to me
from the bellows of your heart,
tell me how you feel inside -
if you've considered yourself
a man or a woman
in those tender moments,
or just a human
living an utterly beautiful life?

the witness

swirling flesh
and breath,
in the black vortex
of death,
pores open
in rapture
of an endless rupture
of what was,
of what could be,
resting in the calm
of that earthy fragrance
of sadness,
of a love
for everything
and everyone
who matter
equally.

those dreams in my palms

I came into this world
with fisted palms
lined with dreams
I could not see or feel,
until they grew me;
and then one day,
when I thought
I was ready
to carry them forth
in my open palms,
they grew wings
and flew away,
smiling at me
from the faces
of people passing by,
whispering to tell me
how they belonged
to the world,
not to me.

like water

trust
is like water
falling
flowing
seeping
soaking
into every space,
staying close
to the skin of things
it can never call its own,
growing itself
from the patient well
of a love
that cannot be held,
but only felt
in the wetness
of everything
that is not water.

a goodbye

today
I stand
looking into
the darkening sky,
a black plank of nothingness -
without the grains of clouds,
without the sliver of moon,
sanded and planed
by dreams that blazed
in the fire of a sun
receding into itself,
where tomorrow rests
against the frame of today,
both listless and full,
in one impending moment
of a goodbye.

womb to womb

I don't know how this wall came up
between you and me,
perhaps it was built brick by brick
by voices raised by a silence
too heavy to speak,
but I know how I always stood there close,
against those bricks,
waiting for something I could not name,
I could not claim as my own,
listening to the cold dampness
that I could not touch but only feel,
words that felt busy, distant and staid,
all the while wishing
for the wall to break open
into a hug that would hold me
no matter what,
a hug that I could not weave
with my own hands,
that always seemed too small for you;

and so the silence grew like ivy,
weaving and clasping the wall,
new leaves that only grew darker
with time, even when they looked
to the sun, forever too far away;
until there was only darkness around me,
over me, through me, inside me,
gnawing me to my bones,
a darkness that took me back to the womb,
the home I'd left a long time ago,
too scared to enter, until you took me
in your arms and held me close, at last,
rocking me gently to sleep -
a girl of twenty one;
and that's what I remember
of you with me,
that was my first breath of fresh air,
breaking me into a new life,
to craft it with the fire and waters
of my womb, grown from yours,
and the cry of a heart
that longs for itself
and another womb to rest and seed.

I give you this dear Mother,
with love -
this hand-crafted life,
from womb to womb.

lost with words

it's messy,
this language
of this world,
the only wheel I have
to learn to use
to shape the life I think I want;
to stand each time
at the edge of a world
I want to die to,
to speak every song
that calls out to me
from somewhere,
and to stand there
stripped to my bones,
my flesh burnt and gorged
by the deathly silence
of an impending echo
of rejection or love.

freedom

freedom lies
in the fragility
of a thread,
connected
to itself
and the universe,
a rupture,
a holding,
a revelation,
in one
uncensored moment,
by one choice,
creating
the mystery
of a life lived
on the threshold
of things.

one sword

one sword,
two edges,
kingdoms forged
with a clean cut
to the essence
of what is real,
holding
heaven and earth
at the hilt,
piercing
a blazing sun,
bleeding
and exploding
into life,
in the firmament
of a still mind.