Thursday, September 29, 2016

where this skin weeps, without words

did you know your skin could weep?
when every pore seals itself
and then springs open,
when every hair falls to its roots
and then stands tall and separate,
when every breath
seeps through helplessly
and is then held in a timeless pause,
when silence is killed softly
with incessant stabs of scrutiny,
and then peels the grime and scars
off this grotesque flesh,
when nothing else matters,
but the sound of breath
and fire and earth and water,
flowing between
here and there,
around and everywhere,
taking me back to myself,
where this skin weeps,
without words.

the roar

sometimes
a roar is not
an announcement,
it is not a presence
that splinters and tames
the silence of the wild;
sometimes
it is the pause,
the resting place
of everything,
the unsaid,
the absence
of what is;
the tiger
you can smell
in the bushes,
as the silence roars
every leaf and grass
into an undisturbed awakening.

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

for your eyes only

and the Moon,
she spoke to me last night,
while the stars jiggled
and giggled,
as she laughed and sang -
"you look at me every night
as I dress and undress myself
before your eyes,
and all you can see
is your story -
of how I have another side,
a dark side filled with mystery,
and a beauty you seek
but cannot see
growing and dancing
before your very eyes!"

Tuesday, September 27, 2016

the dreamcatcher

gather in tribes,
so you can huddle
around the fire,
and keep warm
and light
under a hidden sun,
wrap yourselves
in shawls and music
and laughter -
the dream-catchers
of abandoned selves
where only the white coin
of a full moon,
slips into the hole
at the centre
of your aloneness
that must be found
some day,
lying asleep
in the fire of your dreams,
glowing in the darkness
that you've forgotten now,
where you came alive -
in the darkness
you so love.




a love without a name

today,
I looked at his picture
hanging upon 
a detached wall,
smiling back at me,
holding a few moments
of silence
between us,
no thoughts
wanting to be hugged,
no questions
climbing into the lap
of answers,
no doubts
herded by approval,
no words exchanged
for scrutiny
or appreciation,
only a warm curve
smiling at itself,
curving into itself,
and watching the world go by,
that cupped a love
without a name.

her burning breast

and she stood there,
looking at the world
with blood-curdled eyes,
her majestic silhouette
embossed upon
the evening sky,
holding
her burning breast
and her raging gut
in the stillness
of her breath,
as her tousled hair
flowed wildly,
flicking the wind,
ready for a war
that must be fought,
where there would be
no losers,
only hearts threshed
and flung open,
exploding
into silent pearls,
holding questions
about devotion and justice,
and a truth
that will be burned
into existence,
willed into presence,
with the fullness
of this one life
lived for herself.



Monday, September 26, 2016

in the hidden blue

in these inky waters
of darkness
and diffused light,
and bubbles
that still breathe,
where everything's tinged
with the many shades of blue
melting into each other,
I grope,
I feel,
I smell,
I taste,
with these
writhing tentacles,
longing to draw you in
to the other side
of what you see,
where you can listen
to the sound of silence
drawn into these hidden folds,
those that must be loved
and seen
by me.

the last leaf

and when the last leaf
fell softly to the ground,
from the bough of a tree,
standing tall and bare
amidst her fallen
bloodshot eyes,
they didn't whisper
a word to each other,
no thank yous,
no goodbyes,
no stories,
of 'you' and 'me',
and 'us',
only a silence
that spoke for itself -
a sacred vow taken,
to live their lives to the hilt,
between a flaming earth
and a bleeding sky,
who didn't have to thank them
for being witnesses
to a sacred marriage,
of all that was,
all that is,
and all that could be,
all over again,
tomorrow.


Saturday, September 24, 2016

four inches and stars

the edge
isn't four inches of space
for my foot to rest
comfortably,
it's the space
between
two faces,
two hearts,
two sides
of the blade
of a sword,
piercing
the bloodshot blue,
as I tip toe
upon the razor,
dripping drops of blood
imploding into the darkness
into a thousand twinkling stars.

Thursday, September 22, 2016

a place in the sun

as I look into your flaming eyes,
I feel the warmth of home
engulf this restless skin,
forever seeking rest,
offering itself up into your light;

and as you burn down this muslin,
falling into a helpless heap of ash,
I stand before you naked now,
with the sweat and grime
of this endless journey,
sizzling in every pore and hair;

as I stand here before you,
baring it all at your blazing altar -
my desires, my shame, my denial,
my fears, my dreams, my anger,
and all those repeating patterns
of this kaleidoscope in my eyes,
the cross that's mine to bear,

I lower my head to my chest,
waiting for your blessed rays
to fall upon this weary spine,
like a ruthless sword,
slicing this skin, this heart,
as I fall from grace into Grace,
rising to stand tall, and find
a place here in the sun.

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

oxygen!

'I must breathe.
I must save myself.
first. always.'
put on the oxygen mask.
so you can smell yourself.
so you keep getting turned on
by those skins and masks.
yes, over and over again.
so you can be full of yourself.
so full that you could burst.
so that you forget the equation -
that you have oxygen
because something else
breathed it out.
for you.
so you can stay alive
until you realise
you can give up your breath
if you really want to.
because it is important.
as important to stop.
as it is to start. or stay.
there are other kinds
of warriors
if you care to look -
the silent ones
that rise and fall
without a hue and cry -
the earth, the trees,
the waters, the bees.
they wear nothing.
no armours.
to save themselves.
and so they feed us
their world.
our oxygen!


navel gazing

navel gazing
is not as pointless
as it is made out to be,
if I can see my navel
and that of every other,
when I look into their eyes,
when I touch their skin,
when I listen to their voice hum,
against mine,
and feel how some cords
can never be cut,
even if they are,
for every one of them
begins and ends
at the navel,
where life rests
without any asking,
without any seeking.

when the bud spoke

and the tiny bud
she spoke to me -
'sshh, be silent,
don't proclaim your arrival
to the world just yet,
it's not time,
let the sun come out
and soak you in her warmth,
and leave you every evening
without a second look,
let the wind stroke you
with her long fingers,
and slap you across your face,
so you feel your own petals,
let the rain drizzle
her gentle faith,
and then thresh you
in her persistent fury,
as you hold on,
and then, one day,
you will know
you are open
and ready
for the bees and butterflies,
you will know
you were always ready
for all of life,
when you came to life,
to die.'

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

all shades of blue

in the blue
of the evening,
bird calls melt
into dreamy ripples,
going home
after a long day,
clouds stay and gather
together in their tribe,
hiding the stars
with their heaviness,
the sky sinks
into the depths
of her own mystery,
growing beautiful
with every moment,
trees etch dark lines,
standing up
for who they are,
against everything else
fast disappearing,
and a still ocean waits,
with no hurry
to kiss the shores
of her longing,
while silence
lowers her head
and blushes
in all shades of blue.



between me and Life

some things
are best kept quiet,
not announced,
not pronounced,
not paraded
on the streets
of a busy world
always on the look out
for the eight o'clock news;

some things
exude a simple beauty
because they're hidden
in the palms of Life,
held in their fragility
like a delicate flower,
not pointed to or ogled at
like a wild animal
discovered on a safari;

some things
come alive
and thrive,
because they rest
exactly where they are,
in the folds of
their own skin,
they don't have to speak,
they don't have to hide.


Monday, September 19, 2016

a conquest of love

I love the way
our skins touch,
entwined
with the scars
and bruises
and open wounds
of wars fought
over love,
with love,
not the docile love
of doe-eyed deers
melting into soft greens
and browns,
but the ferocious love
of claws and canines,
of what is ours
through territories
drawn and re-drawn,
roaring in the folds
of utter darkness,
where you and I
smell each others moods
from a distance,
where a twitch of skin
and a fleeting far-away look
in our eyes, is enough
to speak our love,
that cannot be understood,
only lived
through every fight
and conquest,
of what the world
will never see as love.


Sunday, September 18, 2016

the tao

'be like water', they said -
gentle, dainty, graceful,
seeping and flowing
through cracks,
shaping boulders
and pebbles
with its yielding softness,
dissolving
into the warm earth
without a trace;
but they forgot
the whipping waves
along a cliff's edge,
the riot of rain
bouncing off the ledge
into eager palms,
the gorging waterfall
scooping out hollows
in your gut,
the ruthless tsunami
crashing into walls
and staunch warehouses
that must be taken;
they simply forgot
how water becomes
and feeds
what the landscape needs,
flowing effortlessly
into the otherness
that must be quelled
and leveled
without reason.


fulcrum

to be
the space
that stays,
moves,
stretches,
fills,
empties,
and holds,
the push
and the pull,
within,
without,
around,
and beyond -
the no-space
of presence,
in this family
of things.



Saturday, September 17, 2016

attention

some things
need your eyes early,
like a pot of kanji -
stirred into smoothness
over the flame,
if you don't want lumps.

some things
need your eyes
to keep away,
like a vessel of milk
coming to a boil
only when you look away.

some things
need your eyes
to be entangled
with their presence,
like a knife that cuts things
to a perfect size.

some things
need your eyes
to be blind,
so they can grow,
like the fungus
on a forgotten loaf.

everything needs attention
of a different kind.



Thursday, September 15, 2016

blue and white

and I caught the crest
of one wave,
my eyes filled
with the emptiness
of a far away sky,
strapping myself to
white faith,
taking one deep breath
of blue resolve,
to keep my head up
above unruly waters,
knowing
in the salt of every pore
of this threshed skin,
that with every wave
a new horizon appears,
dissolving endlessly
as it grows
into the old.



and I spoke -

and I spoke -
from the raging bowels
of a restless earth,
from the roaring waters
of bottomless oceans,
from the still eye
of a devilish storm,
from the ruthless fires
of an impassioned core
wide open,
with a voice
reverberating,
erupting, splaying
both you and me
with a fierce love,
consuming, digesting
those obsolete masks
that must be shed
at this bloody altar,
where we must
see each other naked,
in our primal, ghastly beauty,
where we must die
and be born again
as one, not two,
from the trampled virginity
of this sacred womb,
pouring herself out
into the chalice
of a new life.

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

flint and fire

destinations
call out to us
from across the void,
a fire now lit
in the inner temple
of an unwavering heart,
where will meets purpose,
striking on the edge of reason,
lighting up the journey,
to a life lived simply
without purpose.

Monday, September 12, 2016

the gateway

every now and then,
when I fall into a pit
of utter darkness,
I stumble upon a portal
that takes me to a place
I've never been before;
it's not an imposing doorway
to another enchanting world,
it's not the fire escape
from a home that's burning down,
it's not that dreamy stairway to heaven,
or a Jack and the Beanstalk ride,
it's right here where I am,
in this bag of skin -
touched, bruised,
chiseled,
and stripped of everything
I thought was me,
it's right here
in the hollow of this gut,
in the relentless ebb and flow
of this bosom,
in the flood and drought
of these limpid eyes,
holding questions
that can only be lived
in the silent grace
of a heart-crafted life.


the awakening

dragonflies dancing on sunbeams,
fluorescent trumpets of green
singing to the sleepy breeze,
crows darting across the salty haze
hungry for cracked open light,
ants scurrying across shadows and sun,
grounded in their poised stillness,
fingers pressing sun-dusted keys
playing this quiet score
of a newly awakened morn.

Friday, September 9, 2016

the wonder of small things

I ask only this
over and over again -
who holds the tiny form
who sets off into a vastness
with no end;
only flaps that keep her close
to her own beating bosom?
who does she look to
to hold her as she journeys
for a morsel to fill hungry beaks
day after blessed day?
does she remember the ground
from where she took off
as she unfurls her wings
to the daunting wind?
does she call upon her flock
to hold her as she falls
to her own death,
or as unnamed guardians
to her chicks just hatched?
do you know what drives her
to set off at the crack of dawn,
singing a happy song?
do you know what calls to her
to soar and slump,
and glide and dart,
even as the sky changes her mood?
if you come to know,
do let me know,
and until then, I'll rest
in the things that hold
and carry wings,
things that cannot be seen,
but only felt in every breath
of these billowing lungs,
in the wonder of small things.

Wednesday, September 7, 2016

the family

sometimes you've got to run
from everything you want or don't,
everything you know or don't;
sometimes you've got to run,
so you can fall into the arms
of exhaustion,
so you can rise
gritting your teeth and skin,
resolving to not plod on;
sometimes you've got to run
from where you think you belong,
from those strokes that appease
and quieten wrangled nerves,
so you can find your home -
not a house with walls and doors,
but the place where you were raised,
where there were no parents rocking cradles
or lovers making up with hugs,
only strangers holding your hands,
and the quiet, still, clarion calls
to wake up to where I truly belong -
the family of voices inside,
where everyone is heard and loved.
even when they run.

Commitment

Commitment is a deep devotion to limits.
a womb that holds precious life,
readying to break waters
into a new freedom
that must be lived
beyond limitations;
It is a call that beckons you into a mystery
that must be endured and explored fully;
It is a love that burns slow and deep;
Commitment is an unflinching passion
to hold and offer oneself at the altar,
where all things must come to rest
before they can soar;
It is the pulse of a heart
unafraid to break open to a life
that must die, before it can be born. 

the world beyond our nose

you know that feeling?
when you think you know it all,
when you think you've figured out your life,
that this is the way you want to live,
that you've reached a space of joy
that cannot be erased,
when you love how people come to you
for support and advice,
and you tell them how you don't know
or that you know how life works,
and what must be done;
you know that feeling?
when you're sitting on the edge of your seat
and have the end of a play all figured out,
because you knew you were listening
to everything,
when you butt into a conversation
bursting with thoughts you want to spill
and impregnate the others with,
because you cannot hold yourself,
because you cannot not share
what strums your heart strings,
yeah, every now and then,
we get there, to that space
where we cannot look beyond our own nose,
the place where our world begins and ends
with a pause, taken or not,
on this side of the world,
where silence purrs and stretches
like a cat on a wall
sure of its nine lives.

Tuesday, September 6, 2016

choose love

stand in love
like that lone tree
flowing in her abundance
of stripped branches
and flowers, roots and leaves;
stay in love
like that vast ocean,
resting in the rhythm
of her tides,
and her many shades of blue;
die in love
like the fragrant earth,
singing softly,
even as she is stabbed
by the unrelenting strikes of rain;
be love
like the invisible wind
who carries everything
without choosing,
allowing herself to be moved
even as she moves;
choose love
like the colours
in an artist's palette,
as they streak across the empty canvas
with their boldness;
love it all,
as you bring down walls
like your rumpled hair
untied,
playing with skin
and wind and earth
and water,
anyhow,
anywhere,
anytime.






Monday, September 5, 2016

leaving

at the doorway
of longing
stands everything
that must be remade
without a plan,
where convention
douses the flame of desire,
like that jarring door-stopper
slamming the wind,
where repetition numbs
like a well-oiled hinge
without a song,
where connection
strikes and withdraws
like a gust of wind
changing the landscape
in its leaving,
where I stand close to you
with the sky between us,
holding a thread
that must give some day,
freeing another dream
born on the edge
of longing,
of leaving.


Sunday, September 4, 2016

a form of love



watch how she
curves into prayer,
always holding herself,
never holding back;
watch how she
dances with the darkness
from where she was born,
never losing herself,
yet giving it her all,
watch how she is
held by a wick
of tenderness
standing tall
even as she wanders,
steadfast in a love
for himself and her,
even as their roots
melt with a softness
for everything
the world sees
that is not flame,
or form
or love.

on a moving train

pictures
without frames
roll out
to the sound
of ground
shifting
on rails
to nowhere,
catching up
to a life
on the move,
as unsettled eyes
close in
to sink into a heart
who knows
she cannot be neutral
on a moving train.

(The words "you cannot be neutral on a moving train" from a quote from the book by that name by Howard Zinn, ripped through me this morning and became the inspiration for this poem)

Saturday, September 3, 2016

the dragonfly's dream

I saw her crouched
in the morning sun,
resting
her tattered wings,

dreams woven
in the fabric of things
lived in waves,
held in the net
of longing,
of no escape,
as she soars,
dances,
weeps,
suffers,
and loves,

always romancing
with life,
as she carries the net
in her wings.

Friday, September 2, 2016

the bridge across forever

every once in a while
I catch the first rays
of a breaking dawn,
and the lingering goodbye
of an evening sun,

every once in a while,
I stand on the edge of
the bridge across forever,
looking into the darkness
melting over me like a candle,

and in that deathly hush
when the raucous world
disappears into itself,
one voice speaks,
drawing me close,

showing me how
to walk with this world,
wearing my aloneness
like a sheer robe,
ready to be stripped.