like honey

some things in life
are like honey -
full of a goodness,
a natural sweetness
digested over time,
poised in its flow,
trickling across,
in its own time,
that cannot be coaxed
or hurried up,
but only watched
and relished
from a tantalizing
distance,
that only sweetens
the longing.

unshakable, roots

sinking through
unfathomable depths,
sanded against the grains
of this hallowed earth,
rooting for themselves
and what they serve,
melting into their own skins
first,
burning through the quiet
of an incorrigible resolve
to thrive, not just survive,
defying sky and water
and everything between,
without a whisper,
yet shaking themselves
free of it all,
to remain unshakable,
roots.

resting place

there is no wall
where my feet rest
as I walk this path,
there is only that space
where I can rest now,
where roots grow,
meet and entwine
with the play of
light and dark
of every wondrous
awakened morn.

an ordinary life

every time I think of home,
my eyes wander out
somewhere across
these fragile shells
and this drab landscape,
to an unreachable meeting place
I love to yearn for, strive for,
so I have work to do,

and then, sometimes,
in the yolk of a timeless pause,
where there are no legs to tread,
no eyes to open or close,
no arms to reach out with or hold,
no skin to feel or shed,
no ears to perk up or shut,
no breath to watch
moving in and out,
I am laid to rest
in the hearth
of this everyday life -

buzzing with noises,
emails and whatsapp messages,
my facebook feed,
and hungry stomachs to feed,
skins to cover and clean,
irritating people and their beliefs,
news from across the world,
dishes to be done,
clothes to be folded,
friends to speak to or not,
thoughts on a train to nowhere,
feelings I must dip into and out,

yes, life has a way
to wake us up,
every now and then,
from workshops and retreats,
our endless quests as tourists,
our meticulous,clinical dealings,
our hypochondriacal beliefs,
into the simple ordinariness
of this one extraordinary life.

rings of fire

your questions are not words
searching for light,
they are embers that fly
out of the burning thoughts
in your mind,
that I collect and pile,
wondering how they will fare
over time -

will they grow cold
and become ashes
of a quenched fire?
or will they stay
warm and close
to the sap
distilled over lifetimes,
burning and creating
new fires
where they land?
or will they explode
into the silence
of a dark night,
every creation
trembling
in the skin of this breath,
of these rings of fire
without a name?

throwback

I sit with boxes
that talk to me -
a friend,
a stranger,
a mirror,
without hooks,
holding space for me
in a stolid silence,

memories,
questions,
doubts,
emotions,
thrown back,
from a busy head
into an empty skin,
washing over
from beyond,
like the ancient wind,

bringing me
face to face
with that dark threshold,
where I must walk
with no one but myself,
before I look and leap
into what throws me
into life, and death.

chameleons

chameleons

shadow dancing

in a pack,

changing 

costumes,

masks,

props,

at will,

but only under the light,

when they can disappear

into those effable skins,

colours they never own,

no backbone,

forever becoming

what they use

to perch,

to prey,

as a mere puppet 

on strings,

dancing with them,

in a trance,

bedazzled by the light,

burning against the veil 

of darkness,

waiting to be lifted

and thrown

into wakefulness
that must be owned.

a sauntering love

when you know where
that voice lies inside,
showing you the way,
whatever the weather
and terrain outside,
there is a difference
in the way
you move in this world,
with a sauntering love
that doesn't have to argue
about the colour of the sky,
how leaves fall,
the source of a river,
or these street names.

gathering silence

I gather this silence
from these soft petals
of green,
now orphaned,
lying on the floor,
waiting without hurry,
moved every now and then
by a bustling ant family,
and the margins of a waft
of a secret alchemy,
of everything me
and not me.

soulsspeak

the poems that write me
get written
even as they make me cry,
but not this one :)

this one came
like a happy firefly
dancing with herself
in her own light,

as she sang this out to me -

'one day
when we meet again,
i'll tell you how
I came upon this dance -
when you made me laugh
holding my insides,
when i got to know
how your souls
had already spoken
to one another,
written their scripts,
designed their costumes,
and chosen their roles
to be played to perfection,
a stream of white lies
that must be spoken
and dreamed,
and shattered,
while you sat here
groping
in the shadows of your skins -
of who you were,
who you were becoming,
together,
a joke that you must
share, live, laugh about
and sell.'

soulsspeak
before you can hear them,
so be quiet, and listen.
lol :)

without a voice

last year
I packed you
into a blog,
into a frame,
into a space
with a form,
without a name

today,
I took you down
from that wall
where my eyes
loved to linger,
every now and then

I packed you
again,
this time,
into a box
I'll open
maybe in a year,
or maybe not

with other pictures
framed, lifeless,
and flat,
in another place
without a form,
without a name,
without a voice

yet,
still,
my appa.

sacred space

these fingers reach
this heart touches
you
from that sacred space
within,
where there are no questions
to be asked
or answered,
only a quiet presence
of something,
a flame perhaps,
burning alone,
for you,
for everything.

untouched

you can cut away these limbs,
stab this skin countless times,
you can splay this form
with blood and spit,
and seal every pore you find,
you can trip what you see,
with that hungry gleam in your eyes,
you can steal what you think you own,
and gobble every crumb left behind,
and some day you'll know,
how there were ancient seeds
resting in the dark grooves
of a faithful patience,
you could not find or touch,
and how the stars explode
even as they collapse,
inspiring life
into every sprout,
hidden,
grown,
untouched.

grown on faith

I trust you
with your words
and mine,
belief flung across
these words,
like soft green tendrils
climbing into the mystery
of a universe unfolding
between us, with us,
where there is no place for lies,
shattering this world
with fierce stabs of rain,
or lashing tongues of fire,
or the elusive mist of a love
we're too scared to own,
only a green tenderness
slipping into the light
of an unbroken tomorrow,
grown on fragile threads
of a simple faith.

here, now

somewhere
in this grumble
of noises
in an expectant womb -
the crackle of bubble-wrap
rolling in busy hands,
the cackle of an eleven year old
immersed in a blissful self-forgetting,
the ordinariness
of a neighbour's doorbell
swiveling my attention,
the flick of a spoon
landing anyhow
against hot metal,
the soft thud of boxes
stripped and sealed,
and the silent whisper
of the ocean from afar,
always awake
to her presence and absence,
moves a lightness,
an innocence,
a sparkle,
of simply being,
here, now.

this death

today,
I sit beside this corpse
in an old skin of mine,
its eyes closed
in deep conversation
with its emptiness,
its hands resting lightly
upon its chest,
holding everything
and nothing
in one tight clasp,
its legs stretched
and spent,
after a long journey,
with one piece of cloth
shrouding, celebrating,
its well-worn scars,
with its face frozen
into a peace that glows
and becomes
this one lifetime lived
with these human eyes,
and the scent of home
lingering
in every smile and tear,
and pore opened
and closed,
the stillness of a breath
that has overflowed
into a world now ready to move on,
yes, this skin lies content,
with nothing more to be or do
or become.

and some day,
I wish to leave this world like that.

remembrance

I want to remember you
as a mystery,
not held by a string of questions
guiding me to move
as I touch and feel them
against my skin;
I want to remember you
as the cosmos,
filling me with the unspeakable,
drawing me close,
then spinning me afar,
yet always moving me
somewhere reachable
in this one moment,
held by a faith
and a love -
as mysterious
as the magic they paint
across this evening sky.

on giving

what can I give to you
that is truly self-less,
that doesn't stain my hands,
that doesn't leave its fragrance
in the folds of this heart,
that doesn't chisel this form
into a softness that melts?
that doesn't speak
of a flowering
or a disappearance?
what can I give to you
that is not yours or mine,
something that belongs
to the skin we share,
where you end and I begin?
what can I give you
that doesn't take
a piece of me or you?
where life and death
hold each other
in one melded moment,
in one tight embrace
of a love,
of a joy,
of a celebration,
that must be shared
to be felt?

for when I give something,
you give something away too.

of leaves and tombs

everything human
stays,
like those staunch tombstones
standing unchanged
over eons passed,
in pedicured gardens,
that must be green
at any cost,
where feet cannot rustle
with fallen leaves of gold,
and hear the song of trees
full of souls
ready to go
where there are no graves,
only wombs
opening and closing
with the turn
of every breath
lived once.

folds unfold

every day
I fold the clothes
with their softness
of the old,
and their crispness
of the sun-soaked new,
cleansed and put away
in their places,

and with them,
go those thoughts
and stories
unfolded
and then folded,
each day,
with the hint of wind
in every crease.

seasons

the last leaf
on a bare tree
stands apart -
flapping with abandon
and one stalk of faith
that holds her for now,
in this one moment
of past, present
and tomorrow,
captured and felt
in her veins,
throbbing with the sap
of a fresh day,
while her partners
lay spent and burnt
upon a singed earth,
both she and them
waiting for
the seasons to turn,
coaxing them slowly
into their skins,
changed, grown
and newly worn.

between skin and skin

I sit here
before the dark skin
of a formless god,
where stars are born,
and they die,
without a hue and cry,
and feel my heart melt
like a lump of sugar,
in the aroma of a brew
that must be sipped
quietly, slowly,

eyes turning
frame by frame,
locked in the beauty
of all they see -
stillness etched
on leaves and reeds,
busy ripples skating
this way and that,
white birds without names,
taking to the dance floor
in the breath of a whisper,
and the tingling pores
of this skin
soaked in one timeless drop
of silence,

where nothing fights
for its place,
where nothing asks
for you to leave or stay,
where nothing speaks
of one language
that must be worn or shed,
or a fierce love
that must be held back
to fill each skin,

where everything
simply rests,
moves and flows,
in the silence
between
skin and skin.

ochre sky

I remember how you slept
with your head resting
on the tiny pillow I'd made
just for you,
filled with mustard seeds,
yielding to the softness
of your thoughts and dreams
for a new world
I may never live to see,

today, as I hear you speak
of this and that
and everything between,
your words flowing over and around
these thought-pebbles in my head,
I hear a song -
the sound of those mustard seeds
turning, cracking and sprouting
into an ochre sky.

the scent of home

'where is home?'
I asked myself,
as I walked along the river
of desire, of longing,
always looking
for the way home

as if I knew it already,
somewhere in the softness
and whiteness,
of these bones burning to ash,
offered to the river,
carrying it to source -

that heaven
where trickles meet
the yawning ocean and sky,
held by the shifting earth
containing the fire
of all that she loves,

that homecoming
where everything
and nothing
is source,
the eternal home
of all that is

in every line,
every meander,
every spark,
every breath,
every grain,
that speaks of home,

as I rest on these banks
of a gushing river,
with nothing to do,
but soak it all in,
nowhere to go,
but stay right here,

where there are
no more questions,
no maps or signposts,
only this one breath
holding the scent
of home.

the shade of love

every time
the moon slips into
the newness of her dark tent,
this chalice empties its blood
into the gut of the earth
and all that she holds,
the shade of love
hidden in a rose
handed over in silence,
from heart to heart,
blooming and withering
over and over,
unfolding her tiny petals
to grow and die
to the breath
of the turning cosmos
we all seek,
me in you,
and you in me.

unbreakable

'you break my heart',
says a world,
carrying its suffering
like a beggar
holding his bowl out
to every home;
until it pauses
in its windswept tracks
and listens
to the waves lashing
the shores of reason,
when it suddenly
comes to know
that a heart can never
break or be broken,
a heart can only explode
into tiny starbursts
of an unbreakable love
that simply cannot be
held back from itself.

this skin

in that space,
undefined,
where this skin
meets every other skin,
where there is no line to draw,
no yours or mine,
a new world is born,
where bondage and freedom
smell the same
to this skin
that always knows
when to be or become.

behind the scenes

the world's a stage
for hungry eyes
that feed on show
and talent,
on words and bodies
manicured
into perfection,
where life's hidden
under the spotlight
of a becoming,
where there's no place
for those tremulous touches,
those beads of sweat
on line-filled palms,
and cues from voices
heard and thanked
for when they spoke
from the wings,
where every life hack's born
from sitting in the fire
in the greenroom.

what is

in that one moment
of sky and ocean,
I suddenly come to know
the nakedness of my being

when my body whispers
and trembles,
as it remembers
all its old skins and longings

now leaving everything behind

taking only the silence
of what must be taken
as I walk along these empty shores,
listening to a voice I cannot hide

and these irises now,
fully open to mysteries
that must be lived and owned,
as life flows on

where there are no beginnings
where there are no endings,
only a travelogue
of this one moment,
stretched across eyes and skin

an empty canvas ready to bleed
into a starburst of infinite peace,
and a love that holds everything
even as it sets them free

leaving everything as they should be

the gift

can you see that gleam
in the silver of your dark eyes?
can you feel the flutter
in the hollow of your chest?
can you hear the whisper
of a song only your ears hear?
wait. hold on.
open the tender palms
of your folded heart,
and receive it all.
hold it for a while
in the cup of your mind,
look at it,
roll it around,
hear it speak softly
as it makes friends with you,
touch its many faces,
feel it grow wings and roots
reaching out to you,
don't be in a hurry
to make it flower and fruit,
to find a reason, a use,
or to scatter the joy with abandon;
wait. hold on.
and watch it lie still
somewhere inside you,
growing
in and with you,
as you fold your heart
one more time
in prayer,
cherishing the gift
of a lifetime,
yours,
to give away now
with a smile.

the waves at the door

the waves are here today,
right at my door,
not near the faraway smell
of salt being sifted and churned,
not inside this growing, molting skin,
groping in the dark for its roots,
but here, at the door,
where I can feel, hear
and watch them come and go -
these great swirls and tides,
never losing their sea-ness,
pushing, pulling, seducing
and tugging at all those roots,
that can't tell the earth
from water or sky,
wetting my pores
with their breath of salt,
reminding me of the cosmic blueprint
that sits inside us all,
unfolding waves of stories,
waiting to be held
and simply watched. 

back to myself

I went to the sky
and asked for some light,
but all she gave me
was her blue-black silence.
I went to the earth
and asked for a hug,
but all she gave me
was her fragrant silence.
I went to the wind
and asked for a song,
but all he gave me
was his steadfast silence,
I went to the sun
and asked for a spark,
but all he gave me
was his fiery silence,
I went to the ocean
and asked for some rest,
but all she gave me
was her unruly silence.

and then,
I sat with myself,
boring into those silent wells
now gone dry,
and in the deathly hush
that wrapped me tight,
I suddenly felt
that faint spark,
that unforgettable song,
that welcome hug,
that still sanctum,
and that one voice,
that belonged
to myself.

looking for life

life is not a FB status,
a wander through friendship dot com ,
a place to go fishing,
for parts of me
I'd love to bait and own,
life is not a stroll
through a lazy Sunday market,
looking for comfy hand-me-downs,
life is not a bucket list
with dreams ticked and downed,
life is not about wearing a bikini,
to flaunt a skin that must be worn;

life is the silent laughter
between hearty breaths,
sitting on a park bench,
life is the soul-full solitude
soaked in a wholesome emptiness,
pickled in an ancient jar,
life is a dried up raisin
holding a bite-size goodness
I can taste and own,
life is a dance in a messy potter's shed,
where a lifeless lump of clay
is transformed on a wheel's song.

SpEaK

SpEaK.
don't shut up.

SpEaK.
not to raise a hue and cry
over something
that stamped things out,
SpEaK.
not to smirk at a world
that silenced you
and many others like you,
SpEaK.
not because you've been
a gentle lamb among wolves,
hiding in a skin
you knew
didn't hold all of you,
SpEaK.
not to shatter mirrors,
or still the river,
not to shift the earth,
or climb unreachable depths,
not to break through
the hymens of opinion,
or to burst those fragile bubbles
of glassy comforts.

SpEaK.
not for the heck of it,
not because you love the edge,
not because it gives you a high,
not because you've been mired in a low,
not because you were mummified
into a history you were forced to live,
not so you can balloon yourself
into a skin you dreamed to own,
and not because you have a beautiful voice.

SpEaK.
don't shut up.

SpEaK.
because something in you
stirs you out of your womb,
into your first cry,
heralding a new world,
SpEaK.
because you want to,
because you are you,
in all your glory and fury,
SpEaK.
for the family you grow
inside you,
SpEaK.
from the eye of the whirlwind
that feels it all, sees it all,
and still remains untouched,
SpEaK.
from that burning core,
engulfed by churning waters
that remember the unforgettable,
SpEaK.
without fear or favour
or a longing for fame,
giving it all away,
to what guides you
to move your tongue
and feel your teeth,
SpEaK.
to hear yourself thunder
through that roaring silence,
holding back its claws,
SpEaK.
to re-imagine a world
where rainbows appear at will,
holding you in their curl,
even as you stand alone
in your own shadow,
in your own light.

SpEaK.
don't shut up.
but for heaven's sake,
first listen.


SpEaK....spoken poetry

truth and fiction

between light and form
and a space
that holds them all,
shadows dance
without a care,
where nothing waits
for the other
to watch or take a step,
where there is only
song and dance
and a heedless reverie
overflowing
without rules made
and broken.

this silence

in this tunnel of silence,
where walls don't have ears,
and the wind doesn't have a mouth
to carry stories or speak,
I listen to myself -
the crumbling vessels of blood
emptying their life force
into every crevice, anyhow,
the bones holding forte
as they soak in every scent,
and every breath,
into their marrow
the flesh growing in its fullness,
inflamed with a desire
to consume the world whole,
and this sudden strangeness
of a meeting place
in the middle of nowhere,
where you and I
and all that's lifeless,
come alive,
together,
growing,
disappearing,
resting,
in this silence.

scent

I don't wear perfume.

I let myself be crushed
like those flowers
pressed into the fullness
of being themselves,
like their fall into
a puddle of rain on tar,
brightening up the greys,
like the wind
holding their hands
and letting go after a while,
carrying the scent
of their being
in his palms.

the scent of a skin
loving how it lives,
and dies.

bars and wings

often,
I cannot speak of the bars
that cage me,
but I feel them
brush against my wings,
reminding me
of my complacency,
the comfort of this space
lived in,
and the untraceable longing
to be elsewhere,
like the raindrop
that smells the earth
giving it form.

the brood

where do your hands stop?
where do your wings end?
where do your eyes close?
where does your heart leave
strings hanging free and loose?

stop choking me
in the name of love and tribe.

keep your hands to yourself,
until I ask for a hug, to be held;
keep your wings folded or open,
until I ask to be gathered in;
keep your eyes open or closed,
until I ask for you to see;
keep your heart throbbing,
until I ask for it to connect
with me;

I don't need mamas and papas,
grand aunts and uncles,
or grandparents,
to lead me through every ripple,

stop the brooding.
stop the baiting.
stop the herding.
there is no brood -
only you for you,
me for me,
and the essence
of the 'we',
exploding into these waters,
that take us somewhere
together,
over every ripple
encountered,
lived,
and crossed,
separately together.