Hungry

grey clouds
over misty eyes,
looking for that
insipid line
where earth meets sky,
pandering rain
falls away
like old quills,
the icy wind
howls and bites
into broken skin,
a long-doused fire
rekindled
and stoked,
melts
vagrant thoughts,
like lemon drops
held for long
on a warm tongue;
while fuming rotis
and
baingan bhartha,
beckon
a cocooned soul,
now hungry
for more,
of life.

Imprisoned

locked in
by stone
walls
and iron
bars
that won't
give
dissolve
or bend;
trapped
in
straightjacket
reality,
fossilized
opinions,
choked
by eons
of toxic beliefs;
free spirits
screaming
to be let out,
to roam wild,
for they know
how to live
and die
free.

Waiting For Death

lack lustre eyes
soaked
in soap operas, and
white-washed reality,
Life's locked out
of her own home;
now peering into
fading fine print,
life crumbles
like old parchment
with every turn
of the page;
gnarled fingers
of an ageless spirit,
rest on frozen knees -
slowed down, numbed
by an endless struggle
with what is;
Fear -
your ever-faithful companion,
drives you
to padlock locked doors,
to lick your little wounds
that you don't want to heal
for fear of being cast away
like an upturned log,
to pop pills like treats
between meals -
to run away from life?
or death?
Yes, you settle into
the cozy rocking chair,
your eyes worn out
from being watchdogs
in daylight,
when will you truly rest?
when will you know
that the unwelcome guest
is not locked out
from your safe nest,
but sits beside you
in the chair -
next to you,
smiling and waiting
for you to open
your tired lovelorn eyes?

Listen

Space

a free spirit
trapped by
boundaries
walls
fences
rims
containers.

sometimes
bottomless
boundless
expanding
contracting
adjusting
folding
into myself.

sometimes
squeezed out
like the last dollop
of toothpaste
from an empty tube,
or a cockroach
scuttling away
into dark corners,
always on the move;

sometimes
lost in wild forests
hidden inside
a filigree leaf,
or swelling oceans
raging inside
dainty dewdrops,
in the unfolding
of a moment;

sometimes
caught in the hands
of the clock
turning
in the same way
day after day,
or choked under
a gentle shower
seeking to soothe
a steamy soul;

sometimes
I look for space
like that tiny
blade of grass
tunneling
its way out
towards the sun,
from under
a dull concrete slab;

sometimes
I long for that space -
a space
where I can
breathe free
through walls
and containers -
simply free
to be me.
always.

Listen

Waiting in the Rain

Coke Studio in the car,
weeping window panes
paint a ruptured heart,
young green leaves
shake off water
like frisky puppies
after a bath,
tireless wheels
chase each other
on sleepy wet tar,
hustling honks
drown slipper claps,
walking voices hush
to a bird's shrill call,
time drags her feet
into the dewy grey light,
stillness cloaks her,
silence and song
move her breath,
eyes gaze on
and merge
into the restless skies,
while she cradles
her wild heart,
yearning
to skip and dance,
now waiting
alone in the rain.

The Vortex

She drew me in,
She sucked out
my fullness,
my emptiness,
my voice,
my thoughts,
my dreams,
my loss;
now squeezed,
folding
into myself,
I drop
through
a pulsing vortex,
with no light
at the end,
a glowing orb
falling
falling
into
the encircling
arms
of Life,
where to become
everything
and nothing
is to meet her
exactly
where I am.
Now.

Listen

Trust

Trust is
an autumn tree tangled
in the sinewy gusts,
a wandering cloud resting
upon an arched red sky,
sunbeams dancing through
dark unopened pores;
waves breaking into themselves
upon unquestioning shores,
a flower exploding into
dollops of morning dew,
an egret taking flight
to undress ripples of blue;

Trust is
the gift of wings
upon an earthling's heart,
locked inside
a casket of musty darkness.

Trust is the passage
between yesterdays gone
and tomorrows unborn,
where you and I
walk each step
together
into the flickering
candlelight.

Listen

Swan Song

a lone Leaf
from an unseen tree 
twirls and wilts
into the rising Mist
from the dark hollow,
stretching into
his restful arms,
as he carries her
to unknown worlds -
where pain
becomes joy,
where stillness
becomes dance,
and
where silence
becomes song.

Listen

The Way to the Heart

I can see
the flame
flickering
dancing
seducing me
to leap
into the void
that separates
you and me.

But how can I leap,
how can I leave behind
a part of me
that's held me
in its own loving way?
That's built fortresses
and courtyards,
where thoughts
and beliefs
and dreams
can play freely
like little children
in the safety
of their home?

How can I leap
when I want to
teach myself -
that part of me,
to slow down
and dance
with Life,
for that is the way -
the way that I know
to that eternal flame,
that dancing heart?

When I Speak with You

When I speak with you,
my being stills
like the silent song
of a penny dropped
into a wishing well,
resting
in the warm
unknown folds
of eternity.

When I speak with you,
your words stay
like downy pollen
from a wholesome flower
on thought-dusted wings;
I carry them with me -
sacred songs
of worlds
inside worlds,
moments
inside moments,
an endless shower
of wild confetti.

When I speak with you
I hear and see
trails of thoughts
caught by an eye
that's learned
how to see
shades of clouds
in a grain of sand,
and a cactus smiling
with all its seeds.

When I speak with you,
I hear Life
speak with me.

Freedom

I rest
on the frame
of things,
where
it doesn't matter
if the door
is open
or closed,
where there is
no 'in'
or 'out',
no coming
or going;
where being
is a merging
of all breath.
 
I rest
on the edge
of things,
where
it doesn't matter
if a line
is a dot
or a circle,
that bends
and shifts,
expands
and shrinks,
where thoughts
are not caged
like gilded birds
looking for freedom;
where freedom
just simply is.