Lotus

I feel you
in the depths
of my womb,
a stirring of new life,
soft contours of mud
dissolving into water,
bubbles rising up
and popping,
before they reach
the skin
of upturned green palms
holding the immensity
of the sky
in their bosom,
ripples leaving
without returning home,
as fire sits with fire,
burning away the dross,
and somewhere
in those murky silent depths,
a lotus blooms quietly,
turned on by her solitude,
parting her folds
with the gentlest touch
of the first morning sun.

What do I want?

'what do I want?'
I ask myself,
eyes perched
upon a horizon
which somehow retains
a caged sameness
everyday

surfaces and edges
that clamor tirelessly
to camouflage the aliveness
that draws me in,
an invitation
to stand
on the sacred stage,
where life meets life
naked
all the time,

where what I feel
sets aflame
my insides,
stoking something
unknowable
unspeakable
to foreign eyes,
and a white hot desire
to live
and die to
the adventure
that is,
this one life.

Ring of Salt

there's a storm out there,
where bodies prowl
over haunting shadows,
scrounging
for a flicker of light -
anything would do;
while deep inside
in a temple,
circled
by a ring of salt,
a lamp burns
unattended,
standing
in an eternal stillness
that feeds its bowels,
where a fire
gives birth
to itself,
preserved
in the salt of the earth.

Half-Burnt Logs

and we sat under the stars,
skin to skin,
eye to eye,
heart to heart -
little points of light
growing
dark and heavy
with the descending
heavens,
coming to meet
the curling smoke
spiraling up
from the guts
of a sacred fire,
crying out the song
of half-burnt logs
and the tyranny
of being human.

In the Blue of the Flame

I don't want
to sit around
or sing and dance
and tell stories
around a sacred fire,

I want to stand
in the blue
of the flame -
naked,
groundless,
yet alive,

tempered by
an unquenchable longing
to meet myself
in my fiery wholeness,
reclaiming the majesty
and insignificance
of what I am
and what I'm here to do,
in a world that's content
to share stories around a fire,
too terrified to burn
its fingers and toes.

Fire and Ash

tend to the fire,
throw in the logs,
stoke the flames
of your deepest desire
that rages in the heart
of all the darkness -
soot-laden logs
who, in their burning away,
feed the light
and the warmth
of a fire,
that's learning
to feel itself,
as it rises
from the ashes
of a life half-lived.

In the Dark of the Night

in the dark of the night,
some people get away -
pinched skins
and powdered masks,
resting in the ashes
of long-burnt out sins;

in the dark of the night,
some people are spent
in the raging fire of what is,
stripped of their
insipid flamboyance,
without a fire escape;

in the dark of the night,
some people find
the signposts lost
in the glare of city lights,
guiding and marking
their long way home.

in the dark of the night,
is where I find
what I need to leave behind.

And I Set My Life on Fire

and while a thunderbolt
struck down the noise
carried over eons, in thoughts,
and the steady ground
turned the hourglass
of time, in moments caught,
and the heaving oceans
coursed through my veins
without a shore,
and the winds
from the heavens
fanned the fire in my core,
I walked each blind turn,
fell through every chasm,
seeking those who stoked
my flames, my passion;
glorious rites of passage,
birth canals re-birthed, 
only so I could be 
who I was meant to be
in each moment,
to set myself and my life
on fire, and roam free.

Fire and Ice

sometimes
some things
freeze over
in space
and time,
only
so they can feed
the slow drip
of meltwaters
slipping into
the ocean's lips,
so they can rise
all over again,
with every fall
into grace,
to meet the light
of the blazing sun.

Consumed

all your life
you were consumed
by the fire
that raged on
in your embossed veins
and engraved breath,
now turning
its one-pointed gaze
to light up
and consume
your mortal form.

The Flame

the fire is stoked
inside of me,
she rises and dances
with the billowing winds,
drawing ancient souls
into a sacred dance
of shadow and light,
around the flames
of devotion
of her burning heart.

The Fire

and when you saw
the dancing flames
you thought
you were the fire,
and encircled it
with your wild dance,
until you saw
the burning logs
that skinned themselves
to soundless black dust.

The Fire

there is a fire.
in your belly.
you burn.
burn all of yourself.
slowly. gently.
there is no hurry.
it is your burning
that fans the flames
of the whole world,
which looks for light,
where there is
only darkness.

and I set my own house on fire,
a house, not built
with bricks
or stone or wood,
but a house built with fire;
and so now it burns
more brightly than ever,
like a sleepless candle,
on a full moon night,
so I can dance around it
like a dervish moth
drunk on its own love.

Opium

wading
through darkness,
blinded by tears
that sting
her exposed innards,
she rests awhile
upon an empty sky
blackened
by the fires
of hate
that raged,
and ravaged
her womb;
all is taken now,
every scrap
of thought
consecrated
to memory;
her worn out eyes
close awhile
and remember
the primordial dance
of exploding stars;
as she lays her dreams
upon wayward clouds
beneath a new moon night,
and where solitude
is the opium
of her precious broken heart.

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.

It Wasn't Enough

it wasn't enough
you thought,
one hole
in the flesh
cannot hold up
a mural
with frames
of a distant past,
still close
to a faint heart;

it wasn't enough
you thought,
one spark
on a wild
forgotten path
cannot light
a fire
to singe
and burst open
the ripe cones
of a giant sequoia;

it wasn't enough
you thought,
and so
you drilled
many holes,
and gorged out
the taut flesh,
only so I could
hold up
a mural
for others to see
the tears of things
that touch
the mortal heart;

it wasn't enough
you thought,
and so
you set fire
to the whole path,
only so I could
walk through
the rising flames
to become
the fire
that warms
frost-bitten feet
and trembling fingers
too scared to touch
the warmth
of their own hearts.

it wasn't enough
you thought,
but it was.


~ I dedicate this poem to a dear friend who held my hand and made me see that the fire that I thought burned me, was the spark that lit me up to light up my own life and perhaps that of many others.~

Loss and Love

the fire
has burnt
itself out,
woodsmoke
chokes
the spaces
between
dying embers,
their glow
muted,
like tears of rain
on damp clay.

the fire
once aroused
by the space
between
presence
and absence,
breath
and death,
lies buried
like a coffin
wrapped
in glory,
lowered
too soon.

for what is loss
to a heart
set off
by the sun
and flaming stars,
beating to
the pause
and turn
of wheels
on windswept ash,
blazing new paths?

this dying fire
is not enough now
to warm a heart
that trembles,
learning anew
to dip herself
in unbecoming
icy waters,
for she's been
too warm,
too long.

and with the
smouldering remains
of what once seemed
like the tremulous glow
of dancing twilight,
darkness
wraps me up quick,
the only warm blanket
on a cold black night,
when fire meets ice.

but the fire
will be lit again
tomorrow,
the spent wood ash
will be cleared
and used
in the garden,
the logs will be
rearranged
and laid lightly,
and a heart
that's grown cold
will be warmed
again,
to sing
by the fire
of a new sun.

The Anchor

I drop down
to the very bottom
of myself,
the space
where breath
is born
and rises
to break over
and fill
every cell
with the blazing fire
of passion
for all of life,
and the virgin stillness
of unbroken waters,
reborn
again, and yet again.

Love

love is the wind
who kisses autumn leaves,
mates with the bamboo,
and holds the ocean
as she heaves.

love is the fire
who sets aflame all forms,
the light of passion
born on a dark night,
trust in a new dawn.

love is the water
who flows through
a fisted hand,
sacred dew for a parched throat,
tears of longing, waves of calm.

love is the elusive ether
who whispers to your soul,
the soothing music
of riveting silence,
the endless black hole.

love is the terra firma
who gives you wings to rise and fly,
the warm hearth to rest your weary form,
the dark womb that nurtures
new seeds of endless love.