just one tear

just one tear

finds its way

crawling

to the call of a heart

steeped in love

exploding

into the vagaries

of this stillness

devouring

every thought 

of you.

happy lostness

when thoughts become
the fringes of a kite
baring its skin,
dancing
in the clear wind
of presence,
still and moving,
at once,
I rest in the soft humus
of my newborn heart,
feeling each tug
upon that string
of love,
binding oceans
and voids
of a happy lostness
in one ordinary breath
of sheer magic.

Fallen Grace

look into my eyes
so you can look
into my soul,
for when I've fallen
from my own
ruthless scrutiny,
my pupils cringe,
my eyelids go limp,
my lashes stroke
the falling tears,
and in that collapse
into a self-made prison,
your eyes
hold me
lift me
and carry me
into the heart
of fallen grace.

The Warrior

don't pull out
your staggering sword,
don't work out
to the end of your breath,
don't carve your muscles
out of your porous skin,
to brandish and soak
in the blood of glory
flowing through your words;

for when you are spent
and return home,
from a battle
you thought you'd won;
you'll feel the longing
and the emptiness return,
your eyes brimming
with the softness
of withheld tears,
your skin smarting
from the raw tenderness
of old untended wounds,
your breath falling
like a forgotten coin
into the empty hollow within;

and then, you will know
how to hold
the love of your life,
in every step you take,
what battles you must
take on and fight,
and when to lay down
your arms with grace;
and you will know
you can pick up
the waiting chisel,
instead of a swiveling sword,
to carve your heart
upon the fiercest chest,
the true warrior
who is up, for every test.

Dreams

I wonder why
our dreams
carry us
across the heavens
on fragile threads,
that could
make or break,
our tender hearts
wandering
like lost flotsam
suspended
in timeless uncertainty,
carrying the smell
of our deep longings
and our flawed humanity;

I guess it takes
one dream
etched across the heavens,
carrying us
toward the darkening light,
to find our roots
or wings.

Can You See Me?

can you see me,
not in the cards
I deal out
for all to see -
what's taken,
what's rejoiced,
what's abused,
or what's rejected,
but in the cards
I haven't played,
what I've singled out
and held close to me?

can you see me
as I am?
where the glory
and the gory
are friends,
not warmongers?

can you see me
as I am?
where your heart
meets mine,
for in that seeing
is a knowing
of all that is me,
not what you think
is me.

Becoming Me

and when I'm not full,
like that mellow fruit
on a pregnant tree, 
I let you in -
to fill me,
to become
you in me,
dying to what I really am -
a soul that's not up for sale,
the harvest of a love
that cannot be demanded
or plundered,
but only given,
in quiet patience,
as the tree holds her fruit
and her wholesome shade,
for those who care enough
to stop by and relish her bounty,
and sit under her radiant boughs
that speak incessantly
to the sun, the earth
and the dark heavens,
singing songs of love
flowing from the fullness
of a heart that hears
the stirrings of the universe,
and what it takes
to let you be you,
and to 'become me'.

Wall of Words

and you throw words
in the way
of my seeing,
so I can first
touch and feel
the walls of your heart,
so I can grope
and stumble
and fall in
through the black tunnels
of a love
that does not seek light
but only wants to live,
and feel
unapologetically
alive!

Skin to Skin, Heart to Heart

and when you speak,
I feel the world
come alive
under your skin,
throbbing
with the waves
that rise and fall
with my skin,
as I drop into
the silence
of uncharted depths,
drawing me through
their smudged creases,
now spiralling,
free falling,
into the abyss
of a love
that can be felt
only skin to skin,
heart to heart.

Take Away

take it all away -
everything that we
shared
enjoyed
lived
dreamed of
buried
left unsaid
created,
take it all away;
of course
you don't know
that when the sun
dips into the distance,
sinking into the
blue of my eyes,
my eyes bleed,
for your blood
is mixed with mine,
in the patience
of the vast emptiness
where everything is born,
where everything dies,
yet leaving themselves
in the hearts of things
that can never be taken away
but only left behind.

The Weavers

oh yes,
it was a dance -
of weavers spinning a web,
with the turn of the seasons,
the pull of the moon,
the song of the night,
the patterns of the day,
the dreams of the stars, and
the sowing and harvests
of entangled hearts;
but wait,
something's amiss now,
things seem to have changed,
the warp and the weft
no longer rest in the game;
threads have become knots
that cannot be undone,
but for a snip here and there,
the hearts still beat while they're lost,
but can never be found.

Touch Me With Your Skin

peel off your mask,
it is not your skin;
it yearns
to feel the warmth
of a giving sun
through its every pore,
to breathe into the wind
that rushes through
stirring every cell awake,
to touch the moistness
of the holy mud
that embalms your spirit,
and to simply remember
how it feels
to touch another
with your human skin.

Walking on Knives

and I learn the art
of walking on knives,
where every prick
touches the folds
of a white rose,
opening herself up
to hold up my feet
with her thorns.

Tears

Have you ever been
caught in a moment,
when your eyes
welling up
with flood waters,
poured themselves
into the toothless smile
of a child,
who knows only
how to laugh
into Life's face?
Tears hold more than
what the eyes can see
or the heart can feel.

The Love of my Life

"Life is cruel", I said
the other day,
in a moment of apathy,
like a little child
cursing her mother
for a love
that she could not feel;
and then,
as if to respond
to that moment of weakness,
she held me today
like a true mother,
whispering sweet nothings,
through the words of a friend
I haven't spoken to for long -
a song from a heart
that seems to know mine;
words that rose
out of the blue nothingness,
where my eyes and heart
melted and flowed
into each other,
held in a timeless embrace
by the one I most love.
Life.

Tears of Grace

drink my tears
with your liquid eyes,
as I drink mine,
for they are yours
as much as they are mine;
let them fall
onto our parched
wrinkled skins,
waiting to be christened
with infinite love;
let's not wash them away,
let's not wish them away,
for they have come to us
from the heavens,
they are ours to keep
in the silent folds of our heart,
in the soft lashes of our eyes
that kiss them awake
with every blink,
in the cloth that soaks them
and patiently gathers
their fragrant longing
to meet ourselves
with a smile,
returning everything with love,
touching each others' hearts,
as we follow our destinies
untouched, untarnished,
to be the messy, glorious humans
that we each are.

Arrival

and you told me
what I longed to hear -
the song
that lay quiet
in the uneasy depths
of your solemn heart,
too scared to rise
from the darkness
and take that one breath
that you needed
to fill your lungs
and sing out to the world
that you have indeed arrived.

The Secrets of the Heart

some things
are best held
in the dark
unseen crevices
of a heart
that bleeds
with every tear
of joy or pain;

some things
are too precious
to be flaunted
in a world
enamored by surfaces
that serve to imitate
the depths
of wild things;

some things
are to be loved
in the moment,
like the heart
that overflows
when a little child
shows you his world
in a grain of sand;

some things
are best left hidden,
so they can be
discovered, and
therefore cherished,
like wild flowers
and four leaf clovers
on forgotten trails;

some things
are just too priceless
to be shared
with a greedy world
that feasts
on flamboyance
and the impatient longings
of hearts with no room for love;

some things
are meant to be kept
just to myself,
locked in the strongholds
of a heart
that's learned
how to open doors
where there were once walls;

some things
are meant to be loved
in the quiet aliveness
of a pulsing heart
that has
suddenly remembered
how to love
all over again.

दिल की लड़ाई

तलवार उठाओ!
न हाथों की ,
न आँखों की ,
पर सच्चे दिल की ,
जो धड़कती है
उस दुश्मन की खोज में,
जो छोड़ देती, उस दिल में,
अपने कुचले हुए दिल की खुश्बू ,
रोम रोम में

The Blind Painter

and I watched him closely
as he painted
not what he saw
with his shrouded eyes,
but what he felt
with his empty heart,
as the canvas came alive
with unnamed colours
to fill my senses,
and his broken art.