The Long and Partly Unlyrical View

Now that I wear a thicker skin
From heartbreak, can you fault me
To look with sexual eyes
At your sad and thoughtful yielding
I touch your hair, with hard hands

And I listen to the warmth in your voice
I know you are young, but you have
Learnt so well, not to be too clingy or distant
Your fish-soul is welcoming me in
A long dark tunnel of easy choices

By the elements of your freedom, I can breathe
Without making you are martyr, anytime soon –
Now that I wear a thicker skin
I won’t tell you about my most intimate troubles
I’ll reserve them for a psychiatrist

Who believes in promised lands, anymore?
Now that I wear a thicker skin
Let me pause, astonished, over your naked body
And remark on how I might never fall in love with you.

A Poet as a Lover

The best poets wait for words
I rush them as I would a woman
I have no patience for timid steps
The hunt is not an exercise of will
But a routine of loving, relentlessly!

The best lovers are fueled by smoldering desire!
Slow movements seem too dull
Youth is a show that passes quickly
So make it happen, poems & women
Easy come, easy go, they have taught me

With darkness at their steamy cores
I am a watcher of the rarest birds
And a hunter for the most exotic women
I’ll risk rejection – it shall Kill me not
So long as I hold, a great perspective to Love-Making.

A Short Story of Her

How much of me, she left untouched
How little of my soul
She cared to sincerely know
Simply to merge alive again –

Her peculiar friendship was short
To love me not, in a short story
To touch me, and send me on my way
Her binding arms let me go

And now I must piece the little puzzle
Here I am naked to her memories
How little we truly meet the world
Knowing creature of our void

I attended my studies, in femininity
While eating at her house, pussy & wine
How much of me, she left untouched
My spiritual qualities unknown

Indifferent are the beasts, with their casual ways
Mothers must attend to their bank accounts.

Gaya’s Peril

I have heard a strange voice
In the heat of Noon
Felt the call of wakeful night
Heard the sunset, felt the wind at dawn

I have felt the chill of darkness
That is now a blessing
A Great Voice of love –
That is a cloak from terrible fear

I have felt the Dawn birds stir within
Wetting the pillow with tears
I felt the dying forests somewhere fall
I have heard a strange voice

In the ocean’s sorrow
A shadow of cities as far as my eyes can see
Their tops were in another world
Unseen by land animals

That ventured dangerously into space
Where no wood could venture
A terror of the skies, with laser beams
This conquered land, unprepared for plastic memories.

Alas, Thou Art Flown

I know a hundred ways to die.
In each season, I look anew
A scavenger that possesses nothing truly
They call me clingy, but I do not cling

To the spirit’s freedom I belong
Not love or duty holds me here
I know a hundred ways to live
In breaths of wonder, horseshoe wants

Walking a bridge, from girl to girl
The melodies of the Earth are soft
As wine from these grapes
As my return to the infinite Source

I know a hundred ways to pray.
Unshaven, hopeless, anonymous
Barely able to find shelter, friendship
The food for my spirit’s make –

I know a hundred ways to say goodbye.
Defiled, depleted and forlorn
Forward, in level flight the night propels
Me a better man, I am not sure

I know a hundred ways to love.
The chalk of toxic trampled grounds
Cities where I made my way, jostling doors ajar
People I grew old with, until Spring’s colours swallowed me.

Many a Bard’s Untimely Gifts

My heart is what it was before
A place that treasures from afar
To mirror goodness, with dreamy ambiguity
I have no sense, but alms of love

I am internal spring, in all four seasons
I water love and it turns south
A stomping ground for weary travelers
My heart is what it was before

I light the lamp and lay the cloth
For picnics with Beloveds, some of whom
Leave before they take a bite
I loved the beggars that I fed

Because I knew what it meant, to be hungry
I set a bowl before their step, and cherished
Them, before they found greener fields
I watched them prosper, and hint at leaving

I scattered crumbs for their departure
My heart is what it was before
The guarding source, the smile that saves
I know the coming and the going, intimately

Of seasons and lovers and friends
People seek plots to flourish forever
My heart was not built to last forever
It was made to scream to God, enjoy nature’s fruit.

Plato Does not Speak of This

I have learned to despise in myself
What those I loved left me for –
They are not here with me now, I must deal
With the sun and moon for my pillows

The grief of lonely years, the dust of doorways
And years of half-grain and empty homes
Cold rooms, half chaff, no jewels
I have learned to accept in myself

What those I once sought, did not value
For only I must truly, live with myself
The others, they do not sweeten this bitter sea
They give and retreat, without loyalty

As a thorn opens into a rose, my throat and lungs
Beg the light for an execution place
Where I will wail and be thirsty for my own blood
Purified, as the Nile once flowed beside my limbs

I was never a warrior, but a humble worshiper
My dead eyes did look into your living eyes
and I cried, for love’s work looks absurd at times.

Like a Lost Lover Entering the Seclusion of God

There is no humour in me, nothing wild
At the threshold of melancholy
I love the quietness of such an answer
I am an inwardness lost to sense

An invisible aspect
Of being sentient and embodied
Lost to social customs, I watch
Human beings interact, as if I am different

There is a voice inside the green
I want the heart of spring, secret inside of a secret
I might die if I do not find awakening
My heart once had a little courage

I once toasted a vivid and playful world
Bursting with revelry as pomegranate flowers
But now I am a pawn of stolen gold, candle-lit faces
Of beloveds, taken from me by my own weakness
Greater the harvest, coming out of the wells of abandonment.

So You Will Not Have to be Always Letting me In and Out

Today, there are no consolations
All I have been is as a dream
Nobody remembers, nor can I say do I
Remember closeness, I am learning to support myself
As foundations that require convincing proof

That this is no ordinary friendship
The way I am with myself, how I attend the banquet
Of my thoughts, life – what drink I pass around the table
Of so much longing, an expert at grief
Today, there is no consolation

I have congregated here to face, what I already suspect
That I have not the backbone, for love
I can deliver you form yourself in this moment
Says my mouth burning for sweetness
Today, there are no consolations

I must understand what it means to be wounded
Hands of my hands, everything is made of water
There is nothing drastic left, that can be done
I can no longer be the ring-knocker at your door.

Something that Died in December

I have the least community
Of anyone I know, the emotions of a poet
I was once a green branch in the wind

The reed that bends from a drop of water
I am it seems, too far from home
To remember the language

Of that strange gathering, how you held
The tambourine, love’s king
Never wept for me, I did not stop anywhere

For long, like a lonely light-footed nomad
I was as the breeze, which carried
The ocean inside of it, so beneath

The ability to love, the duty to stay
Nobody loved me back to my senses
Instead, they smiled at me like a lost cause.

Sugarcane of Spring

We are a warm spell
Of Spring arriving with different kinds of light
The light to warm us from the inside
A glee of wind and the sweetness
Of how we walk together, side by side

Our thoughts glow with one and another
Some naive people have not gotten
Close enough to you to understand
One drinks from the other
One tenderly learns from the other

To smell the musk of spring, and not judge
Why we share the same fragrance from a jar
Taking us to the face of a different Goddess
You that pour ease into me, my life is burning
Like a candle-moment, I am the newest moth

There is a confusion in surrender, in walking alone
The terrible grief and bliss of being so fragile.