Uninterrupted Poetry

These poems are lost to me
Like the dead, there is no returning again
To what was, old loves

My mind feels them shouting there
Those who have died to us
Once here, now gone

It is the same with the music of the night
Grief dies to my renewal
I regenerate my lips, my ears, my thirst

Like a mausoleum of longing
I am, without ever being satisfied
I wake up to radiant mornings

Each and every day, jasmine at my feet
And I write poems, like lost waterfalls
Missed sunrises, broken comets

Stars on the tips of forgotten inheritance
These poems are lost to me
Like the emptying fulfillment of breath

Like a kind of solution to what I am
I create a rhetoric of distinguished ambiguity
Legislating my soul to be free

An embroidery without worldly cares
These poems are lost to me
I am not a thief of possession

But rather, a common beggar
With the guarantee of unearthly words.

Prologue

Time for me has never gotten comfortable
Once upon a time, there was me
Not I, but a coexisting us
Many selves splintered
Unable to resume existing
As a significant whole
Like a prologue of all known things
These of the self were finite
Mortal, braided with the stars
Mirrored, like wandering hands
That renounced the light
A long time ago, time was only a context
The symbols of neglected bruises
Reminders of ancient Sanskrit terms
Gray cathedrals of spirit-space
That were not witnessed, before the age
Of a thousand eyes, before consciousness
Could be downloaded and uploaded
Time was a little girl who
Announced her arrival each moment
With a big pillow in her hands for sleeping beauty
Down from the sorcerer’s tree
I swallowed the fruit once again
A blind witness to my blind hunger
Leave the wisdom here said the bird
In the seed, throw the seed into the river.