Ineffable Name

Your ghostly handkerchief
Rubs me in disbelief
As moist as your province
Of erotic dreams

Your Jewish mind
Is too shrewd and logical
For an eternal love-story
I will never meet

One such as you again
In the gold palace of
Lesser conversations
I will go on my merry way

Stitching heaven wherever I roam
For love is intellectual
And my body is not
Pragmatic as a woman

I find miracles without quarrels
Far easier than one who has
Not to be picky, but to be kind
My Messiah is my present love.

All Souls Of Those I loved have been translated

I’ve been to the face of death
A sliding away from oneself
She kissed my cheeks and allowed
Me to live a while longer here
I’ve been to the edge of something deep
For which there is no tag, no shelf
The very end of suffering
That in itself, is not a bad thing
I do not dread the moment I escape this life
Perhaps it will even be a good experience
The unknown is what we fear
The timeless roses have maybe
A brighter hue on the other side?
Perhaps the sweetness of life
Can be better appreciate from there?
Above the wall of toil a slender branch
Is blooming, call it what you will
A strange kind of music, with
No need for mortal food, no searching
For belonging, no puzzling over
The injustice of all human brutality
I’ve seen the face of death and remarked
That her cloud-rimmed eyes were
Shining like the night, not unlike stars
And there was an alien freedom in her embrace.

Photo Courtesy:
1. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Melaelancholy-488208776
2. http://www.deviantart.com/art/One-photo-of-timelapse-488209194

We All Arrived from Grandmothers

How noteless is this life
The Real is an instinct of locality
All a question of proximity
And sense to spirit integration

I’ve forgotten all odes familiar
Whims to bloom, and buttercups to smell
I’ve spurned Daises and rules of Noon
With Recollection of your numbness

How irreverent and cordially anonymous
Is every moment from the next
That fancy and sunrise
Are simply doors left ajar

This world a simulation of requests
That you disdain men, and I find women
Like Oxygen, necessarily toxic.

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.