Your Poems became my Confessions


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Your Poems became my Confessions

The poem began innocently
As lumps in your throat
You shave and trim them
Until they are perfect

But I don’t do that, I won’t
But when I read your work
Emotion finds its way
Into the architecture of psyche

Past the layers of skin
Into the bridge of passion
And as a symbol, I spontaneously
Burst with what makes you tick

As the same think that makes me whole
And that’s a powerful catalyst
For truth from grief and power
From sacrifice, and I’m an alchemist

When I read your work, and that’s
A crazy audience, uplifted from poverty
These poems begin innocently enough
So be careful what you do to me

Your words burn into me like erotic memories
And chatting about who to blame
For who we are, I fell for your ancestors
And by association, you, we both wanted

What we cannot pay enough to have
Pain became our meaning
And writing became our life
And if the present is indeed the

Revenge of the past, I have a feeling
My poems will reflect your silence.

Eating Poems as a Life Choice


71

I’ve loved many women
In my time, but not like this
Not like the love of words
The divinity in language

The riches in the poverty of poetry
Ink runs like liberty
From the fruit-craving mouth
Of this appetite, of poems

Like a librarian without a mate
I vowed long ago to marry literature
Here I am, alone and happy
I’ve loved many poets

Long dead and not famous
There is no bliss like art
There is no happiness like mine
I’ve eaten poetry for decades

In my attic, as a recluse
I am a new man because of her
She withstood my moods
And understood my aims

She did not chide me for my
Uneconomical strategy of living
Ink runs like milk from my face
I am a baby mad with wonder

In the open arms of books!
Who’s to say that this was not
My chosen aspect of hope
Who’s to say one’s greatest love

Must be a person, surely not mine
I romp with joy in the bookish dark
A happy nerd, a loving friend and
A devoted servant to literature
May all rejoice who know this joy!

Selections from a Long Life


31

I’ve paced my human life
With a strange seed of Divinity
With grace accepted my fate
Not being attached, if
The God-touch is there or not,

Only a little, can destiny
Reveal if the God-light can stay
We have numerous births

To grow up with God
While wise men talk and sleep
Beyond earth’s longitudes and latitudes
The holocaust of our lives
Remains a supreme prayer

That non can reach Heaven
Who has not passed through
Their appointed hell, it figures:

The soul in man is greater
Than his fate, the life you lead
Conceals the light you are
We are all day-bringers
Walking through the inertia of night

Our lives are a march
To a victory that only the
Future can spell, our failures

Are not a failure, whom God leads
He who would love the world
Must share its pain, downtrodden
As if in myth, to realities remain.

Photo Courtesy:

1. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Where-are-you-488214058

Stop Loving Never


4

I feel the autumn air
bringing an autumn slack
my bones beneath the black
colors of suffocated dares

the brother who is never seen
the parents who leave their bodies
the blowing rain of enormous quickening
change, I knew she would not struggle

only time can sleep like this
running crazily here on these fields
I feel the autumn air
giddy with the eagerness of hope

in a flutter it is gone
like everything I once desired
space is at the center of my room
time haunts my mind’s ornaments

my palms don’t know what to touch anymore
the world, or some dreamy ‘forever-after’
will I feed on days only to die?
and lick the sunshine reluctant to let
my heart stop? stop loving never.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/La-Piscine-Et-Plouf-395085816

A Last World of Spring


13

It’s too late to cancel them now
Isn’t it? The birds of spring, sing
Like a mindful entry into the passage
Into summer, May will be coming soon

Reflected in the water of the buds
Fields of division among the twigs
It’s too late to wait up for it now

Isn’t it? The broad gestures of metamorphosis
There are no taboos in Spring
It walks into us from the inside

Sobering with sensuality, green effort
Hazards of the course of threshing floors
Of desire and clarity of impulse

It’s too late to cancel it now
Isn’t it? No more fence-sitting for us
Ambushed by the teeth of flowers

Like a perverse playroom before summer light
I can dwell here a while, to taste
The nearest stars in your liquid eyes.