Plato Does not Speak of This


55

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


54

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.

Something that Died in December


52

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


51

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.