-
Lily
I put words to the curls of your pale tresses, speak the stain on your lips, draw a line across your face, separating the eye from its soft lashes, the slick tongue from its parted mouth and the tilted neck from its— unresisting body I name each part of you, as if to set us apart…
-
At the edge of sound
Silence is absolute— for every word spoken, every prayer fervently whispered, and every curse flung out to the Wide is met with the enormity of Silence. It says nothing, yet all sounds arise from it, and all sounds die in it. It says nothing, nothing
-
Dreaming through my window
Draw me a picture, I say and yellow streams through the windowpane It paints a golden canvas on my wall with the tail end of your shadow swaying gently in the dipping sun. The picture softens and sharpens as if, I sit in the center of an Eye as it blinks bleary-eyed, dreaming through my…
-
If words could set you free
These black lines on white are not bars; if you gaze long enough, you will see the many doorways set ajar ]
-
Warm lies.
The world blurs into shimmering blobs of light; they bubble around me, and one by one they go— pop pop— bursting into the cold, dark night The warmth recedes My toes and fingers are cold I am cold so cold
-
Blue Nectar
It is being shredded, torn through the guts, and fed to the hungry, hungry souls. No— they need not concern themselves of what they strip, uproot, and pollute for these skies, these fields will be long after the passing of these hurried feet; and the winds will wrap around the wounds left by these clawed hands, as…
-
The Verse of Being.
There were four children who wove the wicker of fire that colors every blade of grass, every eye that is. One covered the sky, in her disappearance she sparked secrets that swirled in her silent cauldron And the other, took the form of sea foam, she came and went playfully sprinkling precious salt, sea shells…
-
Forgotten remembrance
I feel you wave in the shadows of dancing leaves, in the shiver of the wild sugarcane, in the quiet scuffle under the bushes and the ripple of a still pond I see your white tail slip out the corner of my eye as if shy but always there, asking, Do you remember me? I open my…
-
Autumn rain
The autumn rain falls sleepyon crinkled orange strewn along the path, winding with no certain destination into the far horizon where fire meets fire and the world bursts!
-
The word human
I, what is– ‘I’? I call myself the word ‘human’ But, what is human? Not the word but the thing itself? Am I the thing itself? Or that which says this is ‘I’? But, what says ‘I’? What is I? What is I? I, I, I, caw-caw, a crow crows.
MindWraith 