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 for all is, as is.
Dreaming through my window
Draw me a picture, I say and yellow streams through the window blinds 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…
If words could set you free
These black lines on white are not bars, if you look long enough, they are doorways set ajar into Space
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…
I feel you wave in the shadows of dancing leaves, in the shiver of 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 palm…
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.
Between man and woman
Give she the mantle of the heart before she can wonder Give she all the fire and rain before she can build her ship Give she the bare skin and blood of birth before she can uncover her jewel Give he the weighty hammer and the anvil before his feet can take flight Give he the…
I woke up a honeybee today
I woke up a honeybee today zipped and dunked into sweet lips, a kiss of gold dustings on my skin. I went about my nature with not a question in mind but swirling in movement and sensations, Softness Sweetness Scents and Oh! the buzz and buzz of my countryfolk