Albatross

“There is love of course. And then there’s life, its enemy.” – Jean Anouilh

Fingers brush through your hair 
your leaving me there,
Floating on my ocean dream.
Feet run to your kiss, I say farewell to bliss, 
Crashing along the windy cliff.
Eyes transfixed on your stare,
of you I must beware, 
Chasing me on the rocky edge.
Mind searching for a hint,
your affection leaves no imprint, 
Leaping off to fall free.
An albatross on a long flight,
a blind journey with no insight, 
Asking “Where will I land?”

Also published in Broowaha 

Also published in Wingposse, June 2012 

12202011 

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Cold water, Dry run – Heal the wounds of yesterday –

“Pain feels like a fast stab wound to the heart. But then healing feels like the wind against your face when you are spreading your wings and flying through the air! We may not have wings growing out of our backs, but healing is the closest thing that will give us that wind against our faces.”  – C. JoyBell C.

Trying hard to find water in a dry land. A parched, dry, burning throat tortures me. My lips, peel like mud flakes baked by the noon heat. Life was here, now, only the memory of life conveyed in the carved, hard mud of me, a dry lake. Then a soft wind blows, the temperature drops slowly, a coolness invades, and the clouds gather promising a new thing is on its way. Soft drops escape at first, slowly building a faceless mob. Each drop makes a mark, dimpling the ground. The little craters overflow and begin to form a growing conglomeration of streaming water alliances, gathering momentum and finding their way to the thirsty lake, filling the deepest cracks first.

 

Notice the deepest cracks are the ones first filled with the life-giving water. Likewise, notice how the deepest hurts are the first healed when the fulfillment of your hearts desire comes to pass. It’s a beautiful to see life restored. There is a fulfillment in hope and contentment after suffering. It feels so good, like cold water after a hot run.

Also published in Broowaha

First published in Opinions Of Eye

08172011

Love is a Tyrant

The following is an article by a talented writer, SZU. ” Love’s not a tyrant; lovers are; My heart’s a proof-with its shining scars.” Enjoy.

Recently an active exchange of poetic responses began between a friend and I. He wrote this beautiful one and sent it my way…and that’s how it began

When storms have raged and passed away
Can gentle calm succeed?
I sleep to ease a troubled mind
Sleep is the friend that I need…
With these few words I speak my mind
You in this, a quest will find
My quest is clear…seek it out
Love is a tyrant…when in doubt

I got an instant inspiration; and i wrote down the following words in response:

This storm is here for eternity,
No trace of calmness can I see…
No sleep, no rest can soothe my mind
No friend can bring me glee…
This unending quest kills me everyday,
I can’t reach where I want to be…
This doubt can be tyrant I know,
Still this love shall be a part of me…

We appreciated each other’s work and then obviously forgot about it. And just today when I was having my lunch; I got another set of couplets from him in response to what I wrote a week back:

Your storm once raged and passed away,
And the gentle calm did succeed
You slept and eased a troubled mind
Yet now sleep is the friend I need
In those few words you spoke your mind…
…and yet I was so lost, dumb and blind…
Your love’s still a tyrant, there’s no doubt
I’m lost and confused; my soul wants out…

So I just decided to post all the three poems on my blog. But as i am typing here; I can sense the birth of yet another response to his (above written)poem…here it goes..

Why live in the memories of that storm?
That was a reality once…but now its gone…
And why depend on a gentle calm?
And why not make your wounds, your balm?
Sleep- if dreams are where you belong…
Sleep – if that fake world makes you strong!
Don’t be lost, because they won’t find you
Don’t think much because those thoughts might blind you…
Love’s not tyrant; lovers are;
My heart’s a proof – with its shining scars.

Also published in Broowaha 

Also published in Opinionsofeye.com

09242014

Breath of Coals

“Heroes are made in the hour of defeat. Success is, therefore, well described as a series of glorious defeats.”  – Mahatma Gandhi

Breath of coals consumes
the compliantly relented peace of many
Leaping from dreams and
defiling with hungered presence
“Come my enemy, give life to me by your hate” 

 

A leprous char to remain in
the abandon of slanderous consumption

The takers of hope are meant to be,
giving life to survivor’s dreams 

– “Come my enemy, give life to me by your violence”

Cherished visions have no meaning
unless colored with blackened attacks

Their worth determined by the
crackling heckles of many jealous lovers

– “Come my enemy, give life to me by your acridity”

 

Victory will never give birth
till hate eagerly prevents its hasty advance

Only pain and adversity will show
the incensed revelation of a hero

– “Come my enemy, I know success by your presence”

11012012

Love In Hiding – Why is love so evasive?

“Maybe it’s just hiding somewhere. Or gone on a trip to come home. But falling in love is always a pretty crazy thing. It might appear out of the blue and just grab you. Who knows — maybe even tomorrow.” – Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

hop3lessdreamers

Why is love so evasive? It hides behind impossibilities. Dancing around dashed hopes and crushed dreams, it laughs, seemingly immune. Attempts to force its hand are met with indifference. It scoffs at the futility of such manipulations. It can appear dead, then, resurrect itself in spite of all logical resistance. Contrary to reason, it brings to madness the mind of the genius. Delighting in the bafflement of its adversaries, it raises strong arms to show defiance of prediction. Having disarmed reason and logic it takes the journey into sweet insanity, a wandering exploration through places beyond imagination. Struck with its seduction, a mere touch becomes a fire of uncontrolled passion. A whisper transforms itself into an echo that continues long after the source had taken its leave. Having then all power held in suspension at its will, surely the proverb is true, “now abide faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.” I would have to agree, and that is the reason for love’s evasiveness – it is because it can.

Also published in Broowaha
Also published in Wingposse

10252011

Fairy Dust – Just a Little

 “I believe in everything until it’s disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it’s in your mind. Who’s to say that dreams and nightmares aren’t as real as the here and now?” ― John Lennon

I’m the fairy dust, sprinkle me on your body and things you only dreamed 

will come to reality.

I’m the fairy dust, breathe me in deep and the tingles of the forbidden

will crawl your senses.

I’m the fairy dust, take my clouds and glide in and out on the wet dew of 

my rain soaked paths.

I’m the fairy dust, there is a way beyond your belief into the intoxication of 

now and present smiles.

I’m the fairy dust, sprinkle my adventure on your electric effervescent 

leisure of lustful trials.

Last Dance

 “It is one of the considerable privileges of art that the horrible can be transformed, through artful expression, into beauty.” – Baudelaire

“Nothing burns like the cold.” – George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones 

 

sinkinginsociety

The tombstone, angled slightly askew,

tumbled out of bounds

with a weedy surround

Miss Daze stood, in wind her hair flew,

in tears from all the sound

coming from cold ground

Flames they shot, forked vehemence,

voice from grave beneath

a mouth without teeth

A door revealed, viewed with vengeance,

Swaying she was sure to be

chanting a nether decree

A demon red, he stood in great haste,

and with a beastly shove

grabbed Miss Daze from above

Sinister the dance, in smoky and hellish taste,

Passion’s rigor is restored

Forcing open Deaths door

Flailing Against The Now

“Those who do not move, do not notice their chains.” – Rosa Luxemburg

“She was like a drowning person, flailing, reaching for anything that might save her. Her life was an urgent, desperate struggle to justify her life.” – Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated

create-your-0wn-world

See my desire from afar she calls,

Forever here beside me

Stepping from today I fall

Looking for a Savior to sell

A direction for hope

A breaking of the windy spell

Left with a remnant of a dream

Tossing in my days

Hope in my eyes a gleam

Age you defy my advancing plans

Feeling the limits of days

Ripples of my passing stands

A harried cloak of now pulled close

shutting gaps of chance

This my importunities chose

The Fall Of Leave

“pain has a way of clipping our wings and keeping us from being able to fly, and if left unresolved you can almost forget that you were ever created to fly in the first place.” –Wm. Paul Young, The Shack

ourholyprincesszelda

Stepping over the edge, I fall gentle but fast

Everything a blur, except the ride now past

I struggle on clipped wings of desire

Feathers floating in a pinion fire

Calls they echo, off cliffs of saddened

Still I fall, my wings abandoned

A dream condemned only in aviary free

Wounded wings of fate in the fall of leave

01252012

 Also published in Broowaha

Build on the Carcass – The death of one is the birth of another

 “With my ninth mind I resurrect my first
and dance slow to the music of my soul made new.” 

 – Aberjhani, Visions of a Skylark Dressed in Black 

“Only after disaster can we be resurrected.” – Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club  

itsleeaa

I crawl on the floor, a wet blanket of affection, cold in the after thought, wrapped tightly around my face. Looking up through the swirl of dark and gray smoke, I catch the glimpse of fiery tongues consuming my reputation. No loss, this consumption of smokey history, what was built before can be built again, with improvements not considered before. The demise of one dream is the birth of another and dwelling on sentimentality isn’t an option. Crawl now my shattered bones of the present, know that shortly you’ll be born again on the carcass of this ashed life.