Because despair is an important emotion to work through.
Because finding purpose is important.
Because vulnerability and reality are inextricably intertwined.
Because strength flows most true when you accept all parts of yourself.
Did you know that blood smells of rust?
That our starburst mangled bodies die to awaken?
That in all the liminal space of time—
Truths unfold in ontological puzzlement,
Amazed at their own impertinence?
For what is anything amid infinity?
And where’s the space for infinity in our small is?
The renderings of visions wild,
All these data streams of forever dreams—
Will we ever truly reconfigure?
There is a silent, screaming, streaming smile—
There is a thunderous rapture building—
Just out of reach.
Walk into the whirlwind—
From afar I watch a mansion crumble,
I watch the inconceivable take shape,
And somehow, I am strengthened in my self.
Somehow, I feel the essential taut granite in me,
The one that holds up the truth.
Today I know that if there is to be any hope,
We each have to ascend.
Find our power, flex it,
And go heal this earth of ours.
If I can’t dance,
My world stops a bit.
If I don’t dance,
My universe shrinks a little.
Any stillness achieved is stale.
Dance is primordial joy given form.
Without that joy, what’s meaning?
The IS will flow back.
Flow with vibrant joy.
Reach for bliss…
What is there within me today, that is deep and dark?
Complex chocolate foamy loam,
Worm dwelling, corporate shelling,
Ruined lives buried in glee?
What in me was dark is grey under siege,
In moments of such madness as these,
A poem is a silent angel of futility,
Parading unpretty in the hall of shame…
What is this world of melee?
What is proven if anything of fire?
There is but a chink of gold,
In each pearly sunset mound of flesh.
What is my glory, my honor?
Through words hot and cold,
I fly in incomprehensible circles,
And make my futile art of—
Today I have no words but those arranged before.
Today darkness crawls into the crevasses of me,
Today I wish for a different me,
One not so wounded, one not me!
What right has the light to entice?
What broken vision of perfection it peddles so unashamed?
What utter lie will ‘normal’ next tell?
Your healing, it fails—
Your promises, they fail.
Your bond frays.
Your words are charred wool.
There is no sense left in our electricity.
When you slip into the void,
When you rip open to the dark,
When blood pools in your hollows,
Is it not an inevitable relief?
I wander in waste,
I shout out in haste,
I cry when I could laugh!
And reach out, still I reach out—
The gulf between the sublime and me,
Wavers some days,
Then dances away,
Delighting in just the prospect!
That long leap—
Hangs in the shadows,
Darker than dark,
Lighter than light!
Just the inward smile,
Just the breath-spirit wide,
Just a little crinkle in the heart,
Is all I have to show—
That the heart of the world had called to me one day…
Reach for sublimity with my abstract, sublime book of micro-fiction with the rave reviews: Broken Shadows!
Happy reading! 🙂
Come now, it isn’t so bad!
Didn’t we just decide to emerge?
Didn’t we just say, we would reach — high?
Don’t hide now, don’t fade.
It’s our time to shine.
It’s terrifying, yes; what if you get seen?
But darling, how will you see yourself unless you open up?
None of it matters, none of the hurt.
Just call out to the dawn moon,
Dance in starlight,
Trail a little of the ocean on your palm…
All our ashes will whirlwind in rainbows,
And we will be, what we were meant to be:
Words tell you that here, this is the thing,
That circumscribed within me is a something…
When you go and look,
You see a too-muchness that cannot possibly be described…
So you ask them,
Are you sure you have said the thing?
Oh yes, they exclaim,
We are right, we are what is!
You stare into your ever-shifting mindscape,
Into the indescribable deep…
And know, that words cannot follow you here!
You indulge them though—
You tell then,
Yes, you said it true!
You are right, you are what is,
Without you, the world could not be seen.
Suppose the way lay through the air?
Would you with your pink lightning wings,
Go charging across the ocean,
Straight to what you thought was the heart of the world?
The tears of cut grass smell so mellifluous!
Everything spills tears today – from me.
I imagine you at least, free—
Soaring, with those crackling wings,
Reaching at last that space of my torment;
Of my deepest longing.
The flavor of loneliness
Is a smoky vanilla
Without the sweet,
Without the usual milkiness.
There’s only the insubstantial echoes of sweetness,
Within intangibles so intense, the very self evaporates.
The flavor of loneliness
Is an intense bitter chocolate.
Dizzying, electrifying, giddy.
Coating the tongue with desperation,
Buzzing like static that never coalesces
Into the image of a connected whole.
The flavor of loneliness
Is condensed milk gulped right from the can.
The fiery sweet that nearly knocks you out.
A trance of resounding silence.
That goes on and on,
Into a black nothingness.
(Tomorrow, is a special day for me and my love, so sharing this personal poem with you!)
Within the tactility of you and me,
Within the dark cocoon of love,
Is a beat;
Counting out the moments,
Meting out the feelings,
With which we confront our realities.
It is a dance,
And a race,
Where losing and winning,
Indistinguishable from the other.
The skin tells the truth,
Does it welcome touch?
The eyes tell the truth,
Do they soften,
Or turn away?
Scolding despair away,
We run away and to,
We sing in harmony or off,
But melt, melt into together!
And there’s always something,
A little out of reach…
The whole truth can never be seized.
Our two arcs intersect,
To send out sparks,
That beguile the mind into thinking,
This island of us is the whole world,
We to each other is all there is and will be.
But for this time,
That is the sweet truth.
The last dregs
Of fasting days—
The pulsing dreams
Of sleepy days—
Is there a secret,
Floating in the moments,
Of each passing day?
Is there a solution,
To chained existence,
A child wails,
A hummingbird chirps,
A car honks.
The world turns,
Our fears and joys.
My new book of microfiction, Broken Shadows is out. Take a look!
The rainbow people will come they say,
They will set it right.
What if you were one,
But got trapped in the pretty colors of the world?
What if you were one,
And they captured you?
What if you were one,
But gave into despair?
What if we are all of the rainbow,
But got enmeshed in the ordinary,
And lost the lance of light?
What if they made us so afraid,
That we feared stepping out?
And the crown of glory withered away?
What if all you wanted was a little light in your life first,
Before you took up the hard work of healing,
And held the ring of radiance at bay?
Were you then still of the rainbow born?
The one who could right all wrongs?
Heal the earth and make us smile?
What would make the rainbow people rise up and play?
How will they usher in a brighter day?
How will the prophecies ring true?
I count rainbows,
I watch the wind,
And I pray, pray, pray!
Do you want to read and review my book of short stories, Broken Shadows?
What will they do when they wake up,
From their dreams of fire red?
When they see their blood-stained hands,
When they see the ash all around,
Of the burnt home that used to house us all?
That rallying cry, that self-righteous anger,
The hurt that fueled their rage—
Will it still protect them?
From the reality of the nightmare they have wrought?
In their quieter moments,
Will they be able to face themselves?
Could they smile at the mirror when they see themselves?
How will they live with themselves,
Now that they are awake?
Or will they never wake at all?
– Sunlight symphony.
Your face is daylight,
Learn why don’t you, to flow free?
Emotions too big for the body,
Carried across the infinite sea—
Your hands caress the breeze.
When will healing come,
Is that what you wonder?
With your faraway look,
Your voice trailing off into a book…
Your spirit is fire,
Feel it. Be it.
Be your own healer,
You – who are every infinity!
Just a collection of reactions,
Just a rapture felt far off.
Awake sometimes upon the ether.
Humming to a rhythm unfelt.
What’s to do with this bag of wishes,
This chitinous tentacle of need?
Words spill in a variegated tangle,
Stain the mouth they cannot feed.
There is no ‘I’ here—
Look under the chaos,
There is no one here to answer:
Your outstretched hand,
Your everything smile.
There are shadows though,
With them will you dance?
Would you clasp close, these discarded images;
That could perhaps pass for a self?
Liked this poem?
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Hold up the sky.
Channel the sun.
Encircle the earth.
Lead us from sorrow to light!
Forget about the sun,
You who have not seen the sky an age—
Your shadows burn too dark.
I will sing in the sunlight,
I will dance in the rain!
I will find the light buried deep…
You experience love only through grief,
You cut yourself and others with your cold.
How will you ever fit into normal?
I carry the echoes of old wounds,
But I smile all the same.
I am me. I am. I just am!
You are one who cannot look upon a newborn child,
In the creeping cold you lie alone,
You birth weird words and wasteful things you call stories!
My words are my spirit guides,
They are healing and warming and companionship,
Bleeding away the dark like pink lightning—
With them I march,
With them I speak,
With them I am heard.
Read this week’s short story: Waiting
It is the cold spreading,
Leaching away the afternoon glow.
In waking dreams,
Certainties shatter, masks slip.
And the question of you and me,
In metaphor and jagged fragments,
That merge, collide and spin.
In the chill, in the alone,
An undulating rhythm builds—
The icy embrace of lost memory,
Rocking to its missing beats.
The deep delicious red of a marzipan rose,
A haze of joy—
The Little Prince, read and re-read,
Affirmation for life,
For the essential child.
A white teddy bear, lined in red,
A late gift from an absent mother figure,
Cradled in bed nonetheless.
What’s left? What’s gone?
What doesn’t leave its mark?
I thought it was all gone,
Lost. Erased. Eviscerated.
In the making of my own world,
A lost world seems to be coming back.
You become a stranger to yourself,
If you stare at the mirror long enough.
Eyes lose meaning,
Something goes floating,
Off in search of the heart of the world.
Beyond the dark, behind the eyes,
What universe lies?
What atomic secrets?
I send out fishing net feelers,
With breath and wish;
And receive – a moment out of moment…
What is this silence though?
Is it peace?
Or is it a muffling up?
Or preparation for communion?
When will I open mind, heart and spirit,
To feel deep within,
The very heart of the world?
There is a jewel everywhere you look,
A glowing sunset trapped in each fragile moment,
In each hour whiled away in noise.
Treasure the rare moments of silence,
The chance to dive deep—
Into the truth.
Into the absoluteness of the self,
To the heart of the world.
Beseeching the Universe,
For light and glory.
How many times does the wave have to lash the shore to wash my mind clean?
There is a secret buried deep,
An enchantment dark and proud.
Here, in the space between infinities, awash
Was perhaps a space of rest,
Of respite and resolution.
The quiet lull I sought,
Not your shatter,
Not my noise.
The dark beckons a little too deliciously
A little too dangerously,
The melody sweeps me up.
Clothed in the lightest of gossamer
That wants to melt away,
I welcome the unknown, unafraid.
Dark and light all mixed up
Half magic, half hope,
In this twilight land, we can finally become us.
first it rained in a grey glow
and the filigreed leaves of the tamarind tree
danced in happiness
then there was a hint of light atop luminous cloud banks
then there was – outright and audacious – the sun
and green and brown sang out in glory
with the drama of the sky stage as a fitting finale
(To One Lost to a Far Off Time)
Noble eyes, cherry lips, where are you gone;
Have you gone over the mountains to slay a dragon?
Are you setting off on your charger to save a maid from a giant?
Where are you then if not searching for the holy grail?
—Sitting in the castle tower with your master,
Learning the old ways of knighthood and errantry?
Or are you sitting, like Don Quixote, in a chair
And dreaming of grand chivalry and nobility out of books?
Because, alas for you—
The age of valor has gone forever.
A duel with a cricket bat is far more applauded now.
What do good deeds, pure hearts and quests matter anymore?
Does anyone even care?
When fairies are gone, and wizards are rare—
A knight for a quest, could anyone spare?