Flow

Late night
2 am
Woman's footsteps
Echo regrets.

There is no poetry
In being alone
There is no solace
In a heart without a home.

Elegy for an Island

Once I swam
In a sea in your eyes
Where memories of fear and longing
Passed me by.

Then I came to a shore
Where your lips did rest
And I quenched my thirst
And never left.

Perhaps the wind knew
Where time was going
I sat in the shade of your hair
Dark and flowing.

Your breath lulled me
To sleep and I
Sang songs to your name
And closed my eyes.

And as I slid down your smooth your neck
Your skin, it did gleam
And the island of your body slowly swayed
In the sunset of my dream.

Perhaps the wind knew
Where the birds were going
I sat in the shade of her hair
Dark and knowing.

Then I ran, on a field on her spine
And found my reasons
Sheltered in her breast
The seasons will forever be unkind
To you and I, who wander aimless.

Soon, the clouds gathered
And a storm did come
Where the armies all departed
With their bugles and their drums.

And I made a raft
To brave the tides
When sun set, as
The light from your eyes.

If you find me drifting
With my planks and my oars
Leave me like the wind
But guide me to the shore.

*photo by Piret

Shadow dance

She raises a wall of unheard gestures, vacant words, of silence...instead of building a bridge of voices. I try to replace a void shaped liked her with her shape. I dance with her shadow while she avoids the spotlight, vary of the light, surrounds herself with her dark hair and forgets the world holding a cigarette. I collide with plans i made yesterday, colours i played with and often wore while she tries to barge that door that would let it all in and wont let her sleep.

Black and white's good for now, played with grey for far too long.

Ache

To not hear her gentle breath
Going tender still with
The aching of the sun.
To not trace the contours on her skin
And to watch them change with time
As the candle melts.
To watch the clock ticking slowly
And day turn to night again
To carry love like a stain, after
Waving love like a flag.
To call out and receive only my echo in return
And to speak with little tongues,
With a wicked smile, as trouble does
Is not a gentle death.

*photo by Suzanne

Outside

I came when the wine had flown
The sounds were silent
When the colours were dead.

I came
When the words were spoken
When the match was lit
When ashes remained.

I came when the clouds were gone
The earth was fresh
And the sun lay hid.

I came when the wind was tired
When the birds slept free
When the trees stood still.

And I came when you sang
When the wound had healed
When new colours ran
When words began
In circles of the well
From a broken shell
With not a soul to tell

So I come to you
Let me in.

The Morning After

What shall I say to save the night?

If we go in circles,
This cut will never mend.

But round and round
Like wind and dust
We twist and turn and go,
As we must

To find ourselves again.

Flame of You

My hands yearn to touch all that is you
Moon flesh, scattered Kohl and a bruise

While you take flight like desert sand
And unfurl the rain to
Wash our feet with summer.

And soon, when the stranger, that is you,
Departs
The sky falls silent with the sun
In the corner
And I watch the birds douse their fire
Beneath a silent shade.

Grant me a day to watch
The colourful armies at your pillow
Your skin and your waves
And your eyes that speak.

And like the new season
You don’t say much, but
Your tales are true and
Your words are fresh
Plucked from the tree of memory
Washed in the river of tomorrow
Thrust between your hesitant lips
To be consumed slowly
Slowly, like your flame.

The Cynic

I sometimes feel
Most poetry is
Devoid of a poem.

Interesting, random, unimportant observations

I’ve always thought most women do not look good with extremely dark lipstick or really bright nailpolish and that they usually get the colour wrong. When they wear the wrong shade of lipstick, I don’t know why, but to me, it looks like they have bad breath.

I’ve never been fat so whenever I put on a little bit of tummy weight, after bathing and seeing that my navel can hold some amount of water deeply unsettles me. Maybe I am a little bulimic, I don’t know.

Shaving my entire face makes me realize that I have dark brown/pink, almost purple-ish lips.

Old

This is getting old, and maybe, so am I.

But I am not tired, and I am not done.

Four

If there were four things i could do today, they would be -

to burn, to burn, to burn, and

to heal.

When You Are Not Here

To you when you are not here
Words cannot contain your small hands
The curve beneath your eye, turning of your little toes
And pink lips like petals.

A page cannot hold you
The lazy river that you are
Beautiful, you curse and make your way
Through different shades of the evening moon
It cannot seize
The fire that you breathe, like
A crimson planet
And the threads you spin
With the needle of your fingers.

This is for you so that it stays with you and may
Touch you when you are not with me
And as I watch the curtains sleep,
In my cold, cold room
Silence speaks your name.

This is for the time when, in the unspoken language
Of glances, smiles and slight brush of your arm
We forgot about the sun and every clock
A time when we were
Mortals in our Eden
Looking for a place to fall.

Fade

I annoy everyone. I guess sometimes you have to put up with me. It sucks to be confused about little things and memory bringing me down with forgetfulness all the time. I don't impress the ones i love with mostly anything i do anymore. Maybe just strangers who don't know what i look like and get confused about how to spell my name. I am going to be such a burden when i grow old.

Roads

One thing I have learned - the way back is always easier.

Pieces

Everyone finds somewhere to fit.

Woman

The woman is born
Somewhere in the sea
She sleeps till the tides rest
And shudders in her dream
Like roots in winter

In a world where she falls like rain
And breaks in puddles
She takes the stars
In her eye
And casts them into the water

The woman breathes, and
Her voice and soul are silent
And her silence speaks in tears.
Nothing illuminates this heart
And her body made in silver.

Sheltered in her breast
Is a thirst or a word
A question and a bruise
A flame and many wings.

The woman is the sea
That speaks with her eyes
Submerging forgotten cities in your mind
She listens and overflows and speaks in waves.
Birthed into form by storm, sky and heat
Of the sun
She washes and summons
Your ear to the wind
To watch, to nurse your trembling fire
From where words will begin.

Story of a River

A river cannot be spoken to
It will never agree with you.
A river is not a lover
It will never give in to your charms
A river is much like sand
It will slide through your palm

Like a winged bird
A river must be serenaded
A river must be heard.

Where I Find You

Where have you gone?
My tender muse
Fled with your scent from my palette
My tenant of misfortunes

Have you fled where the grass doesn’t sing?
Or to a city where you find only winter
And no one smiles?

Awaken the night that
Sleeps in your hair
Enfold me in their darkness

Summon your purple stars
And let a few fall
So your wishes may come true.

Unleash the sleeping waterfall
Behind your ear.
So that you may reach me
In tears or a river.

Let me drink the moon water
From your eye
Let me be intoxicated in
The search of you.

And when I have reached the shores
Of my wisdom
I will lie peaceful
Like your lips in the morning

Find me
Through the sighing waves
Through a shadow dream
Find me, and collide.

Find me and find yourself
You begin where I end.

- for Suzanne

Some Can Call It a Prayer

Don’t depart
My tender muse
Though your scent has fled
Everyone is a mirror for your face
Where crimson words are bled.

It is here I go
From room to room
Good tidings I hope to bring
The beauty that is lost in the gloom
Shall be nursed to sing.

Mother Nature

Wrote this for my cousin's cousin, who lives in Mumbai...

You would not want anything
To happen to the sea
If you stand still and listen
To the waves running, dying and being reborn
At night.

Yes, there is life on this earth
In things that do not breathe.
A grain of sand, apple lines, river stream
Homeless clouds, fields of green grass
Glistening, well aged rocks may seem silent at first
But they all speak the language
Of nature.

And then there are sounds
That rise and fall
Of the eagle perched on a branch
Sparrows that make a home
Tigers and Leopards that hunt and succeed
Lizards and snakes that always warn
And then proceed.

Tusks, skin, claws, teeth
Wood, food, shelter are not reasons enough
For us to kill and maim
Or trap everything that is beautiful and not ours
And must be used, no.
For a caged bird will only sing so much
Until it erupts
Like the lava in the fury of a volcano
Like poison in the acid showers and the air
Like the cold that shall soon surround us all.

Save them, because
The only thing that needs to be forgiven
Is us.