I’m like
all the mothers
I’m like
all the fathers
I’m  like
all the sisters
I’m like
all the brothers
I’m like
all the souls
And yet it seems like i’m stuck
in a dream or perhaps a nightmare of
For jews and for muslims
For  rich and for poor
For gay and for straight
For red and for blue
For black and for white
in this sleep
of catastrophe  
Where are we?
Where are our hearts?
These tears of sadness
rolling down my cheeks
it’s so insane to keep wondering
If  this is as good as it gets for us?
Who are you, who are we?
Where are we going from here ?
Tell me why are we so blind to see
That the ones that we’re hurting
Are you and me.

Run... run while you can
before the envelopment entraps you
encapsulating escape with leaden clouds
skies darkened by searing missiles
unburdening caches waiting
for the stirring of conflict
so easy to hijack
as hatred
screams
loudest
drowning
out the pleas
of nursing mothers
as children's faces fend off
old feuds and avarice of arms dealers

In the blink of an eye,
Time passes us by.
We live our lives alone,
In self-made lies of our own.

We try to rise above,
But our castles crumble below.
When we're neck-deep in water,
Our steps are bound to falter.

We grip tight to the pole,
Believing destiny is our tool.
But in the depths of our scope,
We believe we are brought here alone.

Innate knowledge within,
Tells us we're all akin
A connect is what is missing
Our silver threads are entwined in
Pull and push, a sense of being.

Violin with just one string
Tuning peg turned green with mold-
How can music come from that.

Flugelhorn with dented bell
And valves turned red with rust-
Who can blow a tune through that.

Radio with no antenna
Broken plastic dial won’t move-
No songs to dance the airwaves now.

Warbler with a sore throat in
A covered cage in the other room-
Can’t out sing the crows outside.,

A singer’s soul in a tuneless box
Perfect rhythm trapped in mud-
Melody in turmoil to get out.

Envy, longing, deprivation
Effort, failure, mockery-
One who should but cannot sing.

One entitled to the music
That shakes mountains,
Calms the frantic, dulls the pain.

Given only little tastes
Of what that paradise would be
If only she could sing.

Why was her voice given to
A multitude of those
Who have no need or yearning.

Why was she deprived of song-
Of that one balm to heal and mend
The every breaking of her heart.

Why was she allowed to stand
Nearby enough to feel the air
Vibrating with the sounds of it

And not allowed to make her own-
To feel the rhythm and the beat
But not take part in shaping it.

Why was her feeling for the mood
Denied the chance to paint it
On the canvas of her throat

And send it out like pretty boats
On calm reflecting waters,
Even if nobody heard but her.

Where was the vibrato hidden
That she sought and schooled for years
Sometimes there, but mostly not.

Why her mental perfect pitch
Refused to translate to her voice
And became a sorrow birthing silence.
ljm

an embrace without a lost paradise
your cabaret words like a trance
I walk through the corrosive noise
I find my way to your footsteps on narrow streets
you hardly look back at your traces when they erase your touch from the map of time
so painful the hands left alone
you are touched by a melancholy impossible for some mornings
I am touched by reverie, entropy and memory
next desire on display a stain or a broken destiny
the weight of our shadows unknown
a foreign tissue is carrying the profoundness of thoughts
bear with me this heart tarred with pain

a moon song be the night
when trees remember how deep their dreams run