I reckon I'll keep my golden fiddle,
How blind are you not to know this is love?
A star so confusing than a riddle,
That draws men in thoughts vast as skies above;
Yet softly comes as waters of a brook,
To confine one in a deep sea of thoughts,
Like a lone shepherd doth search a stray crook.
Though like a scudding cloud you'll think of naught,
For if she'd be a gem, she's but a pearl,
Thrice more precious than gold is to a dwarf;
Yet if a flower seldom doth unfurl,
Despite for her sake, poetry, men ****.

**Ye men so blind to unfurl my riddle,
"Love was the key to my golden fiddle."

Come to me.
             your inscribed
                slashes of verse
                branded upon
             the juice of
           my tongue
     a specter
    of the ultimate gift
      as we allow
         the magic
              to rise
               and peel off in
         swathed, aching
         layers,
                undone
Each stratum of
  dermis shed
       is a prayer for
         our succulent
                     redemption
                        Each shadow of
                          silky cuttlefish caress
                   a plea for sanctity
            or perhaps simply
            being loved
        into a frenzy
        of sanity
            healing in waves
                    of electric eyes
                          You open me
                    like a holy book
              and I am suddenly
                  filled with light
           as you unlock
the blessings
from my spinal fluid
and I am a priestess
  on her altar
       arms raised,
         love braised
              into slick-lit wonder
               a spiral cone rising from
                            ground to crown
                 chakric palette pulsating
            phosphorescent ripples
on deep-sea creatures
Your ubiety
       slakes my naked,
            somatic anatomy
                   a mere shelter
                          for our souls    
                       a working
       of muscle and skin
    with heart strings pumping
                    the essence within
                     Our brainwaves
                                    sizzle in
                         glandular fire
                        as pheromones
                       envelope us
                   like incense
This goes far beyond the
wet cuntflush of desire
beyond the embellishment
of moistened sword
  It is the sacred dance
         of souls that merge
            before even touching
                      pre-verbal animal
                   first light of mankind
                          in ancient swells
                                 of earth that
                           rise like sparks
                the constellations
           of firework chimes
       in arcs of
chiseled
         dark

=======================================
Today,,,I am as fresh as yesterday
My black hair has a thread of gray

Ten Commandments right in what they say
Love and kisses to all without any doubt or betray

Plant Roses or myrtle tree regularly not only in May
Open your heart to all seasons with Golden Ray

Touch my heart where your finger lay
And Listen to the sweet bells over the bay !

My black hair has a thread of Gray
But, Today, I am as fresh as yesterday

When sea grows stormy, Long prayers , I say ,
Asking for those gifts again my Lord gave yesterday

I dare not move my dim eyes any way
My Lord is in the fields, on the seas, in the winds at play,

Written by
~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~

The moon says the final word tonight -
Casual-recherché and light;
She, in the absence of the sun,
Leafs through the pages of the night
And shoots a side-look at the pond,
As her desire stretches far beyond
His specular contour.

© LazharBouazzi, Carthage, Tunisia