Dali's brush, she has
in her expressive tongue;
his cubist sensibility,
laps up that dense macabre
as if it's cadence par excellence.

See, wide open the gates are in welcome,
I am the city of tranquility
that appeared in your thoughts from nowhere,
you may choose to live for now,
       perhaps for ever or never.
having crossed many toll gates
in your long drive to reach here,
don't you wait, drive straight,
the capitol looms above bright,
occupy the citadel most secure
in which a few like you stayed for a while
till they figured out  what they seek,
when they resumed their journey
with heartful of joy

keep at bay the angst that chases you
from a wrong turn once you took,
experience the weather, peaceful atmosphere,
till it dawns to you, the magic of this ambience,
air, water and land unspoiled, like old times,
don't you miss the birds that
never forget to sing, be it
a harsh summer or a frozen winter.
they all make your soul
listen to the  beating heart, the city has
A free bird you are, be aware,
do whatever freedom demands,
if you choose to come back
this city sky is all yours.

The dogs chasing the late autumn leaves
Fluttering down the lane way
The sound of the train as it passes by
Peaceful afternoon walk
The cottage walls and porches
Flourish of colour
Enwreathed with ivy green
Bellflowers, hollyhocks, hydrangea
Scents of lavender and sage
Evoke
Memories of childhood days
Visiting grandparents cottages
One in the Irish Wicklow mountains
The other in the suburbs of Athens city
The free flowing sound of the river
Smoke billowing from chimneys
The cottages have no pretense or grandeur
Just a sanctuary of comfort in the silence of the lane
Reaching the darkest corner of the soul

Unraveled my Heart
Encircled my soul
Pulled in so deep
I could not see
How it would
End


*So pull me any
closer and I
can tell you
how it ends

he tickled me with love
i imagine
behind his merciless
IBM grin
sadistic chuckle

my grandfather loved me
built me a swing
a wooden airplane
gave me a bicycle
a cape to wear
he taught me pong and pitfall

wielding a brush-broom
handlebar-moustache
a favorite game of his was giving raspberries
testing limits
his iron fingers
wringing squeals of laughter sour
under breathless ribs
tear-eyed begging fits

his old white t-shirt
too small to hide his plump
hairy belly,
i'd tickled him there once
poked him where my cousins pointed
giggling

when the kick came
i felt it in the heart
more than the back of my knee
bent from the sudden
sneering force

when i asked him
years later
for a book from his dying bookshelf
he joked with a growl
the last emphysemic sentence i remember
he said to me
you gonna bring it back when you're done?

i remember
the rules of the tickle game
and love him back
for his sarcasm
firecrack generosity




.