Having removed my shoes,
how different!
as I enter the temple.

                                                     By the bank of the river,
                                                     pointing to God,
                                                     - the washer-man.

The young prostitutes
laughing
as they bought new shoes.

                                                      Smo­king,  
                                                      with an old man,
                                                      I cannot pretend to be otherwise.

Just one fresh salad
would lead
to twenty-one days sickness.

                                                      ­ Night-time has fallen,
                                                       hundreds of thousands of bodies,
                                                       lying draped in the streets.

Tied to a coconut tree,
drying in the sun,
the tail of a manta ray.

                                                       Believing he was Kali,
                                                       he chopped off a head,
                                                       yet his smile was so gentle.

Twilight on the hotel verandah,
witnessing huge black fruit-bats,
cascading from the trees.

                                                       That cloudy afternoon,
                                                      ­ a boy & I chased a rat,
                                                       our shorts & sandals dancing.

From the fog by the bridge,
softly the transvestite would call,
each winter's moon.

                                                       As I wander the temple
                                                       swallows dart to & fro,
                                                       - the cool stone!

and the boy drew a line
with his stubby hands,
feeling the roughness
of the pavement.

and it is his stubbornness,
when his name is called,
he doesn't look back
pretending not to hear.

with dirt on his hands
he watches the sparks slither
into smoke through his mouth
to taste something ominously sweet.

24 March 2017

I've always marvelled at the human brain,
And the beauty of its complex intricacies.
It can process at speed beyond comprehension,
Its more efficient than any man-made invention,
Until I'm talking to a female... then it just really ***** me over.

There's something about
the thin line
between dreams
and whats real that
drives us all crazy.
I swear to god
you were there
touching me
holding me.
Until i woke up.
and its been days
since i last saw you.
Your dreams
will **** you
faster than any disease.
The faint touch you
still feel on your
skin
when you wake up
in the morning
will **** you
faster than any
sickness.

I write this as she sleeps
next to me, with me,
but not with me,
as a testament to the light
she spreads across my pages,
chest moving
in and out,
in and out,
breathing kindness into
these words with her own.
The object of my attention,
affection,
she will rise tomorrow
to the surprise of post-midnight
poetry, hopefully
bringing a smile to her face
as she does mine,
and our small habits
across hundreds of miles
unfold
to become larger rituals,
grander ceremonies,
separated by mere inches.

Music, the wind
I was a wave, upon the ocean
A leaf, free,
and floating untethered from the branch
In those instances, no longer mortal
I WAS every emotion contained in flesh
A bird, fearless
in a hurricane
I made love with every note,
every melodie
Crescendo, was *******
The music caressed every part of me
from the inside out
Kissed my toes,
as a long lost Love
Cradled my soul,
like I was a newly born child
To dance,
for me, was heaven
and hell
It is living and dying,
in an ethreal universe
where only beauty exists

For you, my friend;)