A soul is all you needed to be human,
I tell the ape,
that God blessed us with upon divergence
when he made us lose our tails
but forked us into different routes
in his flash of magnificence
morphing us into a super entity
but pitifully
depriving you of that edge.

A soul, I assert with satisfaction,
would've kept you out of this cage.

You might not have even noticed it,
I hated the grin on its face,
yours has only some wider space
by God's will,
so you wouldn't easily feel
your soul's losing the way in the maze.

But a cage, is a cage, is a cage..

Most nights
I reach inside
my mind
trying to unwind
those thoughts
like twist-ties
that bind
to keep the loaves
of bread
free of mold
and fresh;
un-plan the long
planned plan
of mine
to choose the time
of my demise;
and sometimes
I try to listen
closely to
the constant ringing
in my ears,
the rhythmic singing
whine and changing
tones that turn
the sadness
churning, the waves
of emotions raging
in my ocean,
blue as the bottle
kept by my bed,
sleep my quest; sleep
eternal, the rest
of death I beg, leave
me alone, leave
me one more night
of breath to breathe.

would there be any tenor to the world
were tomorrow i gone? vanished—
like some ethereal dotted eighth—from
one divine orchestral stave—into eternal hush.

there is our moment played—and should the maker
miss his mark—a flat, or too sharp for a natural—
the score proceeds unwitting—cradle of keys
whe’r sound or sour—and there is symphony regardless.

but if the conduct of those chords progress
until the maestro halts the score upon us—a
premeditated coda—a failed tune—a clumsy strum—
and that is how the world in me plays out—

would there be music in the world again
were tomorrow i gone?

What is it that he celebrates today,
The oncoming of the frost or the passing of time?

Beneath his feet the water
Scintillates with a flame liquid -
Silver -
A transmutation of fire
Fuelled by the tears of his mother,
In whose waves he sailed to Sicily.

Bayreuth, Germany, looked like a frozen Sahara
With the local colors, and a pale-blue train
He had taken in Rome, at the "Stazione Termini.”

She: her body was carved in Napoli
He: his hair was planted in Carthage,
But both sought another knowledge
In Tübingen or perhaps in Konstanz.

She said, “I would sail from here to there,
Like you did from where you were,

But I would lose the rattle of your absence,
And that would be what makes all the difference”!
© LazharBouazzi, January 27, 2018

If I could
pinpoint the
exact moment
your breath
touched mine
washed me over
in ocean waves
sea creatures glowing
in delightful recognition
as the seedlings
of connection
shimmied into our being
and, dancing within me
in its own lifeforce
your mind a living,
breathing animal
your heart, purring
and whirring its sacred forces
into my molecular structures
your soul throbbing
in mitochondric pulsing
(oh what
a delicious vibration
of ribosomes)
Between us, we hold
the true treasures
close, in frothy
                       tenderness
a purity of the expanse
of our universe,
swathed in prismatic color
colors that shift,
these fresh hues
for which there are no name
they are lucid and fine-woven
as silk histories
yet deep as earthcore
your eyes, voice
are forever burned
into my own
every day scriptures
that rock my shattered parts
into wholeness
and,
like ancient magic,
I conjure forth
the holy gospel
rising from our bones
every second of
every minute
as our deepest fires
our most secret filth
our murky corners
our darkest hours
we weave into light
brilliant and lustrous
multi-layered in the richest
folds of the earth
and as you place me
upon the shores
of your garland-graced
                              throne
Now I'm alive in a new
kind of light
and
all I can do
is love
        and love
and love

children all, in this field of white stones:

a thousand twin sons from different mothers

all is math, though here subtraction reigns supreme

I take four numbers from four, and am left with nothing

minuend deaths, subtrahend births

whether the difference is nineteen or twenty-nine, both now equal zero

zero years to return to a mother's desperate loving arms,

zero years to marry a sweetheart, raise a son, or again hoist a flag

for now the baneful banner is folded neatly,

for those whose numbers I tabulate

in this garden of the early dead

where errant weeds are slaughtered

lest they blaspheme the chosen grasses

kept neatly above the chosen ******

To love
you must find
where light convenes at daybreak
brooding

You must search
beyond impending greenery
assertive lace and pirate flower

Below the clouds of spring
that can’t—
be seriously taken

Behind time’s betrayal
where vined lattice
cages fragments of a smile

Why sophisticate such sense?

Far more to the extent
of will and heart extended
taste is answered
unaware
of when the sweet was gone

For presence is!
when savored sources—linger
...in their endings
known—and not resigned

Melted...quiescent...priestly moment

It’s not Zenith!
but Twilight

who drops her eyes!

To love
you must—
must love

beyond...below...behind