Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true --
I love April, I love you.

Somewhere in the lake
of deep sleep
is an island, dark and mysterious,
entangled mangroves here,  resist movements
where I snake in like a thief
excitedly breaking in to own house,
pretending to be an alien
and find
a body double living there
acting out one's secret-
fantasies and voluptuous desires.
I won't dare to speak aloud here,
where, the overpowering smell of
too ripe fruits of indecent passions waft.
The dark chamber,
the smoke filled ***** den of my mind,
is to  take secret refuge and be one
with a dream that flies me
to the border lands of psyche.

On the
extended palm
of a lotus leaf,
falls
a drop of
untimely rain.

water drop
runs around,
refuses all
attachments,
takes refuge,
in the cupped palm of
the supple leaf.

The leaf
in its kindness
receives the drop,
as it's own,
feeling responsible,
the leaf keeps it
safe from
malicious winds;
protects it
from spilling over,
till the sun
proposes to the
water drop,
requests to be his own.

It goes up
as invisible vapors.
The drop,
as vapor
takes the form
of a cloud,
hovers above
the earth,
sans
attachment,
but realizes
sun has her heart
for ever.

They loved each other with equal fervor, natural,
he met her half way in everything, but was unaware
never did they stop cuddling, still had own space
he mended his ways when she said, something troubled her,
they imbibed the spirit of "Half man half woman"
the "Shiva-shakti" ideal, in the human form, they became.
In their kind of love, there is no day and night,
or distinction of body, mind or spirit
the surrender was mutual and total, no going back from that,
even the physical becomes supernatural then, so magical!
It's a dance of resonant energies, perfectly synchronized
they go up rung by rung on the ladder, to reach the perch at the zenith,
from there the universe looks different, bathed in eternal silver light.

I love the smell of a burning cigarette,
but hate the stale smell on my clothes.
I love that I can’t forget,
but hate that inside me you grow.
I love the sun as it sets,
but hate when it decides to go.
I love that ignorance can be bliss,
but hate that I’ll never know.

Gentle lady, do not sing
Sad songs about the end of love;
Lay aside sadness and sing
How love that passes is enough.

Sing about the long deep sleep
Of lovers that are dead, and how
In the grave all love shall sleep:
Love is aweary now.

Rain, softly falls in old deer valley,
All the woodlands swimming underneath
The steaming fog.  What peaceful sound
I hear, softly rings out of the sparkling
Woods and meadows, chimes like a thousand      
Sleepy bells announcing the rising sun,
Who sings loudest, after the rains.

It was she, Buruch
remembered, it was

Shlomit, who during
a nature study class


at school, had raised
a hand to be excused

to go to the loo (other
kids would have said

the lavatory or toilet
depending on their

breeding or class),
but the teacher, Miss

Ashdown, said, no
you should have gone

before. A few minutes
later, Buruch recalled,

she peed on her chair
and floor and a boy

nearby the scene said,
Shlomit's **** herself

Miss. There was a sea
of sounds around and

the teacher frowned
and with beady stare

told her to get out of
there, and told another

girl to go with her to
the nurse to wash and

change (nothing worse)
and sobbing left the room.

Yes, it had been she,
Buruch remembered,

and she hadn't returned
anymore that afternoon.

Gone home, he now
suspected, in borrowed

underwear, her others
washed through by nurse

who said, that will have
to do; and home to her

parents, mother's chide
and father's hand or belt

(who firmly with either dealt).
But to day, after lunch

in the upstairs hall, he'd
gone with her to Bedlam

Park, and showed her
his killer brown conker

on threaded string, a
three penny piece his

grandfather gave, and
she showed him the new

handkerchief her mother
bought her, flowered

with red border. And
she'd kissed him shyly

on the cheek and he
smiled and looked to

the ground, hoping none
of the boys were around.

Yes, it had been Shlomit
who had wet herself

and chair and floor and
been sent away, but she

was dry now and had
kissed his cheek today.