The Talmud Teaches...
With respect to his son, a father is obligated to circumcise him, to redeem him [if he is a firstborn], to teach him Torah, to marry him off, and to teach him a craft...he is also

obligated to teach him to swim...(Kiddushin 29a)


lay awake when the house is silent,
doing maths furiously in the head,
sleeping can be keeping while doing my calculus,
knowing in advance a conclusion comes coined
in only two colors, black or red

the question simple, did I meet my obligations?

and your read the passage for the umpteenth time,
and the same thought interferes as always,
should the order not be reversed,
the first thing to be fulfilled,

teach them to swim

based on experience life arrives in sequential, repeating waves,
purposed to drown the weak with no pretending that waters,
salt or sweet matters, so first order is business ought be survival preparation and

teach them to swim

if they can swim, stay afloat, then they can then comprehend
the glory of distinguishing right over wrong,
get their priorities straight, that saving others,
especially those you placed on the starting line of life,
is the first principle and overplants anything else when you

teach them to swim

my eyes see the tally, why, they are red! could it be lack of sleep?

I am smiling when I am lying,
teach them to swim always first,
but not enough, one must do it well, well,
and even then, better, 
as all else will, from the well, follow, when you

teach them to swim

3:10am

~~~

Lying under such myriad of stars
She rose and started pouring her heart out thru poetry
She expresses her soul in a piece of paper
While everyone in the world is sleeping, she is there
Always been there, writing and wringing.

star, sapphire of the water,
sapphire of love,

the moon, throws
off her jacket,
bares her flesh in the
autumn rain,

leaves melt to the
floor,
streams of gold
and amber
start to blur,

surreal landscape,
mooring rope of golden rain,
as you kiss me
i ***** into
your corners,

unwind like the
night’s sapphire
dew,
mesmerized by
the dark waters of
your touch,

mesmerized by your love.

i.

If I could, I would tie promises around
each and every one of your fingertips, so that
the next time you scale the side of a mountain,
and begin to feel your grip slowly melting away
from between the cracks of the earth, as gravity
nudges you to take the long way down,

you would remember that there are hands
waiting to catch you if you do take that fall,
and realize that the strongest ropes are those
with kerns wreathed in the heartstrings of first love,
and a mantle webbed in the colors of daybreak
and the hopes carried by new tomorrows.

ii.

If I could, I would write love letters
across your arms, so that the next time
you feel as if the world is taking so much
more than you could give, and your hands
have nothing left to hold but pieces crumbled
under the weight of pain and frustration,

you would see the words carefully pulled out
one by one from the splintered chest of a girl
who once held you in her arms, and remember
that someone’s heart still beats to the syllables
of your name, and that the ink never dries out
as long as the writer never stops writing.

iii.

If I could, I would tuck metaphors
behind your ears, so that the next time
you try to swallow your sorrows, and end up
locking yourself away in a lonely silence
trapped with the words you want to say
and deprived of those you need to hear,

you would slowly make out the tides of life
crashing against the shore in cadence with
the ebb and flow of ‘I’m okay’ and ‘I’m not’,
and allow your burning reality to be painted over by
the full spectrum of love and loss, give and take —
finding beauty even in the fault in our stars.

iv.

If I could, I would wrap your heart in a blanket
woven with raw poetry and tender lullabies,
so that the next time you come home late
from a long day at work, and collapse on a mattress
as cold as the words ‘good’ and ‘night’ gone stale
after being left to dry on the empty side of the bed,

you would drift into a dream sweeter
than laughter and stardust drizzled all over
our fondest memories, and wake up to the sunlight
spilling meaning back into ‘good’ and ‘morning’,
as you start the day taking in all the warmth
of being loved and of always being loved.

If this were a haiku, I'd have
seventeen syllables to explain
why I'm running
out of syllables
to tell you why
the doorknob,
and not between my fingers,
is where your hand shouldn't be.
Message Delivered

If that sounds confusing,
it's because it isn't,
and you're only confused because I
proofread the text messages
and you forget words,
but it's like you forgot "you"
after "I" and "love,"
and you just never thought to put it back.
Message Delivered

I checked the date
and you missed
Monday morning in Lowry
and the morning before that in Farmer Boy,
and we've got a whole calendar
of affections that you're missing
because you opened up
to a month too far back
and now you're in love
with moments that forgot you
Message Delivered

I’m holding out for cycles of goodbye kisses
and I only got them
when you woke up,
and i’m not sure you ever did again
because you’re living
in sweet dreams
that are quietly bitter
and your ideas don’t love you
like you’ve convinced yourself you do.
Message Delivered

If I could go back
i'd give you space,
i’d break my own heart
not listening to the sound
of your breath
as you fall asleep next to me
but you're finding shelter
in broken affection
afraid to be alone
forgetting
who you are in
familiarity,
in Her
Message Delivered

I’ll fall asleep tonight,
and wake up tomorrow,
the same way I did yesterday,
thinking of something that wasn’t,
or maybe really was
and praying I could fall back into that dream
but sleep isn’t quite that easy,
and blissful ignorance
is granted only to the few
Message Delivered