there's almost always
an ambiguity
between what my words mean
and what my mind intends them to mean.

like, with loving intention, i tell her
i can't praise you enough

she smells a ploy in praise and enough.

she interprets them as
she hasn't done enough to deserve my praise.

then, when i tell her
with age you're maturing in beauty

she takes them to mean
i'm digging at her age
and her beauty is in doubt.

last, but not the least
when i compliment her thus
you've made my life full

she retorts

no more fooling.

I'm drifting up towards the stars,
no one can follow me there anymore,
and although you cannot hear me,
I am saying in my mind that I am sorry,
for all those times I wanted to reach for your hand,
to hold it in mine and not say a word,
to protect you from the world,
to cuddle away your tears,
to listen to your every word,
to tell you how beautiful you were
those things you never knew,
how you stole my breath as I watched you smile,
how I held your things in my hands
how I never told you how I felt
how I sometimes cried over memories,
how I touched and smelt your clothes,
In such things are the foundations of a dream,
thinking of all those things that should have been,
for the briefest of moments you will remember me,
for I will be the warm breeze that you feel,
awaking in you a distant thought,
perhaps in a passing smile,
as I drift through your soul.

/
I was very immature
My Sixth sense until then
Could not understand his words
Listened to all the strange things
How to tune in to that!
It would be a void in my soul
Felt a strong gravity
Ever would leave the door open
Pull away the home would have been without

Consistently in the nature of
Deep darkness,
Off and on beside a Chime river
Ever in the green meadow under a tree
What to get a!

But I remember
The smell of the ancient world,
The taste of the salt water,
Think the creation of
The epoch learned
After Rain very earthy flavor,
I would think would be the essence
Of the air *******

But what a surprise!
How do I know thee fragrance,
Didn't see thee before
Didn't imagine thee face
Only I have to paint
The dark night sky color in,
Sometimes wings to fly
Like a free bird,
Ever saw the weaver birds scatter house,
To be surprised to see the purple color inside
The Black berry

Slowly I grew older then
My Fifth sense,
The more active
My Sixth sense,
Like the branches grew
I saw the the ground to make
I put the plants saw the,
Seen Counterpoint to the creation of,
Seen be created of the soul
You have caused me
When I have seen
I understand that
You do not someone else
Thy existence
Is hidden within me-
/
@Musfiq us shaleheen

my friends, my friends
we are birds on power lines
huddled for warmth
specks against the grey
surrounded by the late october gloom
and the steam rising up from the gutters
we are restless and sour
eyes pointing outward
-
every step
every teensy, solitary step
sealed with egg shell footprints
womb nostalgia
tenderness found in autumn colored flashes,
moth-wick sparkles, and fried dandelion blossoms
we remember our grandmas’ knuckles,
chipped tiles on the kitchen floor
-
my dear, my dear
we are stray brown tabbies
bellowing rumble, ears stripped of fur
settled into our corner of the front porch
once we were roustabouts;
waltzing to the waxing and wane
carpeted floors gave way to concrete chill
but now the summers seem longer
-
the smell of cardboard,
cinder block walls, and duck pond water
stale memories with naked omens
we turn to face the chilling draft;
tomorrow
harping on and on about grey areas
while we kick up alley gravel
balanced by surface tension
-
under quilts counting freckles
plasma paychecks peddling uphill

Be brave, my dear.
When the world comes
crashing down,
I'll hold your hand.
You can cry on my shoulder,
I've seen far worse in this life.
I will stay strong for you,
For I would never allow
you to see the lion fear.
Life may be stained with my blood,
but not a soul will see my tears,
Nor taste the salt of my pain.

The shy thing
It's like a double edged sword
I mean yeah it's cute
At times
But it keeps things from happening
How do you get past the unnerving moments
When you want to manifest your feelings
In outward actions
Because no one can see into your mind
Unless you bring your mind to them
But the shyness is like a roadblock
So treat it as such
And break through it

there's always been something poetic in how you glide across a room -
like a butterfly with a kaleidoscope anatomy, so beautiful yet so shy.

in how you laugh like you've never had despair knock on your door at 1a.m. and ask to see the ghosts that haunt the locked doors in the folded creases of your home - with signs labelled, "keep out."

in how they write love stories less romantic than your eyes, and how they kiss me from across busy intersections, and crowded rooms with empty souls.

in how every time your lungs are embraced by elation's vapour, your eyes are crimson like a sky set to flames and you smile gently like despair is but a word in a dictionary - one that will forever be a stranger to your sweet disposition

there are infinite stanzas folded within every corner of your anatomy, sprawled across lined paper in the midnight sky's blood and sealed in white envelopes.

and if sadness ever knocks on your door on a quiet september night. and asks to go inside that locked door at the end of the hallway that's entangled with ghosts that haunt the blank walls. the room that you avoid every lonely morning because you've never been fond of the dark or the frigid air, and least of all - ghosts, that you thought only existed in the pages of books.

if sadness ever knocks on your door with her charming eyes that seem to unlock the doors without question.

i will sit by your bedside, in a quiet room with the walls painted in blue,  and the folded edges of your sheets kissing my skin. and i will open every envelope, without leaving a tear - just so you can hear each sentence as it is dismissed from my crimson lips.*


(m.c)