This screen of mists waves down by my side, this dark night:
Shadows, lighted by fading lamps on the street, half-hidden
in leaves, playing out events in silver-shades, sometimes
emerging out and drenching you in many hues of darkness:
Flashes of numbers - jumbled digits from lost phones of long
ago; of a home by the moon; on a distant bus emerging red
out of darkness; This deep night, future emerges out in
waves that envelop footsteps traveled of the past, still wet,
still impressed amidst raging winds, into the ******* of time.

This late hour, when
I empty myself of all experience,
you shine alone
like a pillar at the center of my being.
You arrive like a shadow at night:
silent spring of love, you flood my being like
moonlight flooding the room in darkness;
Silent snow of the drowsy noon,
you cover all my wayward tracks
and I see only your benevolent
steps guiding me on
from the door of my solitary home.
You are the lighthouse to my soul
lost at the high seas of life;
I live by your banks and draw pitcher-fulls,
Señora, you animate every love
that nourishes me.

Above clouds that hide the earth
from the stars: slowly the receding city
breaking up into plots, dotted around
patches of green and winding rivulets:
that distant fire slicing through mists
this winter morning like a lamp lighted
to the skies; Thoughts emerging from
receding memories, reversed numbers
of the tailgating truck's plate on my mirror
that misty morning, receding skyline
riding into the frost in many shades
of grey cast on the car speeding past;

Giant eye of the fair: the same phantasm
emerging, enlarging, dimming, receding;
Hall of dreams in a castle of darkness:
waves of events playing out again and
in smoke and shadows amid resounding
chambers, a costume and a drama, a role
you reprise again, dreamed of your past,
approaching and receding, breaking
everything, my heart; that wanton night;

The fair is up, one broken slipper of a pair,
half-buried cup, corks, shimmering
trinkets, withered roses, pecking birds,
circling again and again; that distant fire
dimmed into the clouds, all now smoken
moss-pale around; We take off now.
Welcome to your flight to never-land
this morning, we serve you breakfast
and hot tea. Inverted numbers playing
in my head, some approaching deadline.
Net, 10 I tell myself, enin, thgie...eno..eno..

She must have been a striking beauty
in her younger days - what features
those wrinkles fail to conceal, nor
her droop, her tall, elegant frame;
She walks with still-surviving pride
despite her humble job now - at this
old age, she still has to scrub and clean
for a meal a day: no regrets, she is
about her work, this noon hour by
the garden: why do we for greatness
look to colossal figures or the stars?
Greatness abounds around us - these
who work hard for their survival,
honestly, not lie or cheat their way.

To mama's home, when-ever my mister
starts acting cool, unto how many years
ever to straighten him out:
Can you promise to ensure this for me,
proponents of marriage by love?
I've been brought up like a princess by
my father, so dare not propose to me if
you cannot manage the same and
then shut the door to my mama's home!
I'll marry whomever my father chooses
aren't all ram the same otherwise-
Until de-horned and de-bearded my man
mama's home every now and then,
gifts for every festival, weddings
and merry occasions, my cradle
to fall back on, if life does rock my swing:
So, proponents of marriage by love,
dare not propose to me
if you cannot give me the same
and yet shut the door to my mama's home.

Do you realize you lost someone
even before finding them?
In your stubbornness, you never
smelled the jasmines in bloom
in the waning hours?
All life, your words matter most
yet my feelings for once
make you indifferent; The
most un-equal among un-equal
things, some relationships:
tilted the other way by birth,

Crimson shades that hang on late
on cloudy mornings, cormorants
that carry tidings from afar
reeds that roll over slow in their measured nuances:
wind roars, noon bells, distant shorelights at night.
I sought glory with love in my heart
Midas-like, glory became my gold.
Every wave carries a new meaning
for one who sees life
from the window of death;
How many deaths for honour, how many
for glory, how many more for perfidy?
Ah blessed love, that
- when the glitter of glories descends
into quicksands of darkness -
from whom nothing can ever be snatched away,
the one love that shone before my birth
as Athene, who I loved as Penelope and
who loves me as Calypso, receptacle of worlds!