Is it the gulf of the night
that the wheezing winds
chafe at this separation?

now all events are memories
streaming in with the moonlight

walks past the frost-bitten lake
the snow, the snow, that
late winter night

I know there is a heaven
I felt its beat on my lips
pressed to your *****
arms wrapped in silken hair

there was no tomorrow.
a lone fall in the distant wood
all the trapping of time

I see you hair spread across the sky
on pensive nights
overcast in agony

there is no chocolate in the morning shop
no river bending
to measure your dimples out
no swan in our reed ridden lakes
unending summer now

and I long for the distant noon bell
song of the autumn shells
or the pall of looming life
wrapped in layers of the night
streaming past the crescent lights

I have no words to say
I will have no words to say
what words do I say?

one word is all needed.
and it's a verb.

not not a name for something.

artesian
deep within us -
you and me

in there where there is no
you and me

and no other word matters

say it to choking throats
say it to the evening birds
say it to the withering flowers
say it to the corners at night

no other word matters.

it's a verb
when we've found it
there's just
no need to say it.

it's a non-local field
collapsed everywhere

Tell me, friend,

is there life after death?
or death after life?

yes, it bothers me:

endless existence

interminable.

is life a gateway to death?

or death a doorway to life?

you must know, for you have
risen from the dead.

They led me to a chamber where
I heard you would be found,
and I returned shuddering and
baulking from the hall of mirrors

I hear your whispers walking with me
in the valley of flowers as in
the mirage-riddled path to the oasis

But fragrant pathways lead nowhere,
empty the nights of adoration

Dry of the sap of zest, barks that uphold
the canopies of our lives under the stars
And we hang paper flowers from them

where? when my call echoes in the winds,
you came and sat by my side, your warmth
entered in my soul. When I cast my blinds,
I find the world a hall of mirrors

Was it them bubble colours
on the outside,
mellow summer beckoned
cold under the sheets
palm to your *****

Speaking lost in a language
of memories, welling up
genie-like finger tiptoeing
on the handle

or how tea stained the corners?
your eyes, lined black

distant bylane of long forgotten
when in rain we stopped by
porcelain, hands
clay-holding kiln-heated

fragrant vapour rising
morning in the chocolate cup

was it your lips that I
longed to find on the edges?

four seasons, etched
in the corrugations
that bore the wash-marks of time

broken - now lost, forgotten
the polka dots cup

I'm just this much to you:
nuisance. disorder.
threat to lives
of all colours but mine.

this hue of earth
wrenched from my kind,
herded across seas
to tend your lands
as your bondslaves.

raise but an eyebrow
be killed and maimed
and chained in prisons
My anger is illegitimate
**** as you wish
and I, take it lying down

Yes, I know of the whisper
in the secret chambers
of your shrines, where speaks
your god double tongued,
all men are made equal
but some of colour
are no men at all

so **** me with a robot
and a bomb, I'm this much
to you, a nuisance, a problem
to be silenced, to be finished.
any means is fair.

I. Dawn

Dark, before dawn
asleep but
for some wandering souls
ask the winds, where do you go?
echoing destiny

II. Youth

friends we meet, those
companions on the thrilling
highway of life
past revolutions
and revelations
prisons and promenades

III. Love

beats the heart this way
but once.

IV. Anxiety

life, that master architect
chisels out our visage
inflicting pain and sorrow
betrayals, that
of least expected
disillusionment

V. Grace

always here
waiting,
with those winds
with those friends
veiled in love
not lost in betrayal