If shallow lakes hold your beauty in their waters,
I do not care to break their stilling surface,
Water lilies and reeds of wild grass do not tempt,
Because where do I find more, once the image falters
With little more than a gaze at the lilies? Their grace,
On the surface, is all they can give for an attempt.

In shallow lakes, I can see their bottom is nigh,
So to swim is not feasible, nor delightful;
To merely wade in a shallow pond — uninspiring!
Alas, to surface from deepest parts yields but a sigh,
And if waters here were to drink, it would not fill my soul,
Still beautiful to gaze upon, but after little time is tiring.

So I indulge myself in the vastness of the sea,
The depths are endless, and the storms are foul,
But in the ocean deep, when I start swimming far,
The waters are an infinite sea of fantasy,
To be swallowed whole within the temptest’s howl;
The deepest depths will heal the deepest scar.

Dal Lake

I float on Dal Lake
Suspended
between the thick soupy crisp air of soldiers
water lilies, Kashmiri bread
and the Muslim prayers
that penetrate the hardness of war
chanting Allah Bismallah
Floating Islam
Holy words drenching the air
Drenching the green cloth of Hindu soldiers
Sliding down the cool metal of a rifle
9 years of war
1,000 houseboats lie empty
in the Himalayan fog
Intricately carved furniture
Thick with dust
and the powder of blood and bullets

Himalayan silhouette etched black
against the song of lotus gatherers
Foggy voices like cloud of moon
Lotus lake
Gray of war and desperation
Children beg
1 rupee
1 rupee
1 rupee
Endless monologue
Parched like lotus shaped paddle
They throw flowers to me
endlessly
I throw them back
endlessly

Time passes slowly
like smoke on a lizard’s tail
trailing in the thick, rancid air
of burning meat and maple leaves
Like a shikara
moving over the glass of Kashmir

The sound of a dozen Bangees
floating over the water
Hollow, solemn and mournful
Echoing against the hardness
of the surrounding mountains
The circle of Himalayas
Like a womb
around the prayers of Pachin

In the middle of the lake
I hear the call to prayer
Azan Nemarz Suba
Azan Nemarz Pashin
Azan Nemarz Degar
Azan Nemarz Sham
Azan Nemarz Koftan
From dawn till dusk

Azan
4 mosques
4 singers
4 directions
staggered by a breath
like an imperfect echo

Azan slips into the pockets of island soldiers
Waters the impatience of soldiers on the shore
Steals into the vacant eyes of soldiers in the Mosque
They want to go home to their wives and children
They want to leave the place of prayer, which is not theirs
The place of prayer, which has seen death
The place where God was pushed out
In order to not see the killing
To **** what they don’t see
The place, which was no longer a refuge

Outside

Dal Lake turns to the color of red lentils
cooking in a dented metal ***
In the Shikara boat we eat dal and rice
and throw scraps into the silver water
where it washes up
onto the ***** boots of a soldier
I hear the dull gray click, click of his rifle
as it touches the ground

The prayers have ended

i sit here and i lie to your face as if it doesn't hurt you even more than the truth would. why can't i look into your eyes without seeing his words carved into your irises? seeing you cry makes me sick but seeing you smile makes me want to ***** because i'm the only one that seems to know that curve on your face is temporary. they should put me in some sort of solitary confinement for the crime i've committed but it seems the only one who can mend your heart is the one who broke it in the first place. i should have known you were made of glass.

Without a sound, lay awake
In a dark, cramped car,
Four thirty in a parking lot,
We hadn't got much sleep so far.

I watched the sky through the window
Turn into dark blue,
Heard someone say
The sun is rising.. So we all did too.

I walked on the sand
Toward lake Michigan.
I saw the waves smooth the edge
And I knew what you meant again.

As I saw them shatter
And I saw them fold,
I took a single step forward
And the water on my feet was cold.

To my left was a castle
Made of feathers and sand,
Where some happy souls had played.
On my sides rested empty hands.

The clouds turned pink,
The sky, a pale blue.
Watched reflections ripple colors
In the morning, thought of only you.

The nature of light
Continued the same,
Churning weightlessly the surface
Of the psychedelic windowpane.

Though the end of the water
Escaped my eyes,
I saw the vanishing point
Where the lake met the new sky.

The current pulled me out
With the strength of a thirst.
It all reminded me of infinite
Potential of the universe.

The turns above stirred
The air with their wings.
My eyes stared backward
At a mind full of memories.

when we were young,
everything was bathed in sunlight;
we loved and we fought,
we thought we would live, strong,
forever.

summers spent on the shoreline,
waves lapping at our feet--
we'd walk the pier in the evenings,
jumping from rock to rock,
spiders being the tenants between the spaces.

and then we grew,
wild and reckless--
nights spent on drugs and ***,
nights spent on choices made and regretted,
nights spent on violence and self-destruction.

our town darkened like the bags beneath our eyes.
the water doesn't shimmer in the light like it used to,
the stars don't shine like they used to.
the lights in the buildings flickered out,
windows boarded.
we don't go out at night like we used to.

we're all waiting to escape before we become
the next teenage suicide,
the next dearly-departed and gone-too-young.

we were all beaten and battered,
breaking each other's hearts,
begging for an out,
only to end up homesick
for a place we always hated.

the lakeshore was all we knew.

The water can heal you, if you let yourself

                                                     submerge.

The chilly fingers of the melting ice caps

will engulf you

making you feel very small

and very afraid

but then

when you erupt from the depth of self healing

you will feel the warm tendrils of the sun-rays

curling over and caressing your skin.

And everything

will

be okay

once again.