the sky is wet like a mouth
the light extremely fragile
bellow people keep fighting, dancing, dying
a soothing sustance, this perfume fills my nails unassuming
the real & the imaginary fuse & diffuse each other

imagination keeps you real
by chance tears feed the earth
we need the continuity of gestures
the prelude of silence foretells the foxtrot of words
a dream clarifies the windows, solidifies the doors
like a tide of awe against the void

lying on a road of cars,
empty beneath the sky of stars
I ask the God who made them,
He who said do not fear
Who am I?
Where go I?
Why am I here?

My God, oh my God
I feel so endlessly lost
My God, oh my God
Neither leave me nor forsake me
Whatever my cost

The shutters
                      let
                       in
                        l
                       i
                      n
                     e
                    s
                    o
                      f
                        l
                         i
                          g
                           h
                            t
                            t
                             o
                              t
                              r
                              a
                              c
                             e
                            y
                           o
                          u
                           r
                           o
                            w
                              n
                               p
                                o
                                 e
                                  m

I crack it open softly
letting a single sliver of soft golden light
pour in, a solitary ray of sunshine breaking
through the clouds.
I hear the whisper of her steady breathing,
rhythmic waves ebbing and flowing,
on the slow inhale of the sea.
Her old penny copper hair twinkles in the light,
strands borrowed from a seraph's braid.
I envy her easy slumber,
the way her lips part with the stillness
of full relaxation.
I tiptoe across the carpet,
a sentinel seeking to capture the moment
in a bottle, or in my marrow.
I sit beside her and marvel at the miracle of her,
how she was forged from my very blood,
from my very bones,
smirking; she has my spirit too.
The world will not be ready,
not for her fierce blue eyes,
nor the blade I'll teach her to wield with her tongue
and a spine that won't need fire to be steeled.
I kiss the top of her resting head;
she does not stir.
I retreat in tiptoe,
close it delicately behind me,
and I pray.
I pray she never forgets the joy
of floating bubbles.
I pray she always uses the word NO
as powerfully as the age of 3 declares it.
I pray she will continue to run to me,
for hugs,
for comfort from every dark,
for love that will cover over every hurt,
and tend to every need.
And I pray she could always know this peace
and the guard of a door
opened and closed
by a heart, humbled and grateful.

The inevitable death,
once, only momentarily, dies—
just for a pause,
like a blink in open eyes—
then passes this
whooping, precious,
deathless garland
over to her.

Just in one single sip,
you drank it in—
that painstakingly unique,
imperishable elixir of being.

The timeless time sprawls,
spotless and fine,
across the ages—
echoing through undying rhymes,
tuned into countless tunes
on this deathless-dead skeleton
that breathes, that hums:

"Alhamdulillahi Rabbil Aalameen."

The note before the sun sings,
in the Night of Creations—
within, and without.
Translation...
is never enough.

The nexus of time
burst across the ages.
The dew left the rose—
not to fall,
but to stir
the ocean’s deep heart.
Credible, nature!

The blue peahen of the sky
scurries down
into that innermost drop—
it flows in the soul,
in a thousand and one rhythms,
in the swell of song,
a perfect, complete drop.
As if sound itself remembered its beginning—
The melody-nymph,
in the orchestra of the sea,
lifts the flute to her lips.
Oh, that first music—
mind-blowingly perfect.

There — in that single drop —
floats the sea,
floats the full moon.
A blue lotus shadow
rests on the ocean’s deepest floor.

Clothed in blue upon blue,
sky-hued —
forever shading the air.
Her panache, midstream,
remains out of reach.

Who could ever touch
that forever peerless ******,
that numinous, untouchable water-nymph?

Into the vast,
sea-wide goblet
of Tahura’s wine,
all the thirsty warriors
drowned deep.
Even time took a deep breath of Ma,
knowing not what was coming.
Then you arrived — wondrous Shaaqi,
from the far side of the eternal shore.

And in a single sip,
Your Highness —
you poured death
full of immortal sweetness.

Start to finish,
all in all,
everything came
to soothe the eyes —
even the grave-dirt
was placed in your hands.
A single fistful of loosened soil…
You became life
to this death-struck soul,
yet never did you let it slip
into life’s final flow.

How can I ever forget you —
in life?
Or in death?

"I wish I didn’t feel this way,
A love I don’t want, but can’t push away.
I miss you more than I can show,
But I keep it hidden, deep below."

"I just want to hug you, hold you tight,
Let you see the side that’s pure and light.
The part of me that’s never changed,
But I can’t let this love be rearranged."

"I wish I was the light of your eye,
The star that makes your heart beat high.
Yet here I stand, a friend confined,
Longing for a love I can’t define."

Man craves reassurance,
I am nothing different to that.
We assemble groups of people to agree with us,
That the light doesn't just go out.
As if life were a dying lightbulb,
On an old lamp.
The kind that sits on my grandparents coffee table,
My family doesn't worship a symbol or God,
Will the light go out on them?
I believe in the man named God,
But we do not often talk,
My prayers are crude and unrefined.
Is that enough,
To keep the light on,
For a little long?
I fear not,
We will weep,
Becoming brittle.
People mourning shatter into shards,
For them, death is too far,
For them,
Death is the final friend.