Soothing, sensational,
elegant as the harp,
Semblance, integument,
covering of the tarp,
Ebullient, vivacious,
precision of the mind,
Vehement, appetent,
keen & one of a kind,
Perfervid, chocolate katydid,
desirable & luscious taste,
Delectable, ambrosial,
palatable & consumed with haste,
Sybaritic, voluptuous,
enticing to the senses,
Libidinous, hedonic,
enriched untightened hinges,
Efficacious, puissant,
robust delight to the eye,
Potent, consequential,
immeasurable symbol of the sky,
Pulchritudinous, gorgeous,
magnificent as the autumn sun,
Resplendent, vivid, lustrous
as a diamond-lithographed gun,
Sympathetic, affectionate,
condoling soul of a angel,
Altruistic, benignant,
warmhearted with no mangle,
Serenity, tranquility,
composure of divine peace,
Harmonious, amicable,
placid as the slow moving creek...

You wrote me a new kind of Rhapsody
But I didn't know you then
You didn't or couldn't have known me
Because I didn't know myself
untill I met you

Since that day my bones are Brittle
Covered with strange layers of Ice
and thorn
Every word you spoke
felt like a knitting of smooth silk
Digging into myself and our love

I spent nights alone condoling myself with sleepless serenades and pauses of breath
I wrote you a love song once
but you melted it
And I took it from there that my heart would follow yours
but no chase would begin
Because you say yours belongs elsewhere
But of course I know that you are wrong

Night has enveloped, to give me some relief,
Now invisible are walls of separation, and thy grief.

Where blood quenches the thirst,
Disloyalty is faith last and first,
Is the religion my beloved belongs to.

I beckoned, red and black robed lady with a wand.
Let me take her by the hand.
Heard of her about sorcery.
Her powers useless, and witch now about to succumb,
From just a gaze of eyes filled with Kohl of Leila.

My nights worthless, body breathless,
Every moment, feeling restless.
Be silent and hear, hear me, my cries,
Don't forget the promise you swore,
I have lost my childhood over you.

Don't know, how these years left me alone,
Sufferings, separation, theft me alone.
I never knew how pain excrutiates.
Sometimes, I enlivened you my dear,
Love is a blessing, and not a fear.

In a melancholy cloudy day, I mourn.
Glistening eyes, weeping sky, and heart torn.
I gaze from a window in Kashmir,
For a moment, condoling the tragedy, sighing.
In sombre time, lifeless, as if dying.

“Lord have mercy,”
you dolefully sigh,
your song awaiting


my reply.
”Have Mercy on me,”
each chord explains,


your baby is lost
and torn heart pains.
With tired feet


I softly croon
my dark agreement,
a bluesy tune.


I stir my cocoa –
a condoling toast –
and welcome you in


as your lonely host.
Suspended in your
mournful zephyr,


I bear the wounds
you’ll always suffer,
the Atlas burden

that breaks your back,
your scarlet letter
weathered black,


and offer you
my own lament
of how my stormy


Monday went.
Then, like a
wing-footed Gabriel,


he sings his
holy madrigal.
With merciful swiftness

my beloved appears,
and whispers,
”Darling, I am here,”


Then our duet becomes
one person less,
As I am
            undone
                        with
              ­                 happiness.

Did you ever just once
stand in front of a mirror
and actually see the pain
reflected in your eyes?
Behind this pain lies
many years of feeling
that you are never worthy;
never worthy of ever being
loved by that one special
someone that you were
supposedly destined to
spend the rest of your
natural life with.

People like this often
regress into a sea of
blackness that they can
never swim out of.  
They are surrounded
by nothing but empty
water filled with
empty promises -
these exact promises
that they desperately
cling to in order
not to drown.

It is ultimately their
choice to brave
these murky waters,
or allow themselves to
be continually trapped
in this Sea of Obscurity.
Even if they can pull
themselves out of this
despair, they still have that
lingering feeling that
they are forever doomed
to live in this constant
state of pain and agony.

These lost spirits just
want and need to feel
like they matter.
They desire to be
accepted and loved
for who they are,
regardless of their
faults and flaws.  
They often times try
too hard to have
others accept them.
However, when they are
overlooked or made to feel like
a speck of dirt on the ground,
they again lose their way.

It is a constant battle that
people face daily if they feel
that they are never worthy –
never deserving to be given a
real chance in life and in love.
They feel unappreciated
and find themselves
questioning their place
In this world.  

Many masque their pain
with poisons that
make them feel numb.  
But, most know that
these elixirs are only
a temporary fix.  
They do not even
know where to start
to fix this internal pain.
All they want is to feel
loved and accepted.

Instead of condoling these
people, help them by not
only extending your hand,
but also by sharing your
heart with them.  
They need to feel that
they are just as worthy
as someone who appears
happy and content with
their own life.  

Help give them a
reason to feel like
they really do matter.
Show them they are not
condemned to a life of
feeling like they
are never worthy of
any joy and love.  

There is hope and promise
for them, and maybe
sooner than later,
these exact same
misguided people
will be able to look
in the mirror and
not dread what they
have seen in the past;
but instead, the mirror
emulates that sparkle
of hope that has been
missing for so long.

Vicki A. Zinn

June 25, 2016

skinny.


I have trouble sympathizing
and empathizing
and condoling
those who open up their dark secrets
when it comes alight
that their secret is of the weighted, edible variety.

You say you struggled with weight
you couldn't keep it on
barely swallow a bite
you got so sick
and it was so bad
---
I must refrain,
as you speak,
from bowing down,
from praising you,
from questioning how you achieved
such beautiful strength
to become so skinny.

Your nightmare is my fantasy
your dark memory
is my desired future
Your shame
is my pride
Your wicked sorrow of the events
is glory in my eyes.

But I won't say that
no
I can't.
can't tell you how I envy
something that hurt you so,
but you can be sure
I'll be thinking it
feeling it
breathing it
forever.

Like dandelions
Unwanted weeds
That sweet still loyal remains
Comforting and consoling-condoling!
Hanging and hugging-overtaking
Our left and forgotten solo soul mounds

Like algae and fungi
Graying mulch molds
That dear and royal remains
Clinging and overhanging
Pretty painting lovely and lively-beautiful
Our crumbled and fallen ashy-grey epitaphs-crosses, mausoleums

Like silences and scares
That masks and covers
The secrets of the cemeteries
The truth of the gone obituaries
The dead true eulogies
Silent, alive and alone she harbours our lost memories

She still clings to my gone soul
With the same love-same hope-same whole
Same zeal-unshaken and unchanged  
Same as in our younger and youthful days
She still holds the history of out times together
The memory of our moments: courting-copulating-loving-leaving…….

She was Laura, lover of my youthful *****
She was my first and forever
My immortal and eternal
Dandelion, sweetheart of my heart and art-life!  
One that still royal and loyal-lively remains
Attached to my just decaying remains

© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.

The roseate bushes watch me as I lie,
Procrastinating with star-cheering articulations
From the standers-by skiff of the season,
Fanning the deep-grooved loaves from my fragile glides:
Waken me when their condoling, the pendent chin,
Tells them that glides and that the hay is waked.

It started as a helpful gesture

There’s a moment where the world always tries to take control
Of the things that you think and the way you read your signs
Everybody reads without knowing it, every small piece of sense that comes to their energy
I took a shower moments ago thinking all these thoughts that I only thought I would remember, that would stick to the walls of my imagination and be able to write them down after I left the box of high pressure rain
Maybe it was the running water beating against every inch of my body that gave me such thoughts that only I could be thinking, right?
Like how the tears of men could never compare to the tears women drown themselves in..
Could it have been the music within the infinite raindrops the shower head provided provoking my intriguing thesises that popped into my subconscious
What if I never turned the shower sprinkler off.. would it ever truly stop running? I’m too broke to test this experiment at the time.
Why is it that I run into these stories of women being beaten and accepting what they do, all because that black/ and or white man is their universe, their galaxy, the only thing they can’t seem to escape even though the possibility has approached them many.. many times.
Even though this is only the first night it has occurred that I endured being a helping hand only to lend an ear as well to hear and listen to such a lifeless story. I feel like it is all I’ve experienced from the time my conscious eye could see.. maybe not continuously, time after time, but two in a row? Two female entities stories that bring me to what I have been casted into the world with nightmares with? For what possible reason?? in my questioning Shakespearean poetic soul voice of thought maybe I act as a healing spirit to women like this because of my condoling heart.
To think this whole plateau of letters put together to create words and my indulging previous shower thoughts, came from the question & answer “you need a lighter still?” What if she was lying about the man she seems to be “trapped” with? The world cannot fool me, I know these men exist. What if she made up these stories and the pictures you saw from six years ago were once real, but now continuously happening, a fluke? Pshh, why put these devious thoughts to my brain matter and soul spirit when I know and felt and saw the bumps and bruises of that girls body that broadcasted such a relatable story of reality.. because you want me to feel weak like the men and police who could never stand up to and stop the things of a man that they are inferior to. The world would like me to fall so unconsciously.. and that is exactly what will happen, once my body is too old to support the strong soul that overpowers it.
Enough about me.
Could she have provoked it.. I could see it the way she was smacking my stern chest when I went about my own influence, after I would speak my bold words of seducement while she was feeling on my lower stomach and upper pelvis. She was all over me at one point with me being the intriguing man I am, I thought she would either provide a ******* or oral *** for me going out of my way for her troubles. Nope just a couple soft smacks to the chest, but me.. bow to such a weak ***** out her right minds actions and be equal? Never. The thing about weak drunk people.. they always do and forget. Me, a strong cautious minded human being, do & remember.. even if it hurts. Like writing this piece of possible or impossible deja vu. My life is a hook & anything that crosses it see, is the bait and dinner.
Meanwhile, learning this story all I could think about is the oral compensation I wanted from giving this woman a ride. Some head.. a thank you.. something along either of those lines. Neither happened. ******* is all I was really aiming for after I sensed she was into me, calling me fine over and over & wanting to sit and waste somebody’s time. I conceived it as that after the fact I returned home and began to write this.
What if though, the story that she spoke of, of the police and even her own mother being such insubordinate cowards to their “right” and true morals and never helping this woman who they claimed was “making this stuff up” to stick up for the abusive man even though she had pure raw evidence that he was an abuser.. and never helping her because they were truly scared of some *****-made “man” being & I was the ear to be spoken to that took it serious. Fools. Is what the lowball Michigan City police are. Bigger fools is what the woman and the man are. They deserve to **** each other if that’s what the world keeps pushing towards, for these pointless drunken addicted souls.
Even if I did care, why would I change it. Why risk my peace to save a woman that clearly doesn’t care to be saved. there’s a million miles to run away to.. attachment is such a weird vice. Or could I just be looking at this the wrong way still. It would take a knowledgeable doctor to break this down and come up with an answer, which I could possibly be. So my answer with being knowledgeable, but not a doctor.. is broken love is such a strong evil in this world. Because it still has the potential to be love but it just never will because it is broken in too many places.

Why so tight on me?
Life...
I cry, I recall
All I did
And I am the one who orders peace
But does not find peace

Life...
How will I get up from here?
They will never comprehend
Why I reaped so little
Those who saw me toil

The song sang
That the Lord Almighty
Gives flesh to the dry bones
But my bones...
I fed them with all I could, I swear
But when they wanted to find connection
All my muscles disentangled from them

My infertile land...
I will call it that
I sow the seeds
And sweated while I tilled
From dawn till dusk
This maybe did not push it in my mind
That the seeds fell on rocks
...That they were choked by thorns
But how am I supposed to know?

Hurts hard
That I wasn't that plant
Whose seeds could disperse themselves
And work out theirselves to grow
...The science of barochory
Was never my experiment
Because everywhere
Was my energy, my efforce, my effort

Well...
They love the sun to shine on them
But it made my back crack and dark
Morning, noon, evening
I feel its burning rays
In spite of all that the sun...
Was reluctant to be
My companion in the league of compassion
Since I indeed worked hard but the sun...
It burnt all my crops!

Now let all my tear glands lacrimate
Let my mucus dribble down from my nose
Let my mouth stay dry
Let my lips be fissured
Let my legs stay confined
And let the palms of my hands
Support sobby chubby cheeks of mine
Because they are the only ones
That seem to care
In condoling my grieve