"gyri" poems
If you can invite me
Wholeheartedly
Invite me to your thoughts
And with all my might
An aesthetic senses
Let me be
In my own way
In all the sulci
And the gyri
Synapse the nerves
Of sensory delight
Transcendent realm
Of heart, body and mind
Cross the elemental avenue
Where solely
Soul resides
With the sacred worship
And the exquisite conscience
Let me lighten up
Letting your spirit high
Nothing much....
Immerse yourself
Like yesterday
And always
If you can invite me
Wholeheartedly
Invite me to your thoughts
Aug 13, 2022
Aug 13, 2022 at 6:13 AM UTC
Come Sunday that day of leisure
Between sulci fish shallow gyri
Reel out meter form a measure
Come Sunday that day of leisure
Weekday words weakly pleasure
Scarcely etch decay'd papyri
Come Sunday that day of leisure
Between sulci fish shallow gyri
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 3:04 AM UTC
There there, little soul
Blaze with fire, harvest the cold
Under the shade of canopy
Shadowing overgrown trees.
Dandelion smiles
Roses flies
Daffodil cries
Peony arrives
A billion conscience neurons
Meandered through the sulci and gyri
A brilliant universe of all
The vast freedom of human mind.
Jul 25, 2015
Jul 25, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
i'm lost in a maze of gyri and sulci
tiptoeing over memories
triggering reflexes still out of my control
over an irreparable foundation
what is the use in trying to piece scraps together
when the final product is no work of art
but an unpalatable ********** of a thing
that once was called love
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
My brain is a graveyard
Where cobwebs collect
Through gyri and sulci
The harvestmen tread
The widows float down
Painted black and red
Armed with venom
And needle and thread
They sing as they spin
A chanty of doubt
Stuffing my skull
Til ghosts leak out
And when they have
All had their say
And my spine grows centipede legs
And crawls away
I sink sink sink
Into the ground
And even the arachnids
Cannot draw me out.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 12:30 AM UTC
let the water
trickle past your fingers,
like memory,
falling through the holes in your
head, cloudy, tattered.
let your head,
as fluffy as clouds,
brush up against stars,
constellations of
legends, of sodium
and potassium hallucinations.
sometimes people lie.
let the air
brush each
and every alveoli of your lungs,
each gyri and
sulci of your brain.
taste the salt --
sweat, the sea, your blood.
let the iron,
stable, sunbright
iron, carry itself
with the poise of
a red giant --
both radient,
striking, bleeding vermillion
and crimson.
stable, like a mountain,
letting rain run
itself over with the gentle
caress of an old lover,
who knows the contours and the
dips of the body,
and yet is getting --
reacquainted with it,
after a long time away.
the sweat of the
maker sticks to
the threads that
weave to make the library that makes
you, that
holds information, holds itself
in letters,
quartets, spirals.
taste the salt.
the wind sounds like the sea,
outside my bedroom window,
when it's too late
for my eyes to have
not made
their coupling of
the night.
imagine the salt-mist,
bright and cold on your
face, like the
splatter of blood,
leaking out of a nose;
like a river flowing
from precipitation, mist,
downstea, rejoining where it once
came from, where it was
always going to end up.
fate is a funny thing.
they say that every cell
of yours gets replaced
every seven years.
i wonder how long it takes salt,
iron --
to rise and to
fall,
like the eight minutes
the light of the
sun follows to get
here, to our
little pinprick eyes,
to our dopamine
and norepinephrine,
the spikes and
dips of neurons, firing.
how many heartbeats, breaths?
how many crashes of waves?
Jan 29, 2025
Jan 29, 2025 at 12:26 AM UTC
These words remain untitled,
Unsure of their real label.
Do they tell a story of loss or of love?
Of confusion, no doubt.
So many emotions, yet still no left words to describe.
The darkness in which I sit, is almost defining.
The quiet rings against my worn eardrums.
Night, which brings solace to others, brings uncertainty to me.
For I am a victim of tomorrow’s antics.
Memories and dreams draw near to each other,
The pair, a frightening combination.
Torment rakes through my night,
Leaving no sane survivor.
The moon pokes at my eyes to keep me awake.
My regrets and potentials poke at my brain.
Mistake after mistake after mistake,
There is a future out there for me that holds a similar fate.
The question echoes in those ringing ears of mine again.
It stretches and folds against my gyri.
There is no escaping the poison in the thought.
Is who I am enough?
These words remain untitled,
Afraid of their real label.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 9:08 PM UTC
i ride her grayed gyri,
slipping from crest to crest
as it undulates
into dank sulci; trough of her troubles
mirroring, i think, my own
interpretation of hers,
and of mine:
and this
entwine, it writhes
like lithe yeses
half-whispered, half-glossolalia secreting babbles
from faces wasted by pushpull cravings eaten.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
your whole body becomes a map made for me
to explore the uncharted territories
conquer the lands where I see fit to leave my mark
to seek and record with eyes and hands what is tangible
but I wish, more than anything, that I could uncover
your mind, your soul, your core, your being
to find my way under your skin as you have mine
the topography of your brain is a beautiful landscape
I want to study your phenomenology
to become a cartographer of your sulci and gyri
come to know the lines and ridges of your consciousness
create new methodology to observe and transcribe
your brain is a fingerprint unique, and yours
all the more beautiful for it's belonging
Feb 13, 2019
Feb 13, 2019 at 5:29 PM UTC
If this is reality,
I need to rediscover it.
To go over, the gyri
and, each and every sulci
Search every nook and cranny,
the crevices; if there are any
If this is it,
What is it?
**It's not done.
I'm not done.**
© Ali Qureshi
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 12:12 AM UTC
You fill spaces in my head
I did not know existed.
Maybe you are the gyri and sulci themselves.
I was looking for something else
I thought I could see clearly
and that is the worst way to find love.
Somehow you found your way to me.
I made a home beneath your bones
without the proper tools
and before I could look up you were there
needing me too.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 8:23 PM UTC