Miles and miles of sand
with no horizon in view,
the caravan moves on -
in search of an oasis.

The heat is treacherous,
the sand is scorching,
the camels are tired
and so are the herdsmen.

The journey is long,
the day will almost be gone
and darkness will reign again
until another day dawns.

The desert’s dreadful distances,
the weather’s  vicious whims,
the camels’ callous restlessness
all add to the herdsmen’s hardship.

Roadless tracks
of sand and rocks
where tall, wild cactuses abound
with many sand dunes around.

The Sahara -
a natural oven -
bakes humans and camels alike
leaving scattered mortal remains.

A sandy landscape
in shades of light fawn
with deceptive mirages
inviting thirst again.

The journey is long
with no sign of an oasis.
But the caravan must move on…
Inshallah – until we meet again.

Gita Ashok
9/10/2010, 3:15 pm

Lost between here and there
A roadless road
Some cactus whiplash sun juice dry hope heaved onto an omlette of cow brains and mothers stale toast warnings. A gingham curtain on a beat up pickup truck / home shakes its dust in the desert wind where nothing runs only lives

And I know I'm not a mind reader
But ****, I could creep inside
I'm swimming in concrete
You're walking on clouds

Let go of your mental restraints
A lucid defying of limits
For the roadless traveled
is not a road after all

Submerge,
fresh supply of water
Alert,
Every inch of torture

And I'm tired of feeling lukewarm
Lately, just not in the mood
searching for a sensation to fill a ******* adjective
Blank spaces, wrong words
Deemed to numb to live

There’s something romantic about stairwells.

                                        And something mysterious too.

                                                                              They’re a journey

a winding

          a turning

arduos

        Journey

But perhaps well worth the view

                                                          There’s something artistic about stairwells

                                               Maybe it’s the shadows

                                       and the way

                               they flirt

                 with the light

                                 (like I said there’s something romantic about stairwells)

              but there is some magic there too

Maybe it’s the fairytale

                 the something magic

                                  something tragic

                                             flight after flight

                                                                     a journey

                                                             Roadless and mapless

                                       A dance of torchlight and candle and flame

                                                                                                   I don’t know

                                                                        but there’s something special here

deep within the prowling dark,
  in the stillness, these hands
    forage the steel scaffolds
       of pain.

in the stillness --
    the rain and the floor,
      the toppled silence,
    sleeping in the flurry of
      these contestations are
    no petty solicitations.

i want for only a hand
     to pacify unquiet eyes
    dizzy with questions.

i want a kiss to take in its flight, your splinters - woodworks
      of a name's recrimination.
i want feet to stride past
    the torrents of such distinct
    cry, outward, as though an outburst - the stars wrestle the
    wind as the shadows are loose
      in their own leash.
i want only an ample body quivering
    skyward, giving in to sliver
   in a multitude of glass,
     like the tiny fingers of rain
   crashing into the earth blind
      with force, roadless, tender
   with the night's tenure,
      amongst livid walls,
and then only ripples, to pulse with the many gilt days of dozing suns until these eyes awaken to
   the brew of an unfilled sky.

Goodnight my friend
I say my prayers
of the Earth ,
of the four winds
and the rain.

You have given all that
was inside your heart
and have moved on
to the quiet peace
of the shadows .
Where the winds have stopped
and the stillness is eternal.

I will think of you
when the cold ashes
of the night fires
are relit by the
dying embers
of a shooting star .

Only the mountains now
seem immortal.
It is true and right to die .
To navigate the high passes
over into the valley
of the shadows below .

My friend the hour
of the mirror will hold us .

I will look for you
whenever my heart feels
the tug of the
roadless horizon.
I will look for you
deep in the shadowlands
of mist .

I know
we will come together
when the winds blow
inside the shadow
of the shadows.

Goodnight my friend
travel that wind
into the mists
cold and damp .

And I will say
my prayers .

Basically what I wanted to write down I had in my head,
but when it comes to you,
it’s fleeting,
like a thunderbird,

it feels good to say,
you have not your favorite park or radio station,
but your favorite person,
and that person is you,

but you can’t lose me like your car keys,
with that heart-shaped charm I gave you,
I won’t burn out like gasoline in your car,
even though I feel I burnt out long ago,
the roadless,
New York,
Topanga,
no matter where you take me,
your car keys fit in my heart’s lock
and I can’t do nothing about it,
the night,
the day,
my head,
no matter when you take me,
I’m hung up on you
and I like it,

it was like a lightning strike,
momentary,
however spectacular,
love is my working tool and poetry’s the playground,
I don’t know if I still love you,
but I will because I like it,

like a thunderbird,
like lightning,

and I like it.

Freedom
Roadless travel to
Nameless places on
Featureless maps
Leaving your troubles
Behind and with
Nothing laying in front