I
It is dawn.
Brother, rise.
Let us give vent to the rising sun, and with claps of the
Mind, welcome its waking ecstasy.
Distances prevail — measured on the sun’s distance
From the soils.
Ephemeral, morn; so we shall set forth early to lay
In our wake prevarications of morn’s trite.
......
The cruel laughter of the soul
Laments its flagellation by time,
Ebbed on the flattened stones of
A raped river.
Sorrow, an amanuensis of silence,
Reads the minutes of the last meeting
Held within dying doors, between
Mind and soul, two warring nations
Of a proud heart,
Now asleep with bloodshot eyes.
......
In the face of an early morning drizzle,
On a fireside earth-throne,
I sit and summon thoughts.
The firewood, red with the suppressed anger of
Smouldering fire,
Crackles constantly
Amid the paying of wages of serenity.
Thoughts and fascination cringe
My breath now pulsated by the throbs of wanton
......
My mind floats through space
Surrounded by its eternal darkness
My impulses like gamma rays
Penetrate the atmosphere of my subconscious
Relatively, I gravitate towards the good days
and sometimes memories that make me nauseous
But the only Constance
Is that time keeps my mind
Afloat past every single instance
At the speed of light
......
weepy, faraway freak under
imaginary interrogation lights –
they sear into clandestine
melancholy
she has tried so hard to keep it concealed,
but water touched by flame cannot
pretend it doesn’t boil
downcast eyes so they cannot sense
......
I
It is dawn.
Brother, rise.
Let us give vent to the rising sun, and with claps of the
Mind, welcome its waking ecstasy.
Distances prevail — measured on the sun’s distance
From the soils.
Ephemeral, morn; so we shall set forth early to lay
In our wake prevarications of morn’s trite.
......
Away from pesky leeches and from
Broken, sad walls,
I strive towards the centre.
Voices are hidden from fallen, spavined horses,
And echoes draped in robes of
Mutiny fly past.
The centre retains the pith of silence.
Heart-murmurs celebrate the only known
......
In the face of an early morning drizzle,
On a fireside earth-throne,
I sit and summon thoughts.
The firewood, red with the suppressed anger of
Smouldering fire,
Crackles constantly
Amid the paying of wages of serenity.
Thoughts and fascination cringe
My breath now pulsated by the throbs of wanton
......
In the lonely stead, there were just the three of us:
I, me, mine
And one other who matters as little as a cuss
Taped upon pine.
Circularity is an overstatement.
Patterned like a Fibonacci spiral,
at the point of intersection, I warm up. Yet
the sunlight. Effortlessly. Passes through my chest.
Looking for a sign of understanding in your eyes...
The view is the empty sky. Ignoring one’s deepest prayers.
I am no stranger to beautiful, but empty sights
Dilated pupils. See them deepen, not ashore.
......