Wild Winds

I remember exactly the moment when my heart cracked open
it was a beautiful rainy day on a lush grassy hillside in California
I was walking into the kitchen and saw you through the window
you were leaning against a post on the porch and watching the rain
your hands tucked in your pockets, you were lost in a reverie.
A solid, beautiful silhouette against the gentle gray sky
I felt beams of radiant light emanating from my heart.

It was a warm day amidst the delicate blues of the Caribbean
I was falling .. falling into gentle waves from your strong arms
looking up at your face, I experienced the deep beauty of love
the entire universe condensed into that one ephemeral moment
my heart shattered into an immense, infinite nothingness
and in its place a delicate pink cherry blossom bloomed
I left the confinement of the vast dark mystery for light.

I have a sense that this is not the first time I found you
we have played this game before. It was a different time.
We were in the land of dusty mountains and pomegranates.
Since then I spent many a lifetime silently loving you
It is no surprise my heart knows you so intimately
once again I offer you this fragile flower of imperfect beauty.
My love, hold it gently; for this world runs on wild winds!

Lately

Was it ten minutes, two hours or a lifetime? How long has it been?
Time has lost its meaning lately. A lack of sense or direction
Minutes and hours languidly stretch and disappear into eons
I plunge with them across the universe. My heart is a Dali clock.
At the center of the galaxy, I witness the birth of a new star!
None of this seems to matter. I search for something else

Something mysterious. It is elemental. Perhaps primordial.

Or is it ephemeral or eternal? Again, adjectives with no meaning.

I have been here before but can’t seem to remember much
I seem to only remember a dichotomy that existed in time
A time inhabited by you and the one without your radiant self
Melancholy, my friend doesn’t come around too much anymore
even when blue gray clouds hover heavily over the horizon
and incessant rain has a tight grip on everything around here.

There was a time when rainbows burned into a purple haze
now they explode all over my body and transform into dreams
Love, like beauty can be immensely vast, magical and powerful
and in moments of extreme joy, it folds back into a white silence

For there are no words that can express the purity of feeling

I reach across the fabric for you and feel the hand on my breast

You, me, this window, the trees and the city. Everything is a dream.

Boundaries melt in pure light and for a second I am that pure light!

Kiss of Fire

How long have I been waiting for you?
Feels almost like a lifetime. Perhaps it was.
So many moonlit nights and desperate dreams
and all those intricate songs my heart made up!
I have lost some of them many years ago.

Life, the ever effervescent, loving mother
she took me through desert winds, spring flowers
and winter blues. Through it all, I always saw you.
So much pain, so many scars and so much beauty
but I am here now... in this moment, in your arms
on a dimly lit staircase in San Francisco
and the world is starting to make sense to me.

Two hearts entangled in a sensual dance
to the beautiful rhythm of twinkling constellations.
A fire burns brightly and radiates across the universe
and I close my eyes and let myself fly far away.
Because I know one thing. I shall always find you
by the warm glow of your hot heart! 

The One Who Is Chasing His Own Shadow

Be careful what you wish for, she said with a smile
her eyes shone with delight, wisdom and love.
I found her in the usual place; under the big oak tree
overlooking the green valley, silently shimmering
in the golden light breaking over the horizon.

I have always chased shadows and she knew it
and she even knew what I would say if she argued.
Mystery and mystic have always ruled my kind
and meaningful silences move my inner core.
There is immense beauty, pleasure, pain and loss
within these shadows and they know how to play
the strings of a heart so fragile and vulnerable
but a heart with scars is so much more beautiful
and I want to die with a heart full of scars. 

Mango Tree

It was midnight when he woke up from a dream.
In the stillness of night he heard his own heart beat
full of longing, pain and a desire he could not name.
He sat up and gazed out of his bedroom window.
The eaves of the house were dripping moonlight
the world outside appeared in a delicate stupor
and shadows floated gently in and out of his thoughts.

There was a time when her laughter fluttered lightly
and filled the house with delightful moonbeams
that broke into pearls and they danced everywhere.
Soft, cool slivery smoothness of her mouth..
he loved her smile but quite never possessed it.
Many things made her smile and he always stared
at the way her lips curled into a beautiful moonflower.

His right hand felt the emptiness close to his heart
he picked up the conch shell on the night table
and put it to his ear. The ocean spoke to him.
He walked out into the garden and picked up a shovel
and started digging a hole right outside his window.
He was going to plant a mango tree in his yard
beneath the shadows of the watchful volcano.

For Words

I am mostly sad for the words
not because they are unspoken
but because they are; so freely
uttered with beautiful abandon.

Spoken from the realm of thought
they morph into weightless forms.
Vacuous, they float like feathers
casting silvery, slippery shadows
like ghosts in abandoned rooms.

But unspoken words? They are different.
They are made of earth and water
you hear them only if you are careful
like the faint chimes in a gentle wind.
Spoken from the depths of the soul

they are made of melancholic beauty

you feel them only if you are poetic.

The Man Wearing A Red Shirt

I see him silhouetted against the cool gray dawn of the city
on a street full of rich houses protected by huge iron gates
forbidding and frightening; the wealth must feel alien to him.
He is leaning against a tree with his shoulders drawn back
his red cotton shirt has the texture like that of artificial flowers
his eyes are distant and confused like he woke up in a dream.

For a second, I imagine him in his homeland on a morning like this
he is sitting outside, under the flowering almond tree in his courtyard
his children are running around and one of them shrieks in delight
while his wife is hunched over the wood stove and the dog by her side.
The smoke obscures the scene for me, protecting their private moment.

I feel my heart ache violently like I am experiencing a quake.
Is this compassion? Empathy? I feel the beauty of my heart.
I look at him and I decide to carry that face in my memory
I pray for him and his unborn great grand children
and I offer solemn, beautiful tears to mother earth.
May he find peace, beauty and safety for him and his family!

Selfish Lover

He slipped out of the room before dawn
while I lay in bed lost in a beautiful fog
clad in pure nakedness and vulnerability
caressing seductive thoughts and verses
and soft kisses linger in the gray shadows.

I do not know when or why he arrives
but his charm is irresistible; so are his stories.
He does not ask permission but forces his way
into the deepest crevices of the subconscious.
There, he finds the subliminal and forbidden
and then he invites me to dance with him.

A slow, dangerous tryst at the edges of madness
where a fierce desire conjures up words and metaphors.
They arrive on winged white horses in chaotic order
a blue fire ignites and burns. It burns long and slow.
And then it happens. A streak of light flashes through
and the words and songs fall in their rightful places.
He leaves as quietly and forcefully as he arrives.
I am left wanting more but the bliss of his love is brief
I don't even know him but is there reason to know?

On A Summer Night

The jasmines look up at the sultry moon and smile
their luscious scent wafts in on the silky breeze
embracing me gently, kissing my bare shoulders
and the world dances the sensual dance of desire
in beautiful, graceful moves and delicate swirls
dreaming of destruction and creation within it.

The heavy moon hangs in the arms of a cloud
the ocean shimmers in silent, silvery waves
I light the lamps of clay with fragrant oil
and hang them on grass blades along the banks
I look for your footsteps on abandoned paths
and scatter flowers, songs and dreams along them.

Graves In Gray Mist

They were young when they have died
their graves sit still on the grassy hill
as birds glide silently on westerly winds
on a gloomy day full of rain and chill.

The trees, they are sad and full of fog
they hide their faces in gray clouds
late winter blooms on earth and sky
but their tears dance on the grounds.

They were young and they have died
their deaths left to our interpretation.
Is there ever a meaning to anything?
Yet, we continue to spin and sing
in the same old path carved into time
and we go on living the lives of our forefathers.

The Mysterious Ways Of Heart

I look at him as he smiles gently and warmly
my heart warms and I have the urge to hold him
between my hands to kiss him and possess him.

The moon is a tricky gent. He plays the notes
and cool droplets of desires and dreams shimmer
on the waxy banana leaves. Oh, the scent of skin!

The wanderer with a cool flame in his eyes
and an uncertain smile on his hesitant lips.
Where is his sensitive blue touch tonight?

Yet Each Man Kills The Thing He Loves

Early this morning there was a purple dream
the Sun in orange glow drifted over the ocean
setting the wings of Willets on a golden fire.
For a moment I saw Phoenixes everywhere
I saw life, death and the eternal recurrence
and I tried to will you into existence next to me.

Does each thought have a color?
What is color anyway? A perception?
For you it must be blue.
For me, I don't think I actually know.
Lately I have been shrouded in a gray fog
and I need to clear my head and my heart.

I think we each have a choice
but there is a tender comfort in knowing
that a beautiful death awaits everything.
For we must eventually kill .. kill all things we love.

The Night I Was Born

There was a storm of historic proportions
and my grandmother said to my mother
"Watch out! This child here is trouble".
I smiled in my sleep and swallowed
the dark clouds and the terrible winds.

I am made of fierce, fecund things
a wild child with a storm for a soul
with the deep blue ocean for a heart
the dark sparkle of night for eyes
and  a passion for beauty and truth.

There Is This Thing

There is this .. thing within me
made of purple smoke and umber skies
it plays right beneath my eyelids.
There are moments when it unravels
but mostly it remains a mystery.
I close my eyes tight and wanting
this time I want to catch it by its wings
I see green lanterns and a soft breeze
and I see it.. the thing of sacred desire
a dull ache permeates the world
it is not a thing but a force
that runs everything, including you and I.
A will to power. A law manifesting truths.
Yes, there are most certainly multiple truths.

I wish I could share my dreams with you
wish I could ride the starlit waves over to you
but my song .. it is that of the ancients
from a world that now forgot its language
a language that belonged to gods and poets
whose melodies made fire and water.
I don't ever create. The words choose to arrive.
So, you must wait. Stealthy and dwelling in shadows.
Just the way I like you!

Moonlit Rainbows

The sound of a blues guitar played under the stars
it is like the moan of a woman deeply in love
as her lover touches her skin, gentle and light.
It is the prayer offered to the gods of desire
when language disappears into the night
as dreams twirl and set the world on fire.

The Man Who Is Working For His Death

He said he was a descendant of the Babylonian Sufis
supposedly they migrated from India thousands of years ago.
He told me his story as we talked about Sufi poetry
about the transience of life and the permanence of love
the mystical connection between Sufism and music
his degree in classical music from University of London
the year at Juilliard's and switching to Jazz
and the series of unwise choices he made in life
although to him they did not feel like choices at the time
it was like other paths were not illuminated for him.

So how is it that you are doing this now?
A year ago, I had a bad case of lymphoma.
Wait, what? Yes, it is true!
He said that in a perfectly detached tone
as if he was talking about a bedbug infestation in his building
He did not have insurance and he was bankrupt after the treatment
Now he drives a car to make a living (I wonder what that means for him)
and he tells me why he is saving some money.

"They tell me this lymphoma will come back in four or five years
and when it does, I don't want to undergo chemo nor do I want to be here
I will buy a one way ticket to Nepal or Bhutan
I will let this body die a peaceful death and I will find a new body.
If I meet you in the next cycle, I will say Hello".

I wish you nothing but a wonderful journey, my friend!
I am thankful to have met you and to have known your soul
I hope to meet you again and I hope I will recognize your kind smile.

The Game

An intoxicating smile lingers today in my head

the delicate touch of a hand shimmers like a mirage

and from a distance I sense a thin film of salty desire 

I thought we forgot this wonderful game of seeking

O dear life, what fun you are! 

On Nights Like These

I fly into the silver gray skies searching for you.
Summoned by the dreams of nymphs and satyrs
the moon shimmers and smiles in veiled silence.
A blue bird on a distant shore sings of longing
only fools know what it is like to truly desire.

A long journey through the guarded dreams
self-denial .. self-annihilation.. now truth dawns
upon the heart with love and immense beauty
and I find you nestled between the pages of every story
smiling and patiently waiting for me to discover you.

Dimension of Truth

The woods, they sing a poem in a voice tinged with green
a dark mauve and black envelop the trunks of the old trees
what is the color of a dream again? Nothing but a melange.
A timid blue breeze flows like the elegant silks of a queen
an orgiastic symphony of gnarled branches and spiny leaves
an owl stirs quietly in the thicket as he delivers the message.

Deeper in the shadows, there is a cool silence waiting to burst
into a dimension of truth that is not yet known to mankind
the moon shines through the yellow weeping willow
while the universe creates a subtle story of hunger and thirst
a tale of dreams, desires and the wilderness within the mind
and it may live for an eternity in a realm that is hidden below.

Dark Blue Passion

His eyes; they are the color of sapphire blue of the night sky
a mysterious desire sets them ablaze with golden hues of amber
his heart, his fierce heart of Quitratue spews red hot burning lava
a deep dark passion flows in my fragile green veins once again
and I dwell in desperate despair through the desolate wilderness.
He is fire, he is thunder, he is truth eternal and he is my reflection
in waters of a well so deep within the soul, light fails to fathom!