Mislaid

I cannot belong you.
It would mean having to explain...
The first lie, then the next one and all the ones after.

I know now that I have been waiting to be found.
I have not been waiting to find.

Gradually, but soon, I know,
The cradle of yours arms
Won't be enough to encompass all that I bring with me,
Or all that I leave behind.

I can only love once I've had...
And will love perhaps for ever after.

Turn Back Time

Like the rivers that cannot flow backwards...
Like those people that are nowhere to be found...
Like the cold sun that refuses to shine...
Like those seasons which pass on by...
If ever there was a moment I do not think I know.
I have a memory
But I seem to forget...
Perhaps I have left it lying with dried flowers
In the pages of an old book.
Perhaps it meanders on
And meeting people on the way
Tells them my story: The one that everyone knows.
The one that I have forgotten.

The Masters

Those Men...
They've found a way to make rotten fruit look good,
They've found a way to make the dead come alive.
Those men that live in those tall black towers
Have found a way to mine the skies.

They drown little children in shallow pools
And hold maidens close by hooking
Their fingers into the crooks of their dimpled elbows.
Their breaths reek of forfeited beatitude.

They have given up their youth,
For the rest of their life.

Embrace

An army of women lives on the lusts of men.
Like denuded fruit trees
they stand tall in their bare leafless salutes.
They are nothing but discarded soldiers with names
sired by desire.

The sun has risen and it's glory is absurd.
One by one, the turmoils die.
When together, we are apart.
And there is a ripping sound when we come undone.
There are people without shadows.
And I had to borrow someone else's.

Salvage

There is old spite and new hatred,
coupled with resentful
restlessness' love making sounds.
Hands clasped and head bowed,
I see myself praying.
To the Air, Earth and Universe.
The words fall haltingly,
From trembling, petrified lips.

Walls

Today my walls have crumbeld.
Into tiny granules of dust and bone.
When I breathe in, there is ash and burnt cinders.
Somewhere I live. I yearn. I dream.
In the snarls of melancholy,
There is joy, love and inspiration.
The freedom of the heart is restrained,
And yet relentless,
Stifled it beats.

Empty Palette

My memories won't stay with me
and my thoughts walk on (in gay abandon)
I walk down a lane with no name.
Perhaps, it's memory too, set out to look at the world.

They myriad hues of purple lust, blue contempt, insipid red and green envy
Float upwards into the whirling vortex of broken pieces of a kaleidoscope,
and in the end,
The white too... is sucked out of me.

__ 1/07/2008