REFLECTIONS
IN
SILHOUETTE
A book of love poems
Contents
1.The Most Beautiful Love Poems / 9
2. Sowing / 10
3. If I Could Tear You Away / 11
4. A Poem With You In It / 12
5. Adoration / 14
6. Colored Fall / 15
7. Wilderness/ 16
8. Love Street / 17
9. I’m Not A Hunter / 18
10. Wound / 19
11. What Strange Liquor / 20
12. Sea / 21
13. Meditation / 22
14. No More To Each Other / 23
15. Your Lightly Laced Eyes / 24
16. Small Beads / 25
17. Best Night / 26
18. Maybe I / 27
19. Breath / 28
20. Blood Orchids / 29
21. Wine / 30
22. Yester Light / 31
23. Torn / 32
24. Love Poetry / 33
25. Once More, Wind / 34
26. Why? / 35
27. Red Sun / 36
28. Sand Run / 37
29. Thirst / 38
30. And Why After Twilight / 39
31. Together Again / 40
32. The Truth / 41
33. Sunflower Fields / 42
34. Why does Memory / 43
35. Your Face / 44
36. Wondering Why / 45
37. Memories Run Into Pages / 46
38. There’s a Certain Sadness / 47
39. Evanescence / 48
40. It is your Pleasure / 49
41. Lost Earth / 50
42. Fall / 51
43. In Time / 52
44. Who Loves a Moon / 53
45. You Who’ll Not Be Defined By Roses / 54
46. How I Read You Like a Poem / 55
47. How Distant Will You Grow / 56
48. If Only You Had Told Me / 57
49. Why Must All These Stars / 58
50. Who’ll Talk To You / 59
51. Birds / 60
52. Bait / 61
53. Memory Town / 62
54. Touch / 63
55. I’ll Not Talk To You Anymore Of That Sea / 64
56. Mountains And Pebbles / 65
57. Rain / 66
58. When The Waves of You / 67
59. Night Flame / 68
60. I Gave Her Up/ 69
61. Coral Pyramid / 70
62. I’ll Join That Long List / 71
63. Love Tastes Of Vinegar / 72
64. Go Away, Rain / 73
65. Night Perfume / 74
66. Hospital / 75
67. Strange Happening / 76
68. Of Course, To Be In Love / 77
69. Perhaps, I’ll recover / 78
70. It Is My Fault / 79
71. Every Night You Grow / 80
72. I’ll Hide / 81
73. Tense / 82
74. Ten o’ Clock Flowers / 83
75. What Is This / 84
76. If Someday You’d Like To Tell / 85
77. You Wear An Aura / 86
78. Where Else Would I Rather Be / 87
79. 2.30 A.M. / 88
80. What Is This Magic / 89
81. It’ll Be All About Her, Yes. / 90
82. Umbrellas In The Rains / 91
83. Three Drops Of Rain / 92
84. And In That Dream / 93
85. Magic / 94
86. History / 95
87. Poetry / 96
88. Glass / 97
89. Rose Apples / 98
90. Dash / 99
The Most Beautiful Love Poems
Someone said,
The most beautiful love poems
Never get written.
Now, what are you writing,
With your eyes
All over my face?
Sowing
Sowing my words
All over your earth
So they’ll turn to life
And embalm the wind among their leaves,
In your leavening,
So they’ll go deep, searching,
Where love drips the waters of the heart,
So, you’ll know,
What I, so long, have been trying to tell you
Before you go.
Burning my words, so I’ll stay warm
In your winter fire,
In that negligee you pretend to wear
Of your desire.
While in your eyes, in your laughing fire,
I turn brightening the skies,
Embering into nothingness.
If I Could Tear You Away
If I could tear you away
Simple as pages
In a note book of crossed out poems;
I could not just tear you away
Till I wrote you down
Like the clearest poem in my mind.
And that must take me
All my life;
That must wake up the earth
With my last breath;
How all my life, I’ve been tearing you away
You, raining in my waking eyes
You, closing me in the night rains,
Your lips breaking to mushrooms
In the wet boughs of my sleep,
You, whom I keep tearing,
Because, you are the unfinished poem
Tearing my life.
A Poem With You In It
A poem
With you in it
Is perfume,
The perfume
Of desire
In a night long dream
And desire
Is temptation
Ringed
With the taste
Of yesteryears,
And a poem
With you in it
Embalms the eyes
In a dawn
Of sunset skies,
Where you wander
Taking away with you
As you leave,
Even my words
Adoration
After the wilting petals of you
Have blown past the desert sky,
After the flowing rivers of you
Have burnt away in the sun,
After the rains
Have stormed our adoration of each other
And laid bare the fleece of yester night’s pain,
How you still put forth your bright seeds of red
That fall upon coffin cracks,
And burst open in midnight rain
Turning me back
To you again.
Colored Fall
With what words,
Must I turn you back again
To summer verse?
What words must I choose
For you hiding, as ripe berries half hidden,
Across breast crossed wings
Of dying winds,
As in the shades of the distances between us
Every leaf turns scarlet,
Its darkest red,
Bringing memory home to its colored fall?
Wilderness
What you did, or did not do,
What was right or wrong,
Those were times when
Nothing more mattered,
While you and I turned to song,
And lit that candle, in the hearts mantle,
And burned together, softly and along.
I will not blame me, that I could not tame,
Your wilderness, with its waterfall falling,
Or if your echoes must in the distance remain,
And wedge me between mountains
Awaiting your return, waiting for your calling,
Or it must be that I must wait ages
To have you return to me,
Like you once were
Naked like the rain,
With everywhere around me
Laughter flowers of you blooming,
Your lips turning to me
As the sun turns the sea all evening
To love's twilight mourning.
Love Street
What being is this non being that hurts us
To a place where words burst their sting
After they said, they didn’t mean a thing?
Your lips in flood wade, has me stripped,
So quietly ripped, in its night travel for meat
As you sell me all along the quiet moon bay,
All your changing roses in love street.
I’m Not a Hunter
I’m not a hunter of your sadness,
Even though, everything about you and me
Is madness, and I, the more I try to free myself with words,
The more I am pained, and walk on your stones in chains,
And you, how once again,
Though stifled as green leaves misted in the hills,
For no reason why,
You have started raining in me again.
Wound
I’ll not rub this wound of you
Though I’ll search each minute
How inflamed you are
In me. How red, how much pain,
But I’ll not rub this wound of you
In me inflamed, sunflower yellow;
I only want you to heal and go.
But that apart, how without a petal
I’ll be,
Perhaps when you heal in me and return,
You’ll know.
No one loved a wound so.
What Strange Liquor
What strange liquor
You distil secretly in me,
So I’ll cry out your name
To the distance
And the vineyards upon the night hills?
What way you brew it
That my tongue is lost to me
Curving in your origami
In the distance you wave away
With your eyes,
And make believe I’m lost in you,
Drowning in the night fog of your wanton fame
As upon an abandoned wall,
All torn with you,
I taste your brew
Bleeding me through
Our crucified names.
Sea
I’ll go back to that night sea
That roared like a lit deity
In the drift moon
As your small breast
Nibbled with rabbit quietness in my hand.
There, I’ll be
Once again, memory
Where, in a night lit with its orphaned stars
We became lust, love’s rust
Turning time to dust,
With the fragrance on your lips
That says not much
But turns every night tide
To love.
Meditation
With each breath,
I inhale you.
But why, I tell myself
And close my mind.
And then, the windows
Open to light
Shaking red,
Your bangled hand.
No More To Each Other
What'll happen
To you and me
Now that we are no more
To each other?
Nothing will happen.
I've so long learnt
From poetry and fame
That there is nothing in a name,
As when
We sat together
And christened
Our touch, love,
Never asking each other
How long it would be
Before the mist of our hands
In a shape of each other in paradise
Would suddenly turn cold
As a laughing child's grave
In winter.
Your Lightly Laced Eyes
Your lightly laced eyes,
On the wet boughs of your laughter,
And garden birds
Of your words
Hopping
As they peck my face;
Let them go deeper,
So deep, l’ll let them touch my sleep.
It is dusk.
Your small whites, play with twilight,
As their sad cemetery blues
Camouflage light.
Wrapped in their plume,
In moist etherness
I bend to your tresses,
Bathing your face
In night bloom.
Small Beads
Small beads of her necklace
Erased for the night from in between her breasts
Still hold on to the warmth of her heart’s secret dark.
And,
Lured and tried and hung by her hair,
Buried by the shores of her undone lips
Lies love,
Lost in the fame of her vanishing eyes.
Best Night
Tonight is the best night
To break.
To silence
Each other
With the heart’s red clots turned black.
All the gods of love
Have gone to war
To bleed themselves to death.
Tonight, this best night
Let us break
So,
These poems of you
Will never end.
Maybe I
I wake up this morning to find you
Combing your hair upon your left bosom
Thinking, how you must go away
Taking me until the river,
As one takes a cup to one’s lips
And lets it linger
So the tongue will taste that sugar
Just as you taste
My love, and leave me there,
From where
I must find my way back
To myself again.
And you win.
Because you know
After you have done your hair
I want to talk to your mirror
Tell it all about us,
About a tear, that like a tear
Circles the pond of a lost icicle
Knowing not how yet to disappear.
But you’ll by then have
Changed your ways.
Forgotten even our seaside embrace.
Next time, after I am gone,
Even your mirror won’t know you,
For you’ll have changed.
Unlike you,
How you now bring your hair
Combing it gently upon your right bosom,
Like you never used to.
Breath
where will you breathe me a little,
when all you can wreathe me, is far away distance
and what little you breathe me
with that little you wreathe me,
when you look a little softer, turn a little longer,
and you know, how you do not want to know
why I will still picture you in my sky,
dappling you with the sun, tinting you with the moon,
painting you all over, and all over
in a painting of pain, with the colors of rain.
Blood Orchids
my poems are not meant to hurt you
turn away your face and they’ll all miss you
oh, how much; how much
even I cannot fathom
the taste of cold upon your cheeks
the fragrance of your lips caught on my hair strand
the words you dyed to speak then,
our hearts in soundless stirring in that quiet moth fire
as you broke the swaying stem of touch,
spilling blood orchids in mid-air.
Wine
Let me make me some more red wine tonight
With your heart’s vintage flavor.
The wetness on your lips has come back without you
Trilling the darkling air.
So I will make the best of you,
Keeping awake, by the small flowering night grasses
Where your long hair just cascaded past in its rabbit shake,
Taking, my sleep with it, as its undivided share.
Yester Light
And so I sit all night, growing periwinkles
on the small dark mound of your buried smile
still lit a little, with yester light,
The smallest flowers you used to hide
Now breathing the silence of the dead.
Torn
Torn between you and madness,
my only martyr is sadness.
What you made of me,
what I became,
ask the sea, if you have only done to me
what it cannot tame,
the sea, that talks all night to the naked moon,
then gathers the morning sun, all red,
all fresh, in its never dying arms,
and all day never speaks of the moon to the sun,
but lets it speak with its day long birds
burning kisses everywhere,
and i, torn like the sun,
quiet like the moon,
quiet as the sea,
in love’s ageless martyrdom.
Love Poetry
What is it about you,
I still do not know.
It is not in the books.
It is not in the poetry of love
Much of which I have traversed
Getting caught in its mists
And held blinded.
But you.
But what is it about you
That won't let me go
Or even let me know
As you climb,
Turning your lips
To night jasmine
Falling red all over raining snow?
It is not in the books.
It is not even in the poetry
Of dying in bliss,
In sleep,
What it is to be,
Lost in the fragrance of your hair
As sheep, in forests deep,
And the shepherd, bereaved calling,
For love to return,
In the wild dusk air.
Once More, Wind
Once more, wind,
Blow her to me.
Though she’ll say it was me
Knowing too well it was she,
Let her lie;
Among the flowers that pretend to live
But die,
I’ll take her as she was meant to be.
But blow her once more
So she’ll know,
Once again to hide
In mountain mists that she herself denied.
She’ll still be what she has been to me,
Monumentally,
Love’s epitome.
So blow her, my wind,
Still let her be
The grand pride she was,
A sweetness of transience,
For eternity.
Why?
Take heart,
As you take my heart.
Take it, you know
The mind is a passion store.
It opens me to you
As it whispers adieu
Wet all over you,
Your face, my beautiful coffin
At love’s door.
Red Sun
It is better
To build her sea around you
Than to let her in;
For the waves she makes with her eyes
Can maroon the night stars that keep awake;
It is better that she does not see
How blind she made you to be
Feeling her thoughts as though they were flesh
Knowing her smiles to pierce you to the bone;
Better let her sail as she pretends,
That she steers towards you,
But she can’t care less, though she says yes
Build her the sea that locks you in
Where the slowly dying sun reds.
Sand Run
Where the waters of the heart recede,
The sand runs deep.
Where you stood is now far away,
Where you gazed is sleep.
There comes a time when the water rises,
So near, that the night moon will drink from it.
Such was ours.
But the rising tide must fall,
Even the sea,
Even the nectarine sea that came so close,
And tossed all over as though it would not part.
Love, even the sea departs.
Thirst
She who gave love
And let your river dry,
Does she know?
It thirsts, it pains,
It dries,
But my earth still lies naked for eons
For her to flow back again.
And Why After Twilight
And why after twilight must it be
That the stars share among them
The secrets of your silence?
From this long, as you become lost time
My measure of you closes
In the distance you left untouched
Between you and me.
Why in the night, in my late sleep,
Did you wake me up,
Nectar’d' in your bloom
Aloft your closed eyelids?
And from here now,
From where you know me no more,
There you are,
Smiling at me again,
Saying you'll beckon me
The way true beckoning is meant to be,
Over, and over again.
But I’ve lost your kisses
Like a rich man who has lost his gold,
I’ve lost your smiles
Like a beggar who has lost his alms,
But I was traveling by light,
A black ride through it all,
Like water drops on your hair,
Left wet, to dry
After you returned home,
From our wild rain.
Together Again
If love is another name for pain
Why are we together again?
Why, but I,
I'll still cherish the bloom
In the rain,
Now falling over you and me,
Leaving us timeless,
Entombed.
The Truth
Sure I’ll tell the evening sun
To spread its sunset on your hands
And I’ll speak to the morning rose
All about your lips last night
That turned me to colors of its light
And I’ll tell me another hundred times
What I’ll only tell you once;
The truth that sheds all lies like leaves
That upon you my sunset must not be;
And like late orange on your hands
Must turn me back to blood
Till I turn into that sea
That in its wave shall lift me quietly
And taint me in the small dark of your eyes.
Sunflower Fields
Maybe by now I should know
Why off and on you burn,
Turning me into sunflower fields.
My small blood flowers yield, either way
As you turn, my little fern.
And just say, you’ll heal my burn,
As you flock me, unlock me.
You, my gift of urn, auburn, will I ever learn,
That I present, belong to the past,
Your divided light, a trespass in your eyes
Travelling light years all night
Gathering for you, sunflowers
In a memory of air,
Every time you let down
Your flowing hair.
Why does Memory
Why does memory
Pretend you are tame
Painting all over me
Your wild laughter
Elusive as fame
Breaking to morning flower
The night bud of your name?
Your Face
Your face
Crowds my mind.
So much mist,
That I disappear in it.
Wondering Why
Sadder than fishes
Hauled up from the water
That makes them wonder what suddenly
Happened to all that sea
That was all about them;
Sadder than fishes caught in the net
Are your memories upon my eyelids
Perched in my sleep, gasping,
Turning over to die,
Wondering why.
Memories Run Into Pages
Memories run into pages.
Maybe it’s because
They have to write about your eyes
That’ll not stop with ages.
Maybe it’s because
They bring to eventide
Twilight,
And colors upon beach sands
That with each wave turns and rages…
Maybe it’s because,
They touched you,
Gave birth to softness,
And all....
...all that coldness.
There’s a Certain Sadness
There’s a certain sadness
With which my joy turns to her;
And I tell myself, go away happiness,
She knows the game she is playing to win
Cutting one into two.
She has a way with lips; they cut ice
Throw the stillness of her breath upon your face
And into time torn distances;
And perhaps it’s just that she won’t tell you
That you are caught in her snare
Or of her kisses that share her passion
That glides down like the kitchen knife;
Perhaps I am reading
Much too much meaning; falling in madness
Into the nearness of her night perfume,
That she brings all bathed and fresh and ready for love
As she shuts off the lights; Bringing
My world to stars and darkness.
Evanescence
Why must your evanescence still me
As it fills me, and feathers me
Into a nothing bird?
Yes, you were, once, the breather of words.
Now you are its wreather.
Why must your effervescence mist
My deceased mountains of love,
Already sunk deep in eons of lost oceans?
Why, must your grip,
In which I slip, take me to secret metaphors of death,
All under, and over?
Take me as I am, where I am left,
In petals of your non being where I, bereft,
Search night dew,
All over earth,
For you.
It Is Your Pleasure
It is your pleasure,
it is my pain,
that I wait for you with my pitcher
every time you rain
knowing you won’t fill me
though you’ll pretend not to go
knowing you’ll pretend
that with you
my pitcher overflows.
But what if it gives you pleasure,
what fills in me with pain,
that you know but will still pretend
that it is after all rain,
and after all,
it is like water
this thing called love
that rains,
that fills the earth while going under
and never comes up again.
Lost Earth
The smell is strong, of the juice of cut words
And in such aroma, one would find how much we
To each other, still belong.
Why now, why at all
Have I lost me when you found me
Scythed among freshly mowed forget me nots?
Fall
I have nothing to say.
You have left me wordless.
One more leaf,
I thought would turn it back auburn
Gold and chocolate in the fall.
But that was not to be at all.
Because what came was wordless
Flaming dark forests, and must fall
Before the colors of Fall.
In Time
In time you’ll wear my gift
Though you will not wear me now.
Though you will not look again
As though unhappy in this terrain
You’ll know it has its flowers.
Maybe you won’t search again
Maybe you won’t wait,
But in time you’ll find
From this sleep of forgetting
When you wake
My gift, all over you,
My gift to the world, that was you.
Who Loves a Moon
Who loves a moon
Loves a woman;
She has your nights in her eyes
Who asks you to stay
Knowing she must go away.
Who loves that woman
Loves the moon,
The late nights starring in her eyes.
Though she is the distance
She’s still the nearest in light years,
Who is as far as the merciful flower
That blossoms in mid night hour
In a celebration of light
Of all those gathered, dying stars.
You Who Will Not Be Defined By Roses
You who will not be defined by roses,
Yet takes me apart petal by petal,
And lets the heart turn beast
Wandering in that jungle of never return…
You who’ll not be taken in by light
But sets aflame the submerged magic mountain
And binds with the ring of time’s mystical mist
Until the coming of death’s dark sun;
You, who sheds my life’s nights to full moon pieces
Pretending that you make me whole.
How I Read You Like a Poem
First, I’ll read the lines in your hand.
The head line, the heart line,
My lifeline, I close, knowing, it’ll
Jump start in yours.
Then I’ll concentrate on your eyes.
How blue they look as though the clouds
Could pierce them, as I move in them like late jet flights.
They’ll do to hypnotize.
Your small lotus garden, your beehive,
Its murmur of night bees that are eternally awake.
The tender village folk of your hair
Smoking a joint of the crescent moon
Huddling close to the night fire.
And then I underline your face,
With its mesmerizing couplet of love.
How I read you like a poem,
Knowing there is something terrible I have missed.
And so, must start all over again.
How distant will you grow
How distant will you grow,
timeless upon me as mountains of snow?
How far away from me can you be
hiding among exotic mushrooms of memory?
All you can do, is hide awhile like pain,
that will come again.
All I can do is open into rain
like a window atop the mountains
and let you in,
as you leave, like mist.
If Only You Had Told Me
If only you had told me
that love has the wilderness of green grapes,
that much of its bitterness that now bleeds
has its own sweet ways of drying up in time.
If only you had stayed
like the water snake that stays, braving the ancient floods
with its tiny hood beautifully raised over water,
bending under only in times of rain;
if only I knew
that you too are colored, pink, yellow, and bright red,
like four o’ clock flowers that tread
and spread, nostalgic,
cherishing, the wet earth with their fragrance of wounds.
Why Must All These Stars
Why must all these stars
so rich with light,
turn me poor tonight?
Each star, like you, has this habit
of biting the blue nails of sky.
Your hair, born of darkness,
will be of some use tonight.
I’ll use it, I’ll use it
to draw in my window blinds.
Who’ll Talk To You
Who’ll talk to you of love,
the way I do, tell me, who’ll walk
who else, like the ant upon a wet stalk
all morning going down,
all evening turning back to where
it came from, and back to where it left,
who’ll walk the talk, who’ll walk,
all quite endearing, and send feelers
all about, who’ll be along, like this,
like a boat unsettled all its life
in the water’s kiss; yet being there
longing, with this untired lingering,
just to sob and bob about there
in a small world called thirst
that cannot be painted even on you or elsewhere;
who else; who; tell me, do you know
that boat, that ant, that kiss, that water,
who else will talk to you of love
with that faith that fills, floods,
and overflows your shrine
without you.
Birds
And in your eyes
my citadels rise
and there they cry
my birds
longing for words
as though they knew it all,
but so long chose to hide,
but now would now tell;
how in that meeting
of each other's eyes
sprung joy
that fell,
raking up again,
the tragedy
of it all.
Bait
Even if I named that last fish in the ocean
after her name and called her over again
over water
she would never admit
having heard me calling
out to her; Love is a perhaps fish
that makes you think she is yours to catch
a last fish wild and tame looking;
and with uncertainty gathering around
turning to meat, in a shelter of brine,
swimming all undeterred,
baiting me, to sing her name.
Memory Town
If you will still pretend
That I meant nothing to you,
Maybe you really mean it
And it’ll take me
A little time to wake
From my slumber that was you;
Your eyes, its blues, your face,
As I surf the waves
Of your laughter
And reach the shore,
Of love’s vineyards,
Its lost people drinking to forget,
Watching sundown
In memory town.
Touch
Crazy me.
I have touched so many hands.
But why is it that just your touch
is still abloom in my mind?
Why does that silence
Of my touch over your red bangles
Send a river down my spine,
Such that I shall not sleep tonight,
And must lie awake
To sounds of silence
Red bangled upon your hand,
red, red, all over my mind.
I’ll Not Talk To You Anymore Of That Sea
I’ll not talk to you anymore of that sea,
or of mighty things, that overpower us with such lightness.
Perhaps that blue cannot be explained. It has a density
of the salt of kisses, that come back again and again
with a circling memory of fishes.
I’ll not want you to dance to that tune
of rain that wants the rainbow to bend,
and yield all her naked fruit like a woman in love.
It is better to hide, it is better to hide,
what I have for you, that you know I have,
and pretend you know you won’t know, nor will ever find.
Call it what you want to, call it a covered flame,
that burns the heart and pretends it was just a game.
But I’ll still call it the sea, the blue sea, the sea I’ll no longer
talk to you about, nor wonder if you’ll even care
for you have put me down, with the salt of kisses
covered me in flames,
and set me in that sea, in the circle of your quiet fishes.
Mountains And Pebbles
Though I have traveled mountains,
I’d still like to be remembered by the pebbles,
each pebble, washed in time
so clear with your face.
Rain
What makes a poem maker?
Not everyone. But someone like you
who sings in the street, as he passes by in his journey;
And that is strange,
He cannot stop or look
again, but, someone like you,
has his heart sucked inside,
with just one look,
that fills the skies,
and it rains, and rains, and rains.
When the Waves Of You
when the waves of you hit my shore and retreat,
maybe you don’t know you made me wet and I am waiting
because you turned my hot brown sand to color
of blood, rubies, and flesh,
because you made me wet.
is it wrong that I wait for another wavy coolness?
Tell me that I am wrong, as you come back to hit me,
with your foam, deep foaming all over as though you’ll do it for ever
for me, but you will only listen to the night moon,
and so you must go, but you must truly be the one,
that’s why I’m sloping down,
to you, so when you map me wet, and I let you,
when you take away my tears, and it looks as though I have not cried,
and I let the sun burn me back to brown
till you come back again
turning me the color of blood.
Night Flame
I must try hard to face that fire
though you will not tire
your magic to show
how you easily disappear
pulling my heart down with a simplicity
of ships, that go down in the ocean,
filled with cries, and shutting down lights,
that hold memory in time’s premonition.
I must try hard, with this night flame you bring
in uncarried fragrance of burning,
eternal for even a night, this colour with which you bathe
my dark shadow, waiting, as though,
nothing can fill you, as much as you’ll fill these lost meadows
of transience, that I build, with not even a flower to call my own,
but it is again your night flame
as I hear the cries going down,
that I can’t shake away now,
singeing in time’s immortality
ephemeral all over me.
I Gave Her Up
I buried her quietly,
laying upon her bright red and white periwinkles
and planted upon her
pink china roses.
But poet-heart she,
so used to this before
without any warning
she rose again from the dead.
Coral Pyramid
And after that,
and after that, after all that
it is still, what between you and me
cannot be still,
in secret waters,
after all that, and after all that,
submerged,
a pyramid of coral piled up,
each coral, a thought of you,
raised coral on coral,
poised to beauty’s perfection
and laid bare to the centuries,
hallowed, unknown.
I’ll Join That Long List
I’ll join that long list,
Dante, Keats, and mourning.
Because you could, but did not want,
and you turned my poetry
to timeless mist.
Love Tastes of Vinegar
Love tastes of vinegar
And the kiss upon your eyes,
The salt of your words
With your laughter, spiced.
Love smells of your hair,
A small black snake upon my palm
That I curl, and tame into
A poisonless flame
Breathing in my hand,
As I turn to your face
Letting in between us
A little rain of bliss
Before the colorful sundown
Lighting up the entire beach.
Go away, Rain
Go away rain.
You only fall,
to let in her memory again.
Though she won’t call
though she wishes she would
why do you fall, if only to recall
a girl s lost in time, in vain.
Go away rain, from my window.
Fall on the roses, that are dying tonight,
fall on death mounds of those who died longing for love
all their life, you’ll find them everywhere,
and not just by my window.
Night Perfume
After I die, once again, the flower plant I planted by our home
will bloom and spread its fragrance all around. It’ll remind you of me and how you denied me, when once, all of me was yours.
But you must not worry, I will not care. Just put out the light,
promise the white flowers that you were right, let free your long wet hair and enjoy the night long perfume.
Hospital
How come,
you’ll not admit me?
Love is a hospital,
where I need a bed
with just you
by my side.
Strange Happening
This is a strange happening.
Something I was not prepared for
That you would come into my life
swimming on,
my river fish
entering the sea.
Of Course, To Be In Love
Of course, to be in love
Is to run around wanton
Among the bright green
All over color,
Among the mossed pebbles,
And lit coral,
Like fishes that play in their small aquarium,
Not sensing that they are caught.
To love is to linger in freedom
In borrowed waters.
Perhaps, I’ll Recover
Perhaps I’ll soon recover.
I’ll be healthy with no trace of you.
No more words of longing,
No thought of your lips fruiting,
And your memory will only be
A riverless bridge for me to cross.
Until then, until then,
I must be content, and in utter calm,
Take by spoonfuls,
The mystery of your indifference.
It is my Fault
it’s all my fault.
I should have sooner cried a halt.
But I let you play over me
as a dew drop upon a lotus leaf,
letting you play your game
of pride after a fall.
Every Night You Grow
Every night you grow
Pinching my desire.
By morning before my eyes
You are twilight bloom.
I’ll Hide
I’ll hide.
I’ll take the help of the moonlight
becoming ecstasy over the night sea.
What else can I do
to turn to ecstasy
without you?
Tense
The earth has no answer.
I am at a loss.
I do not know,
but every time you appear
you have my present tense
disappear.
Ten o’ Clock Flowers
10 o’clock flowers,
With your face in different colours.
They stay bright,
And in that sky perfume,
A small wind, petal by petal,
Colours the dust.
What Is This?
What is this that we are trying to tell each other
is not between us?
That, each time we meet each other
the rain turns on,
bathing us,
burning us in the dark?
If Someday You’d Like To Tell
If someday you would like to tell
how the waters of your heart rise and swell
only to fall back like a ribbon of moon
into the quiet clouds that befell,
pregnant with love’s brimming solitudes,
If someday you would like to share
your secret, so you’ll let me be,
happy like you in love’s mourning, a secret
you could share with the earth as well,
so those in love, will know the art,
how the heart, must fold and depart
one by one, and learn to shed,
such that love’s pretense, turns
as your face, into time’s lost transcendence.
You Wear an Aura
You wear an aura
I’ll not understand.
The beauty of Love’s flora
in clay; in magnificent
lotus sands;
and in such plethora
that makes me grand,
you break me in ways
you’ll l never let me
understand.
Where Else Would I Rather Be
Where else would I rather be,
but where you’ll never find me
a drop of dew,
in deep navel darkness
lost in you.
12.30 A.M.
It is 12.30 am.
But to me
you are still
last night.
What is this Magic
What is this magic
That my silent birds
fly to your voice?
This is tragic.
That we are still flying
Extinct skies.
It’ll Be All About Her, Yes
It’ll be all about her, yes.
What else can my best poem be,
It’ll have the taste of cherries.
It’ll remind generations of the softness of sleep
Yearned for, after we met,
The whisper of olive trees of Gethsemane,
It’ll be my best poem. It’ll have all of her,
Made completely without her,
Writ in her menstrual blood,
Flowing down love’s loss.
Umbrellas In The Rains
I see you.
You see me.
Our memories go by
Without umbrellas
In the rains.
Three Drops Of Rain
Three drops of rain
Are a lot of pain.
They bring you and me
Together again.
And In That Dream
And in that dream
You flowed like celluloid.
And in that dream,
Tipped with fire
On a canvas of winter,
With all that snow around you
You turned, a snow woman,
Your long hair,
Painting my poems to sleep.
Magic
You’ll go away
like all the others,
but leaving such small footprints.
leavening the magic
of you
staying behind,
that endures.
History
There is a history,
That closeness brings sadness.
We came close.
The rest is poetry.
Poetry
Really, poetry is not important
if you are not there.
You have the precedence
that poetry seems to understand;
So after you go,
it quietly steps in;
we talk about you,
of transience, immortality.
Glass
I had not thought this. Such half ways.
Doors of glass, between us.
How easily you led me in,
Till you turned to me and said,
Don’t be blind.
Don’t walk through glass.
Rose Apples
Late night, and I’m sitting here,
Thinking about you.
I do not think that you will call me again.
It is the time of rose apples
That ripen close,
As though they know, that if they fruited any higheI
It would be hard to pluck them.
Yes, you often reminded me
Of rose apples, the kind I knew grew so near.
Late night, and you have suddenly grown so tall,
That now if I climbed you
I might as well pluck the stars.
Dash*
(The periwinkles upon us)
Now it is a time for dust
and bright wind flowers over us.
How beautiful they must grow,
The periwinkles all about
the crucifix upon you or me,
but must end up dying;
because like we did,
even here, we’ll have love’s
uncertain whether;
with no one to water us –
and perhaps a tourist will come
his camera hung upon his shoulder
and standing before us wonder
if he must shoot the young flowers upon you
or all over me,
or just give up, after the reading
of the parenthesis,
comparing for himself
out of curiosity, about the dash in-between,
how long you lived, or I did,
after the first among us had left;
and then;
how perhaps we might have loved,
whether in life we were ever this close
as now together in our stones;
or will he really contemplate
of what you in your pride held back
all those years in that dash
when you could easily have given
the one who rode on your dream’s horseback
right up to your wet lips wondering
how, ever, to get across
your bright red parted river;
but now it is over dash,
and we must forget,
the short hide and seek we played,
and just know,
this is once again wind flower season,
there’ll be bright periwinkles soon all over us again,
or perhaps, if the mud is not just right,
just the parenthesis of us naked, staring stone hard,
in the rain,
and the tourist crossing over
thinking to himself, no, there’s no beauty,
nothing original in us for his frame,
and we let him pass, his feet over us,
his mind still jingling our parenthesis
his camera hung upon his shoulders
enjoying his vacation.
* Dash – The blank space between the years shown in parenthesis
upon gravestones, denoting the years lived on earth.
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