Tuesday 23 November 2010

Mandala

a
I listen
to the rain
and the midnight
sweepers
brushing away
the debris
of the day.


I taste
the bitterness
on my lips
& swallow
the absinthe
of your absence.


I inhale
the smoke
of my Gehenna,
letting it fill
the void
in my lungs.


I see
my reflection
in the darkened
window
and rejoice
in the stranger
smiling back.


I touch
all the places
you have claimed,

lulling myself
to sleep
& stretching
to the ends
of the night.
a

Tuesday 16 November 2010

Indika

a
This is who I’ve become –
slowly
& exquisitely
spinning the yarn
of time before time
submersed
in golden clouds
of incense,
draped
in silks
of red and purple.

Under the tilted
saffron moon
- your all-seeing eye
showering me
with the awareness
of your every heartbeat -
I bask & glow
and redeem
my forefathers,
diving back to my roots
into the blood before blood
the tide before tide
thickly throbbing
with the heat & dust
of thy/my land.

My body sways
to the caressing
sound of the sitar
- my palms open
to receive the
p(e)ace and grace
of the heavens
that touch the ground
Here.

This is what I've become -
a lightning rod,
a crossroad,
another pinpoint
of communion,
a silk thread
tying the skies
to the earth
& bringing them closer
with every breath
I draw,
into the holiest
of marriages.
a



a

Monday 15 November 2010

Balkanika

a
This is who I am -
kin after kin
of dark faceless
shepherds,
bearded flute-playing satyrs
mating on the wet grass.
From their grunting
& panting
came we -
strong arms
to tend the sheep
& hold the hot-headed rams
and bury the hatchet
in the skull
of whoever threatened
our lineage.

This is who I am -
effigy after effigy
of silent women
with knitted brows
and knotted flesh,
whose milk and sweat
blended with that
of their sheep
in an all-pervading
rut scent.
Taken on the hay
in drizzle or hail,
in times of peace or war
from their tears & shrieks
came we -
tender arms
to milk the ewes
& dry the newborn lambs
all for a better life,
all for the offspring.

Dark
silent
nameless
nomads
sliding on the slopes
of the mountains
where gods would
roam and rage
against the meagre
mortals
- we step on their skulls
& spit on their bones,
we feast and dance and drink,
for we shall see the sunrise!
a

Friday 12 November 2010

Mar adentro / Sea within

a

I drink

the amber wine

of oblivion

- its acid erasing

the fingerprints

you left on my body,

its sweetness

intoxicating

my lewd brain.


Slowly,

the cry of the peacock

fades away,

no longer arousing

the tide of my blood

on moonless nights.


As the caravels

leave the port,

so do my memories

depart

one by one

towards better futures

or a spring of scurvy

& curses.


Forever exploring

the seas where dragons lie

- what better way to wake them

than to rattle

the crooked relics

of all my losses?


Forever treading

the jungles where tigers lurk

- what better lullaby for them

than the songs I'll hum

to my unborn children?


I let the conches

I walk on

tear at my flesh

- they are much gentler

than the miles between us.


By air, sea or land

we are so apart,

so distant,

that they'll have to

give new names

to our oceans & straits.


I circumnavigate

with hope

- once started

my journey

will end

on your shores -

my sails torn

my masts broken

my crew all dead

my deck a-creaking.

Only my lonely toll

will call

out to you

over & over again.

a

Fado curvo / Twisted Fate

a
I burn with you

- the sweetest fever
contorting my senses,
spiraling me down
into Saudade:
the deepest
longing &
solitude
that I cannot contain,
but which hold & rock me
ever so gently.

I sit & drink the sea,
the waves washing against
my gargantuan throat.
The pebbles
I carefully pick
to weigh me down,
the shells of
empty words
set aside -
I shall
never speak
again.

My heart bleeds
on the cruel strings
of Moorish guitars
in the port of Lisboa.
The dark, endless
longing
spooling
my being
into silk cobwebs
with which
I weave myself
(yet) another cocoon,
warmly welcoming
the silent winter
of waiting.
a

Monday 1 November 2010

Point of No Return

a

The saffron

half moon

rising

leaves me

gasping

at the remembrance

of your sideways

midnight glance.


I couldn't read it first

- all the more now -

as its searing tip

pierces my side

again

& again.


The ineffable flow

from my heart

- as deep as the Ganga -

rushes down my thighs

just as muddy and wild

& not even the flute-player

knows what lurks

ahead / underneath.


I am the master of Naught

& I let the void devour

the uncharted hillocks

of my flesh

that you've impregnated.



When nothing remains

after this acid

exercise

of extinction,

you'll know

I love you.

a