i can say with some certainty
are God’s pens on earth
I said poets
there’s an intricate connection to the soul of a being
that many can dive deep into,
but only poets can swim to the surface
and bring to the shore
for those who can’t swim
to boil you into a lather of submission
kneel you into a corner of admission
to draw open the curtain of your condition
so you grow, by admitting your disposition
so hover as they may
dark veils of clouds cannot stay
when the moons illume
becomes the torch lighting your way
let go, of all this matter of grey
of black, of shades of dark
that heavy on your soul weigh
and be light that keeps darkness at bay
if there is a place to bury hurt
i haven’t found a grave deep enough
if there is a way to wash it off
i haven’t found water salty enough
if there is a way to burn it
there’s no fire blue flame stricken enough
maybe then, its job is to stay
until i become the way
in naivety, we look to hoard the things that weigh us down,
and excise the things that may be our calling.
how do we even know that all this stuff we complain of,
is not in an ultimate wisdom the stuff that is meant to fashion us.
And some music to help the staying process
how do you expect love to find you?
there is too much noise,
too much colour,
too much movement.
turn down the volume,
monochrome from time to time,
stop, be still,
let God find your hurt,
let Him send His balm,
let one or a hundred thousand angels,
bring you the light.
you need to vanish,
because make no mistake,
the ‘YOU’ always need to vanish.
artwork: whirling dervishes/2006 by Voicu Dragomir (2006)
let the knife have its way
that is what patience is
And the knife can come
in many forms of hurt
but the way, is to remain silent
and to introvert
A partner, a child
a brother or parent
money, material, whatever
it’s still heaven sent
To grow, to become
to solidify like cement
you have to be willing
to be broken, torn refashioned and bent
Refusing the cut, the sever
the pain and darkness
shows naivety and arrogance
leaves you the confused mess
Mend by allowing
the wound to expose
and become wisdom
experienced, and one who knows
With the healing, traverse
and find others like you
who are bereft and broken
hold their hands, show them how to get through
there is nothing quite as gracious
as a woman
giving you the whole of her
“And we created you as pairs”
I am utterly at a loss for words sometimes.
What did I do to deserve my wife?
A woman who is the definition,
of the other half of someone.
She gives me her whole being entirely,
emotionally, intellectually physically and spiritually.
I ponder over men and women that shared bed,
that shared bread,
who have lost civility,
and become barbarity.
Now, vexed against one another,
ready to cut each others throats.
How on earth one can get to such a degree,
to forget the subtitles, the intimacy
and live so detached
in such disharmony.
I must have done something right
to receive such devoted sincerity.
the inkwell of sadness
is that I have a thorn on my tongue
it bleeds poetry
and that is all I can ask
I have a thorn on my tongue
but it bleeds poetry
I have a horn in my belly
and it hinges my humility
I am torn from society
because in it I find no humanity
I have sworn to recluse
just to keep my sanity
I’ll adorn the cloak of beggars
just to maintain civility
I was born in plenitude
but hope to die in spiritual poverty
I mourn what we’ve become
in all this insanity
So I await the horn
to return to felicity