A haze hovers around the border of the valley,
smoke trees blazing into bloom, a line of cherry
blushing in between. Pollen lazes on bridges, cars.
try your best to stay alive
‘til death do you part
stay up ‘til you become part of that insomnia
the best things known for us are there when you see it
you can’t see it if you sleep…
not just a nap, not just bedtime, but in many human and spiritual forms as well
We are all family
My mother father
sister and brother
through thick and thin
turmoil and grief
triumph and success
always more nothing less
not a mountain i wouldn’t climb
or a river i wouldn’t swim
to get what you need or desire
when it seems so dim.
I bet a lot of you wonder sometimes
why do i smile so much?
why are you so goofy? what is so funny?
you know what…
sometimes i wonder the same thing
cuz my life is no joke at all
i keep a smile to leave off my pain
i joke alot to keep away my thoughts
of being insane
oeWhat you say could be wrong or right
how i react may not suit your interest
we could one day love each other til the end of time
and the next have this worldly intellect disconnect us from our private society
The night outside has only just begun. It is youthful, jaunty with the stars perked up for an eve of dance and delight; much like the twelve princesses from childhood stories. The stars row down the alabaster stretch to a clandestine ball held at some obscured corner of the sky, conspicuous to only lovers – or believers.
time is not the deepest of times;
it is an unslept hour of breaking light
stirring lazily after a spent night
of copulation with its denseness
gloom, in visitation of hope
for the crescent moon to have tilted
sideways up into a smile, half
concealed by the veils of frothing
clouds speculating its revelation.
Drape me in the purdahs of your being
as I cave into hundred thousand deaths
per night; relentlessly I lodge my spirit
in the empty taverns of your existence
wishing to grow a flower, not very red
like shimmering rubies found in Mahals
of kings richly adorned of any despair,
but a plant common that you colour,
I hope, with the red of your blood warm.
Like a nomad groping towards an oasis,
I had disciplined myself to survive you
through these very nights, manifesting
sanity to stubborn senility; from lover
to patient, to broken as is what became
of a once curated heart.