i can’t breathe

From the core to the crust

The cry was heard

A generation answered

Out of the womb

Into a room

Silent prayers are offered

Cryptic chants are sung

Mirrors are hung

The moment of recognition

Heightens the sense of annihilation

As the play of form is ignored

Lists are printed

Numbers are seen

Murder under clouds of blue and green

What can be said when life is not enough?

The opposite of death is birth

Manifestations of earth

Alchemy free of signs

The ocean always breathes beyond the lines

Tonight

O reckless one

My supplications have been answered

Neither will canvases of sleep

Or the clutches of another’s embrace

Keep you away

Wearing the history of dresses

You will stride across perilous fields

and rainbow mountains with ease

I will neglect judgment

For fragile freedoms need testing

 

Arriving at my open door

You speak with passionate eyes

I respond with exploring hands

Our exchange is steamy

The desire for pulling and binding is understood

Before clothes are removed

You whisper one request

I must bring you to feel

Not wanting the emptiness of words

To silence the honesty of lust

I lift you off the floor

Hankering to give you more

Jailed

Jailed

Jailed for reasons known and unknown

They have heard the silence of solitude

And have wondered about its origin

Silence has always been here

So has the age when hearts antagonize fear

But beatings weaken the body

So the humble crawl

Singing prayers of contrition

As they beg veiled judges for leniency

The wrongfully freed

Chastise lawyers of humanity

Their monopoly of colourless chips

Is revealed with unspeakable reverence

Deceit dries their lips

 

Ambitious hunger

Reprehensible in its nature

Yet stainless on white collars

Fuels the medium

Which crystalizes the message

An orchestration of broken hands

Is paraded for naïve applauses

Then critiqued by howling souls

Who scoff at chain gangs

Much in the way cynics mock charity

They say lives

All lives

Must be counted

Every breath honoured

Every echo explored

Every tag burned

The sentience of captives

Shall not be shrunk

With understated brilliance

They will plant trouble in prison gardens

After raising a generation of forgivers

Trouble will find us all

Web of Life

Tragic smiles

Offend the guests

Deceitful tears

Anger the hungry

The fatigue of speed

The poverty of wealth

We applaud giants

Denying all things fall apart

Some welcome the chemists’ drugs

Trafficked over turbulent seas

Echoes of mountains and trees

Humble the slave and free

Wet clothes worn at birth

Nostalgia for a past unknown

Sight arose out of love

What we saw

Was what they own

The web we weave

Shall never be sewn

Kalpa

 We don’t create warmth

We merely shelter cold

Lighthouses are closed

As the neon signs of cathedrals
Draw the strongest of the weak
 We apologize for contact
Crashes, even the most natural
Are to be avoided
Digital caring is all we’ve known
Fallen signs question the use of words
Fragmented dialects of a scattered generation
We circle their lamentations
While offering coins for dry wells
What we’ve become
Is what we’ve been
Howling at the moon
Interests but a few
Fellowshipping with the sun
An art condemned by unwritten laws
Drinking out of empty cups
Reading from blank pages
Painting on finished canvases
Every night has its demons
Most plead for an end before the light of morning
But who will relinquish sleep to send them home?
The arms of our aeon remain strong
What we’ve become
Is what we’ve been

My Religion

I always knew God
But yesterday I found my religion
Not a lover of men
But she taught for position
I asked her to tie me up in her dreads
For a men should learn his threshold
An experiment with pain, this was not
Every forbidden affair has euphoric traces
Her theatre was in the park
On the darkness of her stage
I forgot what I had
She became what I desired
Seductive invitations secured my presence
And inspired dances of possibilities
Every shattered heart doesn’t belong to romantics
Just like every protester doesn’t embrace the struggle
Guided by her compass
She docked in the ports of heroines
Male captains were not welcomed
I removed my hat, but was crushed in the rebellion
From a distant sea
I watched her
I watched them
I watched love
I always knew God
But yesterday I found my religion

Peepal Clarity

Cosmic visions below a flowery tree
Lives spinning around a wheel
Suffering through dissatisfaction
The earth is my witness
I’ve been accepted
After a bowl of rice
I walked the middle street
Doesn’t everything burn?
Greed, anger, ignorance
Every fire privately desires to be extinguished

And Eyes Were Closed

They bowl on manicured grass

Celebrating their whites during afternoon’s green

Their beverage of choice,

Mixed to perfection by foreign  hands,

Incites royal laughter and dance

Meanwhile, in the dark of night

Her red heels clash with concrete

Blue lips kiss for tangible prizes

Open legs speak of the lonesome journey

A language rooted in pain

Her birth, a distant memory

Worlds that collide in surprising ways

Are similar to colours that mix for art’s sake

He who scavenges the city’s bins

She who dines with rulers of lands

Didn’t eyes once meet along a pedestrian road?

The lucid imaginings of one

Became the dream of a select

Sub-city dwellers occupying boardroom seats

Private school graduates sweeping streets

Demands of newcomers alarm longtime members

The silent sage insists there’s nothing to become or leave

Still, all labour to acquire

Beyond It All

The weeping persisted
But so did the will of the faithful
Mornings never linger the way stubborn stars attempt to light darkness
Or how a plot of grass expresses its gratitude to rain and sun
The majesty of wind
The hovering nature of clouds
The mysteries  surrounding our shell
From isolated fountains
To time’s deepest wells
We are the fulfillment of one
Underground afflictions scare some
Railroad blocks trap the rest
Yet freedom stands like a forest tree
Mothers cradle children in unison
Noble sweat of a righteous labour
Why does the eye endeavour to see itself?
Or the teeth bite itself?
The fingertip touch itself?
What exists outside of self?
May souls soar as high as they want
And let not  leeching stones conduct us home

My Photographer Friend

Sometimes, the colours of change
Are photographed in secrecy
My photographer friend captured everything but me
She exposed my soul under light
Then developed it in darkness
Subjects don’t have much of a voice
I gladly  entrusted her with mine
The prints were published
The reviews were favourable
My face became desirable
Her eyes had long been unattainable
The dinners I was instructed to accept
Were the meals history once compelled me to neglect
If houses of contradiction are erected along the road of truth
I occupied several residences
She knew all my addresses and made routine visits
The precision of her lenses
Allowed for candid portrayals
Most were taken while I slept
Since one should never lie with open eyes
Nor should one rely on words to speak
My obsession  with higher degrees  of celebrity
Intrigued everyone but her
Thus her curiosity was reserved for the coin toss of life
The medium was her message
New techniques lured her into experimental waters
Swimming was an option but she chose to float
Some props sunk during the construction of scenes
Her art was bold
My safety she could never guarantee
Attempts were made but I could not pose on her seas
Images became forgettable
Her camera accepted the blame
I wondered if she cursed my shame
My photographer friend always imagined my name