Cool Sand

Echoes to my right are clicking rocks,
These stones that dance come here my way,
Nor scorn the heat as much I sweat,
This burning mound is last I try,
And left I looked a door would close,
The last spots of light are gone.
If Mithra can offer a plate of dark,
Then I shall taste honey from flower more,
So give me leave to pollinate
The dried tulips to eschew tears in flood,
Bleed my cheeks, scour mine eyes and ears,
Let me walk away and never return.
So burn my nails nor book to scratch,
With no brow to pluck, no life in luck,
I give the shade a worthy name in stone,
So when I finally lay down above the sun,
It comes clear to me now this is anew.
All is silent, but I can never be.

*

A single sweat became rain and she was running towards herself. There was no mention of word, nor call, nor move; she went. Somehow, it lingered in her that she needed some air and all the space around her suddenly moved. The world was passing through her. All time can do was move. All she could do was move. So sudden she stopped. She called her dearest heart in earnest repair, but no blood would in part congeal. A warm bark of a tree can only warm her hand, and the swollen ground with ill-grass was all she could breathe. So high were her senses, and she moved. She didn’t know where; she moved.

Still searching, here and there, whether to gaze at her phone. Somehow she stopped and turned it off. She leapt from one world to the other. In one, she’s the nightingale in grace to conjure a fool in weeping song; another a wild woman with thoughts so mad and wrought she could not utter for words describe. So soon was it she had to return, but all she could ask was for time’s halt, but it would not. She moved. She did.

It seemed like she became a tree herself, except it was summer. Here she thought a new road was unforged, and only grass can cover her footsteps. Let lone her heart shall remain in the ground before she rescinds all comfort in the space alone. She’s still there. It is not she who passes through the world; it is the world that passes her by. All the people. All the animals. All clouds shall pass. Let time alone be an insult in presence hers, so now she sings in thought the life she is.

Mirror

Years past since his mother a mirror bestowed,
Oh, adorned silver on silver etched light glowed:
Beheld a man of one whose first gift he saw,
In bitter hopes a greater value accost how sore
That this mirror was accepted ne free nor free,
But the price he pays is but age in cast to glee,
The falls of Earth, of rock, fire, the ether new,
Close thine eyes and breathe this soft kiss grew,
Whence fleeting joys ere placed in life’s disgrace,
Shall he look at the mirror and observe such a face
That changed for years that blew at speed, so bless:
He grew, he learnt, and a habit he knows at best
Is to observe himself and all he is and he shall be,
As the years grow, his face so changed he described ne,
Whatever account his life writ on heart and mind essay
So breathes the mirror to describe faint what ought to say,
From teen years rough, to mid years contrite, et cetera;
So long as he reflects, and knows all. The next day an era,
To look upon that which is mother, long passed, had given,
He looks, and thus he sees and he was in this world to live in.

Blind Boat

Concrete mounted on a particular front,
Nor mountain can move formed construct,
But I have a plan: I am going affront.
If I don’t get out, I’m truly fucked.
I can’t live; as birds migrate here,
Their wings compass, minute gaze so vast,
A bird I call; no wings beckon near,
Give me a set of wings so fast,
Away from sun and water I prefer,
They’ll call me neurotic; am so queer,
These widened iris’ right and left refer,
Not a blink, not a sound, nor a peer,
Dance my ears to footsteps this crude,
Yet so feared and now I am this lone,
Not even through the others how rude,
Everything’s gone. I am no longer me,
I am out. Now this stage thus breathes,
Innocent me, mad me, as best I glee,
Woods. Birds. Nothing in the eaves,
Damn, if only a bit of light to guide
To rest myself by night for cool watch.
My electric mind zaps at all who bide
Attention to one laughing this much:
No one following. Ha! None here? Ha!
The boat: there it is. Now, we flee!
It seemed a mirage at first comme ça;
A simple boat, but, what? How silly!
I have no headlights. No torch. Damn.
Let me drive by moon’s grace then;
I don’t care where I go or how I do;
So long as I escape. Away from ram.