The wedding guests
left with bloated guts
and wobbly legs
In a change of mood
the sky dims
from violet pink
to vermilion
The newlyweds sit
facing each other
in the shadow of
a pair of carmine candles
The wax is melting
like scarlet tears
His callus fingers
irritate her cherry cheeks
turning them into
the colour of sour wine
Before the moon
lends her pity
her ruby lassie dream
is overpowered
by a wave of
metalic crimson
This is the most recent collaboration piece with Benjamin Grossman. It has always been a joy and encouragement to work with Ben. Please do check out his work, you won’t be disappointed.
Two millennia ago
I would’ve cried
Stony tears
Like the stoics of legends
Today
For the injustices raging
Against shared truth
I scream in silence
Like a fallen knight
There are no more
Heroic battles
On a field of dirt and dust
Where men were once raised
To die for future honor
We hide behind
Neuro electro defenses
Attacking lives
Without sounding
The trumpet
Am I a departed
Clutching the white flag
Crippled by reality
Or my own fatal mind?
We are the poorest land owners
even with the most precious minerals
buried below the surface of our land
We are illiterate, void of education
isolated from the global economy
Nature’s richness doesn’t translate
into food, shelter or safety here
The world comes to us
ask us to sell our backyard
for ten years’ worth of living expenses
We queue up to sign away our rights
In three years time
the world drives us out like slump dogs
from their luxury resorts
built on our backyard
We are out of this world
again
The world
is so busy
People are
so loud
I wonder
in silence
I am glad
though
It makes
the quietness inside
hurt less
Every word
I wanted to say
to you
I said them
aloud
into the hole
I dugged
in the garden
I buried
all hope
deep inside
as a seed
Watered it
with patience
No matter
where
we will be
Time
will bear witness
to the fruit
of our
love
Say all the words
you need
to keep us tied
Silence is
a pair of
scissors
Tangle me
with your love
to keep
the door
ajar
Hatred is
a knot
blackens
the light
To create
is to be in touch
with authentic self
Dissociation chokes creativity
instead, it births characters
through fantasy for survival
I don’t love less
The other person loves more
So I hurt less
You sent me a seashell
wrapped in bubbles
with a note saying
“When you miss me
hold it close
to play one of
the love notes
I wrote you
buried in white sand
where I sat each day
by the ocean
calling out your name”
I left the seashell
on my bookshelf
next to the books
you sent me
two summers ago
I am becoming
a hobby collector
who accumulates
broken promises
and empty dreams
I diligently dust
any remnant of hope
off the shelf
like a devoted nun
at her daily supplication
while your consistent contacts
constructed an abbey
holding my heart
in hostage
Flicker of Thoughts 