Poetry, like music.
at its utmost poignancy
speaks of melancholy
which will be engraved
in timeless memory

nothing can usurp
its grandeur and beauty
even at its darkest our
it  echoes so sublimely :

'Hearts,  do not weep
love surely there shall be
springing from every teardrop
and set your misery free'.

Here I am, in my despair
and loneliness, prayerfully
open my heart to its tender voice
and my ears to its ever-blessed melody

A soft snow scurries across the town,
Drowning out the bright lights.
A soft darkness descends,
And the day stretches in slivers,
From the clouds.

And I see none of it,
I'm too focused on you.

It’s a new morning
the ghosts of old ideas
howl like lost dogs
I open the window
like a book of secrets
the air is clean with
a hint of Jasmine
the olive tree is
whispering wisdom
while the lazy breeze
dances with the leaves
I listen to the
language of birds
I hear poetry in the
slow movement of time
I admire the colour of
Lavender
I drink my peppermint tea
I pretend - I write
I am far enough away
to feel a spark …
Clay.M

She was a rare bird.
In her hips, she carried music and strange fevers.
She was special, drinking us in with her water-like eyes.
One day, she stripped the polish from her nails,
cut locks of her hair,
opened a book of poetry and said a prayer
(I know that, in that moment, her roots were still bound to the world)
and then, feeling kissed, she fired a shot of pollen at her temple.

He had to come back.

On a December afternoon
when the sun was more to west,
he landed on the most favorite place of his house,
the roof.

Just as he had imagined
the still winter air was abuzz with life.

Doves were pairing for a home
Green bee-eaters swooped on insects
Two herons kept following the grazing cow
Crows were busy with twigs and wires
High up beyond where paper kites could soar
Storks slow sunned their wings wet from the jhil
The cats warmed their furs before the cold night
The stray puppy gamboled with its mother.

Each piece had perfectly fitted the other
including the silently sleeping house.

He was tempted to walk down once
has she changed any little way?

He smiled to himself
then breezed away from the roof.

~
the night starts here,
the night starts here
in the dunes,
fixed in time;
incipient waves falling into place,
their subtle purpose
to roll over and sing;
the fountainhead above us,
like it's above the shore,
attaching softness to a shell.

we blew on a dandelion
and the whole world disappeared;
love is a mysterious shape,
love is a remembered rhythm.

I have trembled
my way deep,
I'm a guest in here,
drinking at the stream,
seeking bliss in
the plural homemade kiss:
peppermints and orchid rain.

we please the night,
we please the night in interlude,
and it merrily leaves us that strand
of pearls called "good morning."
~