Water to wine and wine to precious blood
The Lord transfigures; taken at the flood,
    The dregs of outrageous fortune, once imbibed,
Will be like compost to a growing bud.  

So, drink and happy be, for all is well
In Paradise, where living waters swell
    The stilly stream by quiet pastures green,
And sheep in peace and pleasant weather dwell.

Cold as the winter's tooth sinking into
my skin. A creep sneaking into my sleep, to
disturb every last dream. I've been choked
up by regrets—the exhausting feeling of Black
coughs; out of an exhaust of a neck. I can't breathe.

panting, panting, panting, panting,

Overexaggerating, and it's so saddening to
tell them you're dying, (inside) but non believe.
In the slow drum beating—it's a slow beating heart,
symphony of a night crying angels; amongst the stars.
Looking to heavens, wondering who we are, imperfect
creatures under a perfect Son. Those waiting patiently
in anxious worry, for Jesus to come.

And into a river filled with tears, is where I'll
wash His feet. Gleaming waters; reflecting not
my image. But the stream reflects my sins. My black eye,—
fighting myself and those shivers of my ***** skins.

May he kiss my forehead for my clemency,
for that value worthy of peace. A golden cup in
my eyes—but so empty. Walking on the staircase
to heaven; a thousand steps away from paradise.

If I'm dying a night, let me die in paradise.
As with my resting eyes; I'll close them one last time,
and walk into that Light. Let me die in paradise.

Only now that I come back here
I see it as a paradise, this green land
the flowers, the golden grain
all the riches I thought to be normal

Now, the familiar overwhelms
my new eyes, filling me
with nostalgia even before
I think about leaving

Or will I stay for the rest
of my life, knowing very well
that it is soulhard work
to sleep together

wolf people and sheep people
cow, bear, and snake people
It is heartwork in paradise
for enough straw for everyone

I was molded by his own hand
sculpted to perfection and eager to please
who else other than my husband
for without Adam, there is no Eve

at least, that was before he slithered into our perfect life
pounding our perfect garden into the ground with his slick feet
conniving and a brute,
he convinced me to take a bite
and share my fruit with man
for what is mine is his
my knowledge is his

I am his

together we ate
snacking and licking our fingers with glee
wiping the secretions of the fruit of mankind
against the tree we tore it from

until our Paradise's pastures declined
the wildflowers overtrodded with weeds
the singing waterfall vanished
only to be replaced by an evil, magmatic spout

and our tree,
our once bountiful, glorious, fruitful tree
decayed from the inside out

Adam's burning glare rotted my fruit and my seeds
until they and I dropped to the burning embers on the ground
like nicks off of a pebble that was thrown too hard
or like hairs from the back of a matted mother cat
that has spent far too many heatless winters hunting
for a different life,
for any life

with no more than a curse from Him,
I became the failed experiment of humanity
tossed into God's own graveyard
left to rot with my stolen seed

The evening star
at the sunset of Ramadan.
Mistake it not for a stellar
maybe an embroidery fell down
from the broidery in paradise!
What crosses in your mind, dear
fondly you look back
at this nick of time?

The twilight ambles down
with moonflowers on the hands
is about to wrap up
one more blessed day of Ramadan.
What have you come up with then
for the fasting person on your hand?
What a broad array
you stole the last show of the day!

Singing nightingales keeps musing
deeps down the rose in low light.
The first light shines out
amidst the dawn chorus.
What does it miss out
the nightingales disappears
in broad daylight.

Have you too leave the scene
with the rose dews
only to pour it off the honeyed petals
into the fasting person's glass?    
So cool it tastes a sip of water
at the Iftar!

Here are people living
in wet boxes
and I don't cry
I am not campaigning
for an allocation in the budget

I feel alone
just like the others
in their houses and clean clothes
who already have so much to do
and who walk by embarrassed

with a friendly greeting
that cuts off a conversation
before it can begin
and who forget this quickly
before it becomes a problem

Sometimes we give money
What else can you do
but ponder your sin-
ful needs and spend
what you have got after that

The moon sways
down the sun’s half eye
for it every mo
is the elephant is in the room
before the sun zooms out  
deep down from the pi.

Magic is uncracked within
that first light breaks out
dawns in the eternal night
is a shiny tear in the speechless
witness’ open eye,
on the tight lips, deep runner silent pi!

Men on the painstakingly polished circle
may have hewn out riveted eyes.
Up more is set free deep down the pi,
bottom in anew, in open paradise!

the palette of the sky wanders
from crimson to dandelion
the waters dance by the shore
the wind sways the verdant
and hums with the breathing

it is a wondrous kiss of view
that comforts and cradles
something that we
always miss

that we are always desperate
to see, to feel
to breathe in, to keep
we click to capture it still
to yield a frame that moves
and holds life of infinite

i am filled with awe
every time i look at it,
it is heavenly—

yet we rather ruin her innate
comfort and cradling mount
to get pieces that are dull
and mundane

yet we prefer destroying
the green that shades
and shelters
to earn the green paper
so to use it later to savor
the serendipity only she can bear