Less-- yes more less
light arrived with abundance
of pain. Unhinged fear takes over.
Souls don't sleep. We
meet in the dark to wash the conscience
and think about eventuality.
What is attachment?
Lovers always suffer. You understand the
tormentor. Take off the skin.
In your gold mirror your
image is coming black. You have a delusion
of deafening to leave this world.
You wanted space, claimed
by water. There was glitter in your
eyes of hidden dreams.
How to steal the moon
for a morning star. I will write
your name in big letters on the rock.
Nowadays words become
hollow, when no blood drips. Here
the caravan stops near the dried river.
Between arrival and departure
lies the big jungle on fire. A meaning
drops dead in the prayer to unsee pain.
You carry the burden of
last birth not to welcome the god absent
when the guests have arrived.
I have shocked myself
mired in stanzas of my poems.
Even love was revengeful.
What do you want to convey
when you are changing the nouns?
Flesh was going to win the brain.
Buddha will be born again.
Will ask me to strip slowly to show
me cuts and bleeding wounds.
Summing up life,
I wanted to rewrite the pain of earth.
Shocked apathy would cry.
Falling in love with yourself,
your hands had become shovels
to dig a deep trench without war.
I want you to look at me,
sans form and content. A cruel
thought starts playing with death for a poem.
Will you kiss the
flower moon in the ambiance
of peace, when earth sleeps ?
I will ask the moon,
how old are you? A yellow lotus
laughs standing in mud to interpret life.
Think you must.
This light is within or outside. You always
walk with eyes shut to catch the god.
Bare-foot I go near
tomorrow. So much more than love,
poem in a poem trembles.
Like, aspen the goddess
tree, sharing the same root quivers.
There was no storm.
Setting aside the triviality
of daily life, I drag open the funeral
mask to see the mercury planet.
It was the last embrace
of creativity. I touch you to write a
fiction. Freedom comes with a slap.
Your life is in my poems.
Opens like a tulip. You make a
sweet voice, when you dip in me.
My threshold holds back
the agony, but toad stools jump to
sit on the mantle along with Buddha.
When you move away from
yourself, the dream merchant rewrites.
story. Birds in flight stop.
Words and meanings collide.
No one was ready to write the name
of unknown. A collective suicide begins.
Would you read the unwritten
prayer on the wall of justice, when
God had failed in dispensing truth.