Saturday, June 22, 2013

A sticky piece of something

What are we doing, mechanising every thing, taking the moments out of every step, those moments that can be held only with fingers knowing that time becomes sticky, a sticky piece of something, then again a flowing collection of drops, silk, it cannot be held, can only be felt, the seconds, minutes, hours within every woven thread that passed through its weaver’s fingers, the touch of warm blood under the skin of a lifetime, a century of lifetimes, what are we doing, mechanising every thing, strangers come, the cold blood of steel imprinting itself, cold heartedly weaving a frozen river around the woman’s neck, she has been touched by steel, has been denied the feel of a heart fallen river, dragonflies whirring, fish, currents, rapids, a blade of grass, now exactly those same fingers touching the green, fingertips breaching water’s surface, somebody close by is taking a swim. What are we doing, mechanising every thing.

The boy with golden skin

When your leaf
Set sails
To cross the ocean
Because you had not
Kept it in chains
A tear fell into a lake
Fish drank
My salty water
Glaciers bowed
Before the mountain
And the boy
With golden skin
Threw stardust
Into the eyes of the sun 

Thursday, June 06, 2013

dew drops in your mouth

keep waiting
I keep
early morning hours
after restless nights

you call my senses
will I ever find out

waiting for a sound
keep waiting
you keep
dew drops in your mouth

Wednesday, June 05, 2013


staying awake
to not get entangled
twists of a steep
mountain river
flowing upside down
lagoon – the foaming mouth

keeps spitting out

Your trunk is so wide

How long till a rosebush
Burns my heart inside out

How long till a mirror’s crack
Reflects the nest of lizards
You tried to hide

How long till punctured leaves
Have soaked all
Water from my pond

How many times
Will I walk the thread
The trunk of your tree house

Will I wake you
The mob waits outside
To burn down your roof
To chop down your branches

I write your name
Into a frozen river
A dream of spring
You speak of winter

Collected some leaves
A booklet of grief
For the birds
That lost their wings

A stormy night
A dried out lake
Who has the right
To call a soul worth less

My thread is endless

Your trunk is so wide

Of sun and water's bond

Rain finds its way
Into my house
The roof that was not hatched
You tried to fix it
While all the time
I liked to sleep under stars
Most bright and beautiful
When the moon left us in darkness
Who needs a path
When walking on grass
Is all we ever wanted

Sit down with me and meditate
Sleep in my arms
A child on your lap
Blame the storms

For taking away
The depth of illusions
The wholeheartedness
All the trees are hollow
All the lakes are shallow
The ocean is a pond
Fish does not know rain
Or rainbows abandoned

Would it go insane
If only it knew
Of sun and water’s bond
To smile at rolling thunder

I meditate and wonder
What lies beyond
The centre of the storm

Monday, June 03, 2013

The king of chrysalis

Every crawler on a wall
Incites you
To give a speech on progression
Your lessons of life
Though you don’t have a clue.

Whom are you talking to?
Asks the king of chrysalis
And opens its wings
To hug the blue sky