Maybe it’s time, I don’t know, it happens every late morning
And once in a while before bed…
This feeling of total control over my life
It’s like magic, with tricky hands
I can see where the ball strikes next
It’s like that in your harried presence
It’s your commanding glare
Looking at my
Dirty skin and hair
But I didn’t fear that one time
I looked at you
And once more, it was an empty room
Full of eyes
Fire on fire
Ice on ice
Yet you behaved oblivious
And I used to wish that you’d know it
I can feel the humid summer night breeze that strike
And resonate like the way of stringed instruments
Whose sound move to the flow of the ocean waves
Somewhere in the depths of your holy soul
The dirty scumbag
That you wanna scratch clean with your finger nails
And get down and dirty on the ground with
Here I am, in the red planet. The atmosphere here stings my skin as I sit alone in this arid dust bowl. The sky’s red and it’s making my eyes bleed. My crimped hair’s brittle and it obscures my vision. My throat’s dry and I squirm on the rocky ground in dreams of quenching thirst. My mouth thinks it’s water, but I’m eating dirt. It gets inside my fingernails. It smears across my face. I grab a handful of it and let it squeeze out of my clenched fists. Am I even human anymore? Am I a machine? Am I an empty shell? Am I just dying slowly and awaiting to be filled by your holy water in the palms of my hand?
Release me in the downpour of a summer’s rain.
Let it splash across my face like being roped in the tides of your love.
I think of jittery visions of your powerful arms around my waist from a thousand years ago, and your tender kiss underneath the waterfalls in paradise. I can warp back in time to when the world glowed before my innocent eyes, and you saw it from across the room and then asked me out.
There was a world once where the birds flew over the rainforest, and we made love on the ground after a spell of laughter. There was a time when the sun set and you followed me to the beach, and I saw its beautiful reflection in your striking eyes. Redo the moment when I was pinned against the wall and I believed in your promise of true love murmured near my ears. There are wires deep inside that bond to my brain and it recollects your hidden flesh. It resurrects before my eyes in a way that’s truly holy. If there’s god, I believe in one and it’s in the form of your warm-blooded body. Your body, that of a Greek god, naked and pale stands before me. Is it you, or are you a flickering image prerecorded and absent? I reach out my crooked finger to touch you but it just passes through. My eyes squint and blink sporadically while they shut. Let me believe that I’m not dreaming. Wake me up and tell me that we’re sitting in back of the taxi cab once more near the city shores. The city is so alive and the air is humid and hot, and there’s sweet scent of your warm breath tantalizing over my neck. I reach to cover it. My teeth are chattering. My body is shivering in cold. A wave of sediments blow and deposit over it, and I wonder how long I’ll live like this.
Sometimes everything becomes so difficult, and you feel weak and lonely. But the sun has a marvelous way of shining on you, smiling zenfully at you,
holding your hand,
and picking you up.
Lying in bed
Smoking hookah with Rumi
Staring at the ceiling
With walls made of shadows.
The scent of agarwood in the air coming from the kitchen;
Drafty rose and all things eastern and holy
My skin oozes with warm toned oil
A tasty blend of nature, dirt, rain in the city,
Lotus, lily, ice cream, rose, opium and something tremendously unsatiated
Like the mystery in ancient stories;
Just like the way baba used to tell it.
This still of the night;
A lonely bug crawls
With a burden on his back,
On a mission
Across this enclosure that’s so alive, so open
Caterpillars, hopefully, like the ones from my childhood
Lizards, lizard lovers, families, dramas;
They once used to be my friends.
I could lie in bed and watch them for hours; their shadows, like dragons.
The sound of silence and bells from women praying
The sound of static radio and the news theme playing
Virtuous strings and purposeful tablas; the world was full of important, manly things
I was too entangled
In my own world,
Marveling at the architecture
Of this funhouse
With walls made of peculiar corners
And a floor made of ceiling.