Entering a flower

A smiling woman wearing a magenta dress-suit, which resembles that of an air-hostess, stands next to a big rose and repeats an announcement. She informs the public that tickets are going on sale for a rose tour. People form a long line and stick their heads out to take a peak at the massive rose before them. They stand on the outward rose petal after they’ve climbed through a treacherous thorny stem. The closer their line gets to the rose entrance, the more refreshing, cool, moist, and fragrant the air gets. A skinny guy is up next to get a piece of ticket for the tour. He gets it, then follows the person before him. He glances around at the maroon and succulent grandeur as he walks in. Trickles of dew drip on him one at a time. His shirt is moist from rose water and fragrance. The more he gets inside, the more the folds of the rose get tighter and thicker. He begins to crawl on all fours and then eventually on his stomach. With each drag inwards, he is surrounded by soft, tight, cushion of lush. His fingernails scratch a bit of delicate rose skin while he pushes himself in as much as he can. He gnaws a bit of it with his teeth too, and it tastes subtly sweet and rosy. Eventually, he pops into the airy center of the rose bud and catches up with the rest who were before him. From the center onward, they slip and slide one at a time into a swirly downward slippery slope. At the end of the slide, they softly land one at a time into a large green leaf. They slowly slide off the silky curved leaf and gently fall into a soft puffy nutrient rich black soil that smells of earth and fresh rain. The man gets covered with the easy fragile clumps of soft soil. He climbs up a tad bit and shakes it off effortlessly. He lies on his back atop the mound and looks up at the massive rose against the sunny blue sky, and smiles dumbfoundedly.

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Ceiling corners

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;
Arabian nights,
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
With moths
Buglettes
Spiders, possibly
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.
Nighttime
The sound of silence and bells from women praying
Nighttime
The sound of static radio and the news theme playing
Virtuous strings and purposeful tablas; the world was full of important, manly things
But I
I was too entangled
In my own world,
Upside down
Marveling at the architecture
Of this funhouse
With walls made of peculiar corners
And a floor made of ceiling.

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We feast

Each of my fingers imprint love over your back. Scented warm rose water ooze out of my pores. You’ve managed to unlock a chamber of my heart and decided to open it. And now you take care of the rest, as you hold me together. Bundling a puddle. Holding onto a slippery fish. You’ve owned it. You take the responsibility. It was your choice, your game, and you’ve won. And now you feast,
We feast,
In full content
With ease
Effortlessly
Hand to skin, and skin to hand
Pore to pore, and drop to drop
Back and forth
And forth to back
In a circle, in a pod floating down a heavenly path
We feast, head to head
And heart to heart.

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