Your cries I will hear not Not from your bell towers or your minarets Your inner chambers or from your public places For There is a child crying It calls me by my name you hear it not You say that thing is not mine So I say I know you not.
The wind used its agile hands grabbing words from my mouth made it tumbleweed tumbling across a never never land bridge to the home of the mute and lost hoping to bring words to the wise and silence the all knowing.
I traced the skin of your back like an explorer charting a map a beautiful new blue ocean. Where I discovered an island fitting in the palm of my hand it became home to me. In endless hours of the night when your heart beat drums a new life raft next to me
In the solitary silence, engraved in the empty space between the beginning and the ending of your pause, my entire world collapsed, over the edge of the universe.
Street lamps with grey heads bowed Stoically shed the cold midnight tears, abandoned by drifting autumn clouds unable to carry the burden any further. Creating glittering babbling streams carrying away the last stubborn grief, painful words of discarding goodbyes, to a wide forgetful ocean of yesterday.
I saw a single word dropping silently into a quiet and unimportant moment. Where it cut through the dark surface of the still and reflective pond of I am. Rippling a perfect pause of awareness between a breath a sound and a to do. Drawing forth with calm effortlessness the light of being present toContinue reading “The Practice of Now”
How long will you demand this veil? This mask of superficial purity, white? I want to rip into this suffocating lace. Tear it from my tortured beaten face. Revealing black haunted eyes to light. How long must this macabre act prevail? Come to me my lost and reprobate angel. Liberate me with your love inContinue reading “Light and Dark”
Golden lava-flows of stars plunges in waterfalls over the edge of a bed. A faithful fan performs its Sufi twirls cloistered, as is proper, in obscurity. Whilst the guitar whispers love songs an audience of plants listens in silence. Soft cotton covers hug my naked skin like the warm touch of an absent lover. GratitudeContinue reading “Autumn Bedroom”
In a small waterfront bar in the old Cape of Good Hope, a place created by the gods for lost souls and orphans, we drank warm melancholy cocktails out of old bottles wrapped in cheap brown paper bags to hide our sin when your soul unexpectedly spilled in from the cold dark rain. A thousandContinue reading “Orphan (Revised)”
Daar in ń waterkant bar van die ou Kaap Die plek van verlore siele en weeskinders. Drink ons warm drankies uit ou bottels, begrawe in goedkoop bruin papier sakke. Jou siel val laat nag in uit die koue reen. Nou kyk ek hier op na die ope blou hemel, ek onthou, maar wonder oor onsContinue reading “Weeskind”