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Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

the sun touches my skin

it’s as warm as my mother’s touch

should have been

I’m not new to snow. But I am new to living where it snows right outside your doorstep, and where one is stuck with snow for around 5 months a year. And like anyone who is new to anything, like a child, I spent time watching and being mesmerized by it.

So here are a few of the many conversations that I had with this Vast Whiteness. We met just outside my door this morning and went for a walk.

—-

“The snowflake is water solidifying into structure,” said the Whiteness as I tried to catch some flakes floating down from the heavens.  “The universe is making patterns at the smallest scale. Nature creating micro-art.”

The flakes landed on my jacket, and as I brought my eyes closer to observe, the Vast Whiteness said, “Just because the snowflake is small and trivial doesn’t mean it should not deserve attention from the universe!” I nodded in agreement, still scrutinizing the flakes on my sleeve and pondering my own triviality.

Continue reading ‘A Conversation With The Vast Whiteness’ »

A man

and his

veiled wife

are playing chess in the park.

 

 

Behind them, a younger couple

‘s relationship is dying.

Two Weeks.

Maximum.

He caresses her and she responds; her movements

equal and reciprocal to his.

 

But useless.

 

 

The veiled woman

is ready

to checkmate,

but she doesn’t see it.

she doesn’t see

the strength

of her position. She

is unaware

of the many weaknesses in his defense.

 

 

Her

husband pays close attention to her

eyes;

he cannot save himself

if she

decides

to kill.

You won’t know what love is until you hear the blues,

‘Cause that love you love to talk about, baby,

That’s old news.

You see, it’s not about holding hands

And it’s not about the kisses

And it’s not about making plans

To be somebody’s Mrs.

You will never know what absolute bliss is

Until your heart dances to the subtle romances

In the notes and cues

Of blues.

 

There was once a young girl from Beirut

Who ate nothing but water and fruit

She grew so thin

You’d see bone through her skin

Yet everyone thought she was cute.

She tilts the cup

and spills a single drop,

watches it rise up

towards the ceiling

and swell into a grape.

On her lip a smile

serves in revealing

her hope that rarely

had a shape.

Her hand touches his face,

just barely,

to leave some space

for her escape.

You tremble            like a flute

in his bed

half naked and delicate

His warmth     a sandstorm

that wears you away

Relax                 You are not here

to save anyone You

are not here

to be saved

Kiss him     Wake him up

(might he remember you?)

Or leave him and go

Nothing changes him

but you will peel

those sheets off

a butterfly

Or a wasp.