Why We Speak

All those voices, whispering, murmuring,

Screaming, silent.

Their words have no weight

Until spoken,

Until given shape,

Until they sear themselves into the air,

Until there is someone else’s ear,

Listening.

The unspoken word does not exist

Outside your mind’s cage.

Let it be released.

Let it rage.

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What I Saw In The Darkness II

The passage of time is

The rise and fall of moist, warm bodies

An eight legged chimera

Wet and heaving.

The slow pulsating of inanimate

Heaps of rumples sheets,

The floor is a lake of starless night

On which we precariously gloat.

I have no hands anymore.

They are a painting ruined by rain,

And artist, enraged, draws

Ten in the place of one.

There is a woman brought out of the sea

Soft bluish skin, a mermaid

Asleep, smiling in the darkness.

Bag of bones.

Wraiths swim in front of a void of

Sucking blackness

Destroying all light, heat, life.

It passes.

Our fused bodies

Are at once a hibernating beast

That blooms into a flower

Each petal carving it’s own path in the night air.

What I Saw In The Darkness

The first phantom

Is twenty white faces in broken glass

An eye where a nose should be

Four mouths fighting to be seen

The second phantom

A face of black silk melted onto marble

Horned like the devil yet silent,

Like a regal Fury.

And what I behold before the great void

A tragedy written in a living mural,

The face of the white phantom bursts

Into a silver phoenix,

Ebony peacock feathers explode from

The Fury’s neck like a crown.

Claws, wings, teeth

Surging and pushing against some

Invisible barrier of liquid smoke.

Their grotesque mouths move yet the sound

Is of muted mourning screams.

A silent longing

Unheard by my mortal ears.

A singular desire to erase

Each self,

And fuse into an almighty being.

Waiting | Poetry

Trafalgar Square at 3 am waiting for a bus home

Wearing a jacket too big for me

Strangely enough the collar still smells like you

Of your trust

It’s easier to pretend it’s not the sleeves

But the ghost of your arms that are shielding me from

The midnight breeze

When the bus comes

I feel a little warmer

Name II | Poetry

Every time I say your name

Flowers bloom in my lungs

Invisible fingers curl around my spine

Butterfly wings beat hurricanes in my

stomach.

 

The pressure is so strong

You could shove your hand down my

throat and

Pull out diamonds.

Name | Poetry

My name in my language

Rolls off the tongue like liquid silk

Music on the ridges of the palette.

But in your language it’s the

Violent scraping of teeth

All wrong and aggressive.

Isn’t it strange;

I only ever love my name

When you say it.

Kiss of Life | Poetry

You’re not a fire

That burns bright for an instant

Only to be snuffed out by time.

You’re a flood.

And God how I want to float in your waters

And drink the life that pours out of your mouth till I too

Become a flood

And sink the world in life.

Temple | Poetry

I wash the sin from my hair at dawn

With rose water and the last remnants of moonlight.

I scrub my feet with rags dipped in milk and yesterday’s prayers.

I have sandalwood incense sticks for fingers,

Braided coconut husks for ribs,

And jasmine blooms for a womb.

Swirling mandalas trace themselves on my thighs in fine ash,

Bright vermilion pours from my parted lips.

The fire is stoked with charcoal and cinnamon in my belly,

The bells are silent in my throat,

Waiting for the ritual to begin.

Qamash tied around my ankles

Pulls my legs apart.

This is where you come to pray.