It is late last night the dog was speaking of you;
the snipe was speaking of you in her deep marsh.
It is you are the lonely bird through the woods;
and that you may be without a mate until you find me.
You promised me, and you said a lie to me,
that you would be before me where the sheep are flocked;
I gave a whistle and three hundred cries to you,
and I found nothing there but a bleating lamb. Read the rest of this entry
How a kiss is not just a kiss
Your simple touch, transparently playing with our dreams
See how I can tease you with my lips, without anyone knowing
It is only a game that lovers play, with affection Read the rest of this entry
With just one touch I have stolen your heart beat, it moves under the bones of your wrist. I feel the soft art of your hands on my skin, and watch the slim turquoise veins tremble under your arm. A small pulse next to my thumb, tingles, as I count the beats in my mind. Close, your perfect limbs stretch themselves out over my skin with graceful intent. Watch how your fine hair runs through my fingers, sieved. You have touched my soul. A soft ounce of your breath lies in my cupped palm and you are balancing the perfect weight of your head on my numb arm. This starless moon means I cannot sleep, even now. Read the rest of this entry
If I could touch you in this moment
We might fall in love
The lightness of your body need no longer be alone
So I am listening to you now
Quietly in my heart Read the rest of this entry
I can remember the sparkle of your reflection even now; but the coldness of your words often makes me sad. Then I ask myself, why were you so cruel to me? However, it is too late in the year to care just now, as there seems to be a lack of colour in my life, it’s like that empty feeling when looking at a worn-out photograph. Yesterday, I was waiting for the rain to pass, but it didn’t, not for a long time. Sometimes when I am waiting, like today outside the railway station, standing there alone in the street expecting, hoping, for a better day, a better life. I like to imagine that I am waiting for you – why is it that I am always waiting for you? Inside the station there is a room, made especially for waiting; but I never go there just in case it appears that I am waiting.
©
From the beginning of my life
I have been looking for your face
but today I have seen it
Today I have seen
the charm, the beauty,
the unfathomable grace
of the face
that I was looking for Read the rest of this entry
Neda Agha Soltan…
Friday the 19th of June 2009
Tomorrow, Saturday
Tomorrow is a day of destiny
Tonight, the cries of Allah-o Akbar
are heard louder and louder than the nights before.
Where is this place?
Where is this place where every door is closed?
Where is this place where people are simply calling God?
Where is this place where the sound
of Allah-o Akbar gets louder and louder? Read the rest of this entry
As the naked truth of the day breaks through the night, summer begins to breathe its brightest moments. So for now, I am recalling these words from another place, below an Elm tree. At one time it was struck by lightning, but it gripped the soil with such powerful roots, you could dream they ran through the soul of the earth. Tall, grey and blackened by fierce battles; it was a castle made of wood. From there you could see the world and dream how it would end. The crippled arms splintered under each fierce summer, but still they held me in its last moments to heaven. It is gone now, long past its time.
So in turn, I cling to your hand, your soul, like a half remembered moment. I am hanging by my nails, almost like being on a cross, which is only a tree after all. The only difference being it is stripped bare with its heart torn out. The qualitative change of purpose is to inflict pain instead of love. Remember, Judas hung himself from a tree (can you name its colour? I saw it on your lips, somewhere). Only this cross grips the soil with powerful roots, that run through the soul of the earth, into hell. Sometimes I have no nails only blood; it tears my heart, my soul. Your tree crucifies me every night and when I remember the phantom of your kiss, it cuts me like a knife.
©
Your hands
Like ice, in water
Blue ice
Weather beaten
Rounded, somehow lighter
White satin, stained blue
This angelic
Crystal shard
Splitting my soul
Slipping away
Cast adrift, perhaps migrating
Just ice, on water
Hiding deep thoughts
In your distant polar sheet
Alone
I will carry you for now
Until your heart
Melts
©
