She

She

Hides behind

Thinly veiled smiles

Talks of flowers

And knives

In the same stale breath

Envisions a death

She

Is Athena

Ethereal and yet – very real

Is her mirror’s favorite subject

And yet in her mind it rejects

Her

Voice sounds like an angel

When its busy not sounding like a mongrel

Walk is a swift breeze

And is also an easy tease

She

Is a merciful vengeance

A heart’s cold resurgence

Runs away from affection

And yet longs for an aching affliction

She

Is a vessel brimming with hope

With who you have decided to elope

Doesn’t always swing both ways

But you will take your chance today

She

Is slowly moving away

To your heart’s dismay

She

Is looking at you

Like you are the new Taboo

She

Doesn’t want this dance

Was never hinting at a romance?

She

Wishes to unsee

The desperation for love that is – me

she 

 

The Little Red Dot

I don’t remember

the first day

I just remember

it hurt.

I didn’t see

it coming

I only saw

the little red dot.

I never understood

the pain that seared through

I only understood

the shame that was passed on

Now I hide

the dull ache with a smile

Wish I didn’t have to hide

the lifeless cotton detritus

****

How does it feel?

He asks

I was never allowed to feel

I reply

Why don’t we make love?

He asks

Honey, I am too busy shedding love.

I reply

****

I was thirteen

when the little red dot came at first

I was suddenly NOT thirteen

women grow up in a day – my mother said

The world was quiet

all of a sudden

and the only thing that wasn’t quiet?

The screaming little red dot on my school uniform

They pointed, they laughed

Guess schools are tougher than the world

My sister didn’t laugh

she knew what it meant, those mean words.

****

Do you still hide

your stains?

She asks

Do you hide

your smiles?

I say

Did they whisper everyday to you too?

she asks

Did they tell you

that the little red dot

was taboo?

red rose.png

 

 

Jibber Jabber


Blank pages

Blank mind

Blank thoughts 

An empty mind

Bright lights

Bright shapes

Bright shrouds 

A shiny gaze

Dark nights 

Dark minds

Dark rooms

With Fate inside

Clouded eyes

Crowded room

This Clouded hope 

Smells of doom

Rhyming lines

Leave behind

A sordid story

In a pensive mind

Weeping Woman

Embraces suffering like an old friend

walks with her head surrendered

looks up only when dreaming of joy

her heart is ignorant of its own wonders

 

Her mirror is a friend and a foe

that smile – a guileless weapon

her sorrow has more courage

those tears – precious heathens

 

Lives inside a guiltless frame

becomes real to all those who walk by

and if they see those tears up close

they’ll find Dora Maar has just smiled…

the-weeping-woman

Masnavi

rumi

Why leave the fairy lights?

Blinded by their wistful sighs

When you could close their eyes to let their light breathe in

 

Why leave behind this happy cloud?

Become another face in the crowd

The beauty your eyes seek can only be found within

 ****

Darkness is a bad influence

It feeds on sad remembrance

Perhaps it’s best to surrender to it with a smile

 

Silence is contagious

Its peace deemed too precious

Only the heart knows the beauty of an unsung song

 ****

Love that’s an epiphany

Is often mistaken for destiny

Your fate is a reflection of your heart

 

Soul is a lonely friend

Surviving in ignored bookends

Perhaps it’s time to open your heart and let it in for a while

***

Conscience is a worthy adversary

Almost always defeated by false bravery

Make it your friend for a dreamless night

 

Those fairy lights they beckon

Rumi has spoken

“It is your light that lights the world”

 

Monachopsis

This piece of me sits alone

My words lurk in rusty corners

They don’t fit in a box

But they aren’t free just yet!

 

This ink that bleeds out my soul

Flows without direction

Each curve fills me up

Drowns me in drops of empty regrets

 

What category?  What genre?

What theme am I?

Am I that condescending voice

forever without -definition?

 

Why do these words need an indent?

Why a structure? Why a sentence?

Did I create this to fit in?

or is rarity my ascension?

 

This piece of me doesn’t know

Whether it is the lone drop in the sea,

Or a snowflake descending

Or is it just a desperate scream of the meek.

 

This piece of me doesn’t fit

the precious glass slipper

It is not stuck in a list

This piece of me…is just…me

monachopsis.png

http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/post/36505968156/monachopsis

 

Mortality


This death that creeps in

Is neither yours nor mine

It doesn’t discriminate 

Red white black and blue

It, just, is…

It stays its hand

When you breathe out

Each night when your bones creak

It lets out a sigh

Like an old friend, it waits by your side…

It’s not the darkness you see

In the shadows

That’s just your fear of an unknown light

Death loves you

Just like life, it lurks…

In that empty room

In the depth of the night 

When you decide to stop your fight 

Its embrace is warm

And like your angel, it lets you fly…