Dedicated to camp counselor Mushki.
Boxer, can you see through bloodied vision?
this conflict born from all of Adam’s sons
subterfuge meets necessity in life’s arena
The dead die young Ernest Albert Bett
your concrete grave is a trough
with no pigs yet in it
just convolvulus and ivy
Her fingers tracing mine
Lily danced me out of the garden
those green eyes brimming lively
with purest abandon
lost moments – we live
in womb, the fingers of tree
an ancestress trunk in sects of strife,
as born and lived through roots
like fossil teeth, pressing to death’s bouquet
in November’s winds
Every other night, I look at your picture,
And reach for my phone to dial your number.
But if I really called, would it be a bother?
Is it only me, or do you also still suffer?
When I die, I want to see Jesus’ face
wash his feet, though he’d wash mine
because he did it for the apostles
Looking up, the pink moon rises over the North Sea and it hits me- this spot, this arresting moment is what I’ve been waiting for. Longing with anticipation eats away at such glorious living moments.
For the masquerade is a ball,
and life it’s dance floor.
A single kiss from the sensual & poisonous lips of yours
Makes me bleed red diamonds, while I bloom into the scene so blue
like a light, little leaf
fallen on the dust
to kiss it life, or
like a gust of wind
meant to blow it
away from me
Then, was enslaved in your sheath
in a bosom of appearing angelic roars;
hosting daringly with perfectly
groomed verses, of
your patterns of inflictions
Unfold me; mold me!
Remembering dim rooms
whispering those compliments
trying to communicate the reverence
the pure weight of all this feeling
wading so deep in love
When the quiet hits the room
Like a silent bomb, it arrives
And in the silence- a lonely feel
It comes in a pretty disguise.
This is the power of self-esteem, which is stronger than the outside confidence you radiate. (Because confidence comes from other’s judgments about you, and self-esteem comes from your own judgement of yourself.) Your fear evolves around your own judgement of yourself, not others, as many mistakenly think.
He’s the one who got away.
Had everything and ran away,
To his paradise far away.
As the Golden Ray departs,
Now this journey begins:
The Next Chapter is here,
And from here shall tell.
Phantoms drift midst deep dusk light
timeless and summer, but never settle.
Gray, shadowed and peaceful
faint impressions rust
like old sun faded paintings
on the brick of an antique building.
I reflect as I view the past:
Forever have I held my tongue,
O’er fear I shall attack you,
Rather than confront the past.