The Bucket List

I should have gone to touch the ocean

And watch the golden sun disk rise

Above the line of the horizon

In this one life at least one time;


I should have let white winds embrace me

Up on the sharpest mountain peaks;

I should have dared Saharan heat to melt me

As I chased after desert ghosts and visions;


I should have learned forbidden spells and curses

And in my heart reforged them into prayers;

I should have fought, not run, from battles;

I should have bled, and won, and lost;


I should have easier abandoned

Those who would waste a second of my life,

I should have easier surrendered,

And watched with calm the passing of my hours;


I should have doubled and returned

Each smallest gift I have been granted;

I should have used up every breath that

I did not know the worth of till tonight;


Tonight it is too late to travel

To see the sun spread wings over the sea;

Tonight’s no time to climb a mountain

For tonight it is monsoon season;


Tonight all desert jinns are sleeping

A sleep no human can disturb;

Tonight no witch, no ghost, no demon

Need teach me: by myself I’ll learn


That fights are only for the living,

That blood, victories and defeats

Are merely clouds, forever crossing

The skies above the river Styx;


I fidget in my empty pockets:

What little that I had is gone;

All I have left is but two coins

To pay the ferryman Charon


You sit so peacefully before me:

Your hands rest, cold, upon your knees;

Your eyes half-closed, you smile a little,

Your breath so deep that I hardly hear it…


You must have gone again to wander

In pasts and futures, in nightmares and dreams,

To fight the bloodiest of battles

Against the mightiest of demons;


And as I watch your frozen figure,

I wonder if I know at all

What kind of mind and soul inhabit

This body and this heart of yours;


I sense you are both good and evil,

As short as time, as long as time;

I look, but cannot really see you,

I try to understand, but can’t;


You make me fear and make me hope that

Beyond your face, mine, and all others

There’s not a Dorian Gray’s portrait:

Instead, there is an emptiness called ‘god’

The Runaway Train

Endless rails sing your tale in the rain

And winds chase you aross empty valleys and plains;

Lonesome stations as if retreat into themselves

At no more than a hint of your name;


For as long as there’s fire in your metal veins

And ahead of you — space and more space,

You will fly like a dream through the day

Till the dreamer derails you, her runaway train


Another piece of you I bury

Between green folds of budding leaves,

Asleep tonight like all the people

Whose eyes with mine again won’t meet


And every memory of triumph,

And jabs of pain echoing in the mind,

Like letters to remain unopened

By human hand, I leave behind


My shattered heart’s razor-edged pieces

I have been planting as I walked,

Like seeds to grow from hell to heaven,

As I’ve been traveling the earth


They grow on giant timeless mountains

And in white sands beneath the seas,

On paths which men no longer follow

Because of where such paths might lead


Each piece in my chest with each heartbeat

I feel as it, defying time,

Sends me a quiet but sure signal

From the lives I’ve lived and the deaths I’ve died


I wish my heart were big enough to

Embrace each life and death there is,

But the world is a whole, while my heart – fragmented

So within the whole I plant the pieces


Until there’s nothing left of me