Stones, Precious

My feet scarred from crossing

A cold crystal spring,

I wander into

An emerald forest

/

Under turquoise sky

Coral berries and leaves

Glow red in the sun

Like the red prints my feet leave

/

Hungry, gaunt agate wolves

Lick the black diamond soil

Behind me and howl

At moonstones in my eyes

/

And my weak human heart

In the world made of stone

Begs that I turn and run

But I can’t, mesmerised

A Moment of Weakness

I beg you, mirror, do not cry!

Don’t give this empty room the pleasure

Of witnessing your glass tears slide

Down my glass face, and fall, and shatter;

/

Don’t let it see me on my knees,

Bereft of purpose, hope and meaning,

Struggling to breathe and not to scream

Under this low, old, crumbling ceiling;

/

Don’t let my room remember that

Like others, I sometimes have moments

Of weakness, and forget my strength –

If it remembers, I’ll be homeless;

/

Reflect my eyes in yours as dry,

My lips, pressed shut, as if they’re smiling;

Help me pretend that I am fine,

That here, in me, there’s light still shining

For Me

Whatever gods you pray to, pray for me

Believe in something for a day – for me

My mouth, you see, is sealed forever now

I couldn’t even say my own ‘good-bye’

/

In early spring smile at the sea for me,

Still cold but open to the warming light;

In summer build a house of sand for me,

In autumn make me a bouquet of leaves,

/

In winter dance alone or dance with snow –

The way I used to always dance alone –

And then, again, pray to whatever gods you know

For me, who never really learnt to speak

Chomolungma

 

 

 

 

 

 

Among the timeless lands of ice

You rise –

I kneel before you

/

I’ve walked so far already but there seems

To be no end

To trails that brought me here

/

Does any lead to you?

/

Among the countless rolling rocks

You stand,

Unmoved and moving

/

Away from me who cannot help

But reach,

And reach for you

/

Mother of all my dreams

Evil

My eyes are evil

For they show me

The glow of hope

A million miles away

/

My hands are evil:

Things they touch are

All dust and clay,

Mirages in hot air

/

My feet are evil:

Leaving myriads of prints

On twisted paths

They do nothing but hurt

/

My heart is evil

For its changing rhythm

With long and longer

Silences is fraught

/

My mouth is evil

For it houses

Whole tomes of cruel

Hurtful words

/

My mind is evil

For it tells me

That evil, too, can

Somehow be a good