Smoke & mirrors


I look around and see this summer day,
lovers in London fields,
smoke, laughter & mirrors.
Spreadeagled days of content hearts.
But everything is always, just out of reach.
Ships pass in the night,
a sparrow flies into a glass window.
Over and over, unable to understand
the very idea, of something
that seems clear, but isn’t.
A large cage, locked still.
Too often I have felt bound by flesh.
Thought time too linear, limbs too short,
map-makers all too selfish.
This desire to be everyone,
everything & everywhere at once.
Have you felt it too?

illuminations, Uncategorized

An opening of hearts


Today turning a corner,
on a street I have visited before
I found an old record store,
its only signpost- music that floats
and a toddler dancing just outside.

The matrimony of smells & sounds,
carried me to a summer,
in my grandmother’s house,
where the music never stopped,
tea was always brewing,
and there was never any shortage
of pens or playmates.

Today I am like the visitor,
entering the house where I,
not yet ten and tired of summer,
sat in a cupboard reading a book,
just as the store owner’s boy does.

The mind, like old cities,
hides its portals everywhere
and patiently waits for an opening.


An ordinary afternoon

This moment – accustomed yet indescribably beautiful.
I exchange smiles with a man sitting across me, a white parrot prancing on his shoulders.

I sip my tea.

This sunlight that makes everything illuminated, this music that brings me home, this story that’s titled “The world laughs in flowers”

I sip my tea.

The parrot looks at me as if to question the gulf between the accustomed and the fantastic.

I sip my tea.
And the wind laughs it’s many laughs.


A summer’s tale

As I sit cross-legged on this ebony bench,
scratched and worn with weather,
the book in my hand catches the sun,
and a foxtrot on the words is done-

As if uncertain, gliding fingers.
I look up and see the leaves
with palms outstretched, through the fences
and the sun encircled in the greens;

The birds know all these secrets,
whispers of an empty patio,
the invisible chimes of the wind,
and the thin shadows of words.

The secret sounds of a turning page,
and this unbearable lightness of summer.


The bougainvillea, the sunset & I

For a minute we sit, the bougainvillea, the sunset and I

in a minute the sun starts to dance, revealing the real colors of everything around

when he’s done, tired but happy he pauses on his knees and asks us to sit next to him again,

he has stories to tell. The kinds that are collected over years of ripe living.

He doesn’t tell them, he only covers my eyes with his palm, the beautiful colors

of the sunset evoking in me my own sunset stories, that bring me back

many years to a simpler time,

and slowly we catch each others fingers in reassurance,

the fluid rays beaming through mine, making them almost transparent.

Simpler times are indeed in the mind.