Complacency

Pedaling in perspiration along
the uphill road to poetry,
you smile in cool complacency,
with the left eyebrow cocked to consonance,
while the sun, and sum, of technical
requirements weighs heavy on your shoulders.

Surely there’s something rattling in your head,
but Fate may one day resolve –
playful, complacent and cool as she is –
to hide from your eyes the on-coming truck
of criticism as you try to cross
over to vanity street and,
Ooops, that must have hurt!

Rise and shine my flat-headed friend!
Quit sprawling on the hot-scented
asphalt of embarrassment;
pick up your pancake head;
wipe the red and move on;
and move on!

The face of justice

In this country
The face of Justice
Is a reflection of a face smeared
With individual and political expediency,
Pervasive corruption and
The occasional arrogance and ignorance
Of public prosecutors.

In this country
The face of Justice
Is what we make of our face,
And hands.

Justice, they say.
What justice?
We’ve lost face
And got our hands dirty!

This country, which never was
Or ever will be,
Is a thing of the past,
Unless. . .

A Ship

A ship,
a ship at last!
Oh how I envy the keen keel
furrowing firmly the future
of its unpredictable route,
while I in time present
am lost
in the past of your embrace.

Again

You rise from the pregnant slime
over and over
to reward with a cereal smile
or punish with a pestilent smack
this or that man
or woman
and then dive deep in the tuberous slime
again
like a sea pen in Tasmanian
tannin waters
until
man or woman merits
the same
again.
Thus time is born.

One and Zero

It's really amazing that
From such numbers as
One and Zero -
Being and Nothingness,
Heaven and Hell were born.

River of fire

Christianity, Islam, Buddhism ... dust in our eyes
wails in our ears, poison in our mouths,
daggers in our hearts.
Let us sit on the bank of the river of fire
and share our knowledge of water.
And when we get bored, let us baptize each other
in the air, for soon we shall become earth.

By a Picture

For years now
I have known you by a picture which
your hands had painfully approved:
head-cover
over coal black anemone,
sad, young and milky white
chador or skin – the same,
to which picture I added in my mind
the voices of the silent sea that best adorn
your lovely lonely face
smiling from the distant shore
I-wish-you-were-here.

Night

Night is queen, queen.
Queen of heaven,
O night, queen are you.

Light is the exception,
For you had no inception;
It was always, always you.

Candle burning like no other,
Lucifer, Luna or Sun,
you could smother all,
but pinned all on you.

I feel wonderful today

I saw her coming from the opposite direction,
a stranger, and yet perennially familiar,
and felt like saying “You are wonderful”,
trying at the same time to disrupt
the physics of a chortle with a smile
that threatened to erupt into laughter.
But all I meant to say was
“I feel wonderful today.”

CrucifiXed between Hunger and Lust

I turned my head to the right and saw
Hunger enter a Bakery, her hair in long
braids carrying the sleeping soil and
the waving grass of the fields,
her clothes bearing witness to the aftermath
of Sodoma and Gomora.
“Father, deliver me from this hour!”

Her unsightly misery threatened to invade
the conscience of customers and employees.
She was begging for an eye-to-eye contact
which would give rise to sympathy
and sympathy to something to eat
If they would only look at her.
But they pretended they didn’t.

No more than three minutes had passed
than she turned back to haunt the streets again.
The redolent warmth of the premises,
the savoury aroma of fresh baked bread,
cakes and croissants were too much for
an ulcerating from want stomach.
“Father, remove this cup from me!”

I watched her tattered clothes flatter and vanish
like thieving crows around a corner.
Then I turned my head the other way and lo! Lust
came into sight, curvy and smooth she was,
well fed but not bread, hence more desirable.
with the hips and breasts bursting at the seams
of her skimpy dress; her look melting iron.
“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Truly, the world is a stage, set up only for mine
to hunger and lust at the same time:
to race the hours for bitter bread
and blind my blind eyes for want of sweet bed.
What good is erection without the cross?
or the fangs of affection without some loss?
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Printed in Thanal Online

An Ordinary Day

It was an ordinary day.
What could I expect
On an ordinary day?
Enlightenment?
(Garlic is good for the heart.)

The sun was rising as I wetted my feet
In the liquid sheet of diamonds.
In the shallow waters of the shore
A little crab was exploring my toe.
I could crash the creature in its morning exploration
But decided I was magnanimous,even bored,
And let it go about its business.

At that moment I felt an icy hand take hold
Of my chest as if someone was intent on
Plucking my heart out.
Then it all went away.
As suddenly as it had started.