subtle thread

yours is the invisible, so subtle
thread that is threaded with my threads
many in number and knotted
threading also my pains like beads

colourful, and as if they are pearls

of great value; hence you bend down
to pick every single bead
that rolls down to escape your diligent

threading by my mind’s protests

and my heart’s constant cursing
my creator, owner of all beads;
rescue me now with your thread

lifting me high into your vehicle

from this pit of bitter cold and cobras
that sting me constantly to kill
or, cover my pit to choke my voice

nothingness to nothingness

my trembling and tottering

on the brink of nothingness
all around and within me
prompt me to turn towards you
like my cacti to the sun

but you remain silent
unknowable despite all
my years of seeking you through
the many mythos and philosophia
floating like rain clouds in the oikumene

but did i not see you gazing
in the direction of nazareth
the man wearing only a loin cloth
booted out from this world

so i turn to him in hope
only to find him emptying
his wallet and his soul
leaving no room for bloating

he permits only heaven’s winds
to bring whispers to his whisperings
and clouds to float him back into that
nothingness the world battles to fill

same rhythm: let go

except the fools and the stubborn
know the rhythm of life is same
in north, south, east and west
and all sing sacred songs, saying

prayers looking up, or deep within
to that beyond, beyond the ordinary
consciousness, while blessing those around
and performing with folks ceremonies, rituals

religious in essence, ever struggling
to follow instructions as the earth woman
the spouse of the morning star,(1) struggled
before breaking command to feel

loneliness while man was out
hunting, gathering food
to return home to feed
family, evolved from a simple promise

broken by a longing for someone
not the spouse, by letting in the flood
of lust, the beginning of loneliness;
in sky country too they let go the woman

(1) The story is told among the Blood Kainai people of Southern Alberta about a girl who married the morning star. She went to live there with the spouse and the day she failed to obey the instructions of the husband, she became lonely and eventually returned to her people on the earth. Cf. The Girl Who Married the Morning Star, by Mary Hays and Louis Soop, World on a Maple Leaf: A Treasury of Candian Multicultural Folk Tales, Edmonton: United Cultures of Canada Association, nd. Pp. 45f.

simple pleasures

a strong cup of coffee
that plain black
with nothing added into it

a shorter story
to explore the collapse
of my strong youthful dreams

and a simple seat
to consume the free providence
of the strong morning sun

these are what I seek
these days in the dusk
of my crumbling life

that missed
those many birds in hand
with its focus on one in bush

departure order

with a departure order in one hand
and hand-cuffed to the other
but in heart filled with an overflowing
of pure spirited spirit of joyous freedom

i boarded the aircraft to the land
i fled only a year ago with a vision
of that gospel of american prosperity
of easy green tabloid announcing

a hypocritical affirmation, a trend
empty of human compassion
that trust in an absent god, mistrusting
my story of pain caused by guns and jets

my dream now is to carefully blend
the lessons learnt in two prisons
and continue my struggles to gnaw
like the beaver until the falsehood fall

blank screen

the blank screen, a bigger bully
inveighs my emptiness constantly
until my soul submits, to yield
that song destined to become a poem

un-meaning, un-rhythmic lines
designed and botched in mind
sick and bloated with an empty ego
but like that lotus in shitty mud

can still bring fragrance
of greater perfection
and petals of majestic beauty
to seat an egoless Buddha

my mini-vacation

end of every three weeks
i take a break to take time
to sit in the airport lounge
to watch the young and old

to play with justin
to pull him closer
under my blanket
and later change his diaper

i ponder how best
to share the love that i am
and grace i can give
to unease another’s burden

i sit with questions
allowing answers to unfold
i think about my day
and my years gone

i wonder what will matter
a year from now
i recall what i am grateful for
and remain quiet to sip my doubts