Like an invisible rope
    That binds us
    And the more we writhe
    To free ourselves
    The more
    Our knots tighten
    And dig into our flesh -
    So the secret we share
    Deeply mars
    Our suffered humanity
    In a tangle of borrowed excuses
    And isosceles pubes.


    The moment
    That counts most
    For me
    Is the one
    That precedes
    When my gaze
    Eats the horizon
    To discern
    What is outlined
    In the distance
    And perceives
    The Sun
    But only sees
    First light.


    I tense my limbs
    My shoulders lift
    And as I strain
    To raise my head,
    The weight of nausea
    Descends on it.
    I reach my arm out,
    Seeing a wild sight -
    A thin white sprite
    Sucking up my life.


    Lovers reading
    Each other's bodies
    Differ from
    Reading the written pages
    Of a Lover's book.

    Not linear,
    It starts at any point,
    Skips and repeats itself,
    Goes backward,
    Insists and ramifies
    In simultaneous and
    Divergent messages,
    Converges again,
    Has moments of irritation,
    Turns the jasper leaf,
    Finds its place,
    Gets lost.

    A route to an end
    Tending toward climax,
    It arranges rhythmic phases,
    Metrical scansions,
    Recurrence of motives.

    But climax is not the end:
    It is the race to it,
    Contrasted by another drive
    That works in the opposite direction,
    Swimming against the moments,
    Recovering time.
    Every episode
    Is a three-dimensional model,
    Perhaps four-dimensional
    Or no model at all:
    Every experience

    Lovemaking and reading
    Open within magical
    Times and spaces,
    Yet deviate from measurable
    Time and space.

    In the confused improvisation
    Of the first encounter,
    The possible future together
    Is read.
    Each of you
    Is the object of the other's reading,
    Each reads in the other
    The unwritten story.
    If you are together
    If you lie down in the same bed
    Like a settled couple,
    Each will turn on the lamp
    At the bedside
    And sink into his or her
    Two parallel readings
    Will accompany the approach of sleep.

    Returning from separated universes,
    You'll turn out the light
    And find each other
    Fleetingly in the darkness
    Where all separations
    Are erased,
    Before differing dreams
    Draw you again,
    One to one side
    And one to the other.


    Under duress
    Prepare the soul
    To cope with veracity
    Yet offending beyond
    The normality
    Of pain…

    No -
    Stop philosophising,
    No meandering!

    I hurt so bad:
    I feel like breaking
    My heart is rending
    And my spirit

    The eagle approaches
    Her talons out
    She claws my lungs
    I lift away
    I scream my joy
    And halt my sorrow
    I soar to Elysium
    Until tomorrow.

    ~ Poetic perfection
    For Daubmir

    by seekyoursoul (14 May 2006)

    combining spheres of love, to form my woman

    Beauty at your core
    I am transfixed
    On your shine
    Strengthen my inspiration
    My soul drinks it in
    Love and Unity
    Filled with passion
    Of poetic perfection

    ~ For Gianluca
    For the unforgettable soul who crossed my path

    by naiad (11 May 2006)

    Naiad and Hylas -by John William Waterhouse, 1893
    ~ Naiad and Hylas of the Argo crew... or Naiad and Daubmir of Arcadian dreams...

    I dream of you Lover.
    I feel the symbiotic
    pull that melts all reason.
    And in my dream, swirls of
    fire and water dance
    the dance of impossible harmony,
    made real through
    knowing you.
    So you’re the Sun then
    I’m the moon and if
    like Artemis who pays me
    ritual homage I remain alone,
    I am forever haunted
    by the brief eclipse.

    ~ Mujhe nahi pata ki pyaar kyaa hai?

    A Hindi poem from a splendid creature... The Wanderer in Love

    Singing to the Gods
    Mujhe nahi pata ki pyaar kyaa hai?
    Agar dil me ek garaj
    seene mein ek cheer pyaar hai...
    to yahi pyaar hai
    Par yeh pyaar to dil mein hi rahega
    Ek gehre baadal ki tarah jo bas bhatakta rahega dar badar, saal pe saal

    I don't know what love is
    If a roar in the heart
    And tearing in the bosom is love
    Then maybe this is love
    But this love will remain a secret in this heart
    Like a dark heavy cloud which keeps on wandering year after year

Emily Dickinson's axiom
Emily Dickinson's Axiom...