The Thirst of the Heart

 

Here is almost the moment
the instant
there is no longer the dark days
on the fading horizon
the luminous nights in the presence
of the radiant stars…

Hear my dear, it has grown
to bless this lifeless body
with a beating heart boundless
like water flowing without illusion
those frail hands will unite the
sorrowful knot of dreams
the protected radiance will rest
in witness, write upon the table
of the waters the foams, the froth
white, bright, salty
the burning thirst thrusts upon the heart
an ache that neither dawn nor dusk can
make it sweet, the yearning to drink thrashes
upon the shore of distant waters

The Earth Bows

 

Earth, a ship, your forehead
all bleeding red
the stars, the water in the blue
pages can be hardly read
the naked shoulder low, heavy
tired, bent
the heart grows cold
wars are bold, proud
love weak, old

….

The oil has reigned over her body
with shifting shadows
she bows before the boys and girls
for she’s leaving destruction
her neck drowned in shame
as one weighs the souls of the dead

Extinction

 

What we have done to the world
if it could ever see
it would hung its face in shame
what noise we have hit the world with
if it had a pair of ears it’d
have the blue horrors
in the frame

stone deaf, the world cannot hear
a word of what we say
remotely blind, it can hardly see
the daily blasphemy

it’s a stage, it provides us space nevertheless
for the game to play out
with players who pop in and out
in a flame of rage for name and fame
for a moment of weakness
the screen goes up, it falls
all the characters know is to destroy, demolish
delete, disappear existence until it goes extinct.

Walking along

 

I was walking
inside a screen
of a media or on a stage
I don’t know
it could be in a dream

I don’t remember the place

the space disappeared
it drowned, only the action
surfaced…it continued until
the legs were threatened
irs sound beat the eardrums
I wanted to stop, but couldn’t

if I stopped the limbs would be
severed it seemed, so I…
i went on and on
the flesh melted in the sweltering heat
if I stopped it meant I overstepped
into others’ domain;
there was punishment
if I stopped if I moved
but moving was
the better option so I found myself
walking meaninglessly, meaningfully
on and on, all alone, one on one.

The Papa cool

 

Bob teaches maths
like Hàorán, Kobayashi,
François, Salim, Sampath.

In the midst of differences
The content is the same,
Like the name of the game.

‘Come to my school
they are the fools
come run run
don’t go to them
you’ll miss the fun

I know the logic
I have the magic
I’ll show you all the trick’,
Says each Papa cool. 

Against nature

 

Past…
hatred, violence.

Continents, countries,
neighbours, families,
lost in the land,
in the sand
of frozen memories…

living on the mounds
in the deeds of the dead.

Against nature
where love breeds like
a loving seed from the 
depths of destruction  

Timeless Desire

All desires come with
an expiry date
the desire for that
scented eraser
or the friend espoused
that went out of hands
through the roughage of time;
time that never knew to
space times, constantly
rubbing, crushing the grinding
passage of time making
it a mesmerizing mess. 

Of what consequence,
of what significance
is the house built
by those lovers
infested now with a
murder of crows
eaten by grass, alas,
they don’t even meet
to help each other
at times of distress.

The soul, the self alone
has an infinite
shelf life, for as long
as it is there
in thin air, it lives,
it never leaves the breath
until it reaches death.

Là où s'en vont les vagues et les vents

Là où s'en vont les vagues et les vents

Ma rencontre avec
l'amour
se raconte à travers
la nature.

Mais mes paroles,
dites ou écrites,
parfaites ou imparfaites,
ne se dévoilent jamais.

Jour après jour,
je me demande s
ouvent
où s'en vont
les vagues et les vents.


Where the Waves and the Winds Wander

My encounter
with love
finds its voice
in nature.

Yet my words,
spoken or written,
perfect or imperfect,
never reveal what
lies within me.

Day after day,
I wonder still
where the waves

and the winds wander. 

Une Feuille de Route

La route n’a point de lieu 

qui lui soit propre — 

elle n’est qu’un chemin, 

qui embrasse tous les êtres. 

Que la route infinie 

ne connaisse ni l’heure, 

ni le matin, ni l’après-midi, 

ni le soir — 

tout cela demeure vain. 

Que le temps lui-même 

soit dénué de pertinence ; 

il n’existe que la possibilité, 

à chaque instant renouvelée.

Ainsi accueille-t-elle chacun, 

dans une égale étreinte ; 

elle offre une feuille de route, 

acceptant tout être tel qu’il est. 

Devant mon corps 

s’étend la route ; 

de même, elle demeure 

en mon esprit. 

Il n’est que le voyage 

vers l’avant, 

d’année en année, 

de vie en vie.

A roadmap

The road has no place of its own— 

it is only a path, 

embracing everyone.

The endless road knows 

no time; morning, afternoon, 

evening— all are meaningless. 

Time itself bears no relevance; 

there is only possibility, 

at every moment. 

In the same way, it 

embraces everyone, 

it gives a roadmap 

accepting all that they are. 

Before my body 

lies the road;

in the same way 

it resides within my mind.

There is only the 

onward journey, 

year after year, 

life after life.