Now, I don’t know why,
he left without a word,
returned from the grave,
only to walk a road I could not follow.
Someone must have held his name closer,
spoken in a language I could not hear.
I watch them exchange unspoken truths,
a passerby in their quiet communion.
And now, I don’t know why,
she left without a word,
came back from the night,
holding a baby’s hands, still and cold.
So, I must let go,
accept the shape of my solitude.
No cryptic signs or fleeting gestures,
only clarity will chart my course.
I throw open the window,
invite the mercy of the wind.
I am a judge in search of justice,
an equivocator craving honest ground.
A parrot, a toucan,
a horse’s head,
and a girl in red shoes
follow a manikin
walking like an Egyptian
into the room
where I used to dream.
None of them speak.
They just rearrange
the brushes on the table
and wait for me to notice
what I left undone.
The Virgin of Guadalupe
smiles at their shenanigans—
a parrot on her shoulder now,
the manikin offering
a rainbow shoelace,
like a ribbon of penance.
Her mandorla ripples—
not with judgment
but something warmer,
forgiveness braided with laughter.
She doesn’t speak,
but the shoelace glows
in her open hands.
Then the toucan sneezes
and vanishes in glitter.
The girl curtsies to the Virgin.
The horse’s head rolls
against the leg of my easel,
and comes to rest
facing me.
I still don’t know
what any of it means—
only that I’m reaching
for vermilion, maybe.
death is the black sun
rising upon humankind
time the seed wind
July 19th 1999
"cryptic cetariodactyla"
while back masking
a humpback whale
song i heard her
sing
splish
splash
i was
taken
aghast
I've heard the opposite of love is indifference,
I think something different than that,
It's hate, though the hollows of nothing, far worse,
Solidified matter of fact,
Only through hate can we know of love's place,
Just as sweltering sweat makes us cold,
And the way that the moon steals sunlight for the night,
Day to dark, when cowards to bold,
In my relative time here on Earth I have seen,
Blinding pain allows joy to exist,
And I think about life after death, God and hell,
Honestly hard to tell which is which,
I seek endlessly for answers to questions unknown,
Choose between keeping peace or to fight,
Finding yin and yang as a guide, always wrong,
But then again, never not right,
All the same, here we are, none and all, simultaneously,
Differentiating between the twos,
When one is the other, the other the one,
Dualities transcend me and you.
mystical purple --
do flowers seek uncanny
healing in the light?
A tiny Egyptian is slowly destroying
the tombs of the great pyramids.
It excavates and delves
and we know not why?
Some blame the Scarab beetle
but ii, as we all know,
just roles mucky balls around
no,
this beetle is smaller
smaller than a polyhedron pimple.
The insect worms through
hieroglyphics with such focused determination
that it can translate the symbols into
prefect english;
'perfect English' being now considered
to be a long dead language,
we may have to decode and clarify
what otherwise would be
just the usual Egyptian crap.
I hear you
Pounding loudly
Soundly
Falling fast asleep
Each drop
Flashbacks
Going back and forth
Pores raising
The sound of rain
Starting all over again
We- started off as friends
And somehow
It turned
To something
Far beyond explaining
Odd timing but-
Re-reading this
Means
Everything I’ll want to say
From the realms of my heart
And my soul
Hard to separate
What I want
And all I know
The circular motion
Figments of my imagination
Knowing there’s nothing worse
Than a cryptic charade
That seems like
The perfect escapade
It may be colourful and wild;
Over fantasized
But still remaining;
Undefined
cryptic description
you may say: it's not deserving
somebody put it there
and others
agreed, can't stay without the vote
from the majority, cope
cryptic black
glaring onyx of her eyes
~ cold and heartless
careless hands roaming ways
lost in wisps purple haze
cryptic days secret nights
southern daze northern lights
careless hands restless feet
half not whole incomplete
rambling round cubic curled
resident netherworld
careless hands roving eyes
purposes in disguise
broken hearts no repair
sans remorse without care
everything
everything is introvert
discover itself
where many thoughts play
world
a visionary stage
mind
an absolute traveler
but lonely
to the whole world
visualized there many things
non-visualized things are mysteriously hidden in mind
artist
discover very a few on the canvas
but the tape of mind
a finest fiber of unknown
enthusiasm to know
but all in cryptic riband
subtle feelings
come out as the needles
but express as the axe
mind is mind
a game of fine art
in circadian rhythm
-January 22, 2020 Chattogram
Follow me not you gypsy moon, hiding behind clouds
I know you floating high spinning around and around
Flower moon of May glimmering bright and full
Do the prairie blooms bow to you touched by laughing winds
Do the tides wave to you pulled by your might
Ancient companion to mother earth
Why do you hide the secrets of your birth
I hang my hat on the crescent moon
Listen to the coyotes serenade you with earnest howls
Why so mysterious
Where did that man go
Children's rhyme teases of a sphere of cheese
Jumping over with a cow and a spoon
Lovers snuggle under your glow
How long has it been since you felt the footprints of man
Walking into the night the sky clears
And you old moon follow me
If I climbed to the very top of the mountain's peak
Tippy toe and arms up to reach
Could I touch your old moon face
Would you smile and turn new
Or are you content being blue sad
Are all the answers in twinkling stars in space
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