Dried land with the shallow mud cracks
Barns remained with the empty sacks
Rolling tyres in the soft soil dust
Stained the leaves with brown coated rust
Scotching waves blowing all over
Unsown plants turned into stover
A curse of God! A few grumbled
Global warming! The learned mumbled
The farmer looked up at the sky
In dejection, he made a sigh
On the eyelid, a pearl drop splashed
At once, a thousand watt smile flashed
I tend my little garden secret,
where sweet-peas once climbed up-
the forgotten gates, all forlorn,
with blooms for lost chances,
long since gone.
I count only the first five petals
of the blue forget-me-nots.
Each one a tiny glance-a-side,
I once brushed aside—
A lash upon an eyelid,
that just closed.
There are the foxgloves
ringing soft bells,
for all the might-have-beens,
and if-only red roses,
that bloomed as promises
inside my head.
So I let my garden grow,
long and slow, to overgrow.
Let it be distilled instead,
into a faint, yellow, elixir of perfume—
"My Sweet-Pea Past".
These walls have memorized
the echo of your voice
coming through my phone at 3 AM,
watched me smile at a screen
like it held the whole world.
That ceiling,
with its familiar crack,
has seen me lie awake
staring up at
after we'd hang up,
replaying every word you said.
The one night sky in May,
witness to our longest call
eight hours of talking about everything
and nothing,
while stars shifted overhead
and we forgot time existed
The mole on your eyelid,
that small perfect mark
I memorized through video calls,
They all held a story too.
Archive dec'25
Gentle lapping water
rolls sequently onto shore
like tiny crystals highlighted by the shining sun.
Blackened tree stumps stand
like soldiers on watch.
A pelican skins across the surface of the lake
in search of a tasty morsel
beneath murky waters.
The lazy dog basking in the sun
lifts an eyelid;
undisturbed
he resumes his peaceful nap.
Campfires send
spiralling puffs of smoke
upwards,
carried away wit the wind
followed by another smoke signal.
The sandy banks
with mounds of trodden turrets
lay in wait
fir creatures on dusk
patrol
seeking nightly nourishment.
The setting sun slowly
sinks
sending silver shimmers
across the lake.
Again as nightfall
descends
another day closes.
The higher heavens kept her secret
that love once kindled, doesn’t perish with distance
It burns in the marrow, it gleams in the wound
Endless falls of the Sun’s golden tears
filling cups of sorrow with a final goodbye
Freya weeps for her lover destined never to return
she leans on the hammered gold wall
with partial face aglow and a deep-set eyelid closed
amber ringlet waves coiled, goldschläger drips
from the Norse Goddess this your myth of olde
its Óðr she longs for
Of divine madness
drowns tomorrow
she fills the regal rivers
and every tear fell from her
...glimmers lux vitae
Have you remembered these before
Begirded, by the yellowy maple
Sweeping them in morning's chore
And the first bites of mellowy apple
And the voice dwindling in icy pallid
The evening thrushes nesting over
Your eyelid mere balmy; thawed my heart of gelid
In my heart of gelid, bloomed the clover
Have i remembered these now-
The joyous rhine smoothing down the vale
And the cockcrow kissing your flawless brow
And to you, I speak those times of tale
Never were the asphodel so cheerly
And too cheerly and too softly wave
To the passionate daisy and too the jovial lilly
'Ah fallible love! truly paramour they are; and brave'
.
A quiet morning with dew
brimming with echoes of you.
Like the sun they glint and skid
through the skin of each eyelid.
Each day is further away
but, I want the ache to stay.
For the throb of loss soothes me,
as our eyes share, day to be.
What Once Was
It was a time when stars were big
shining like Christmas coral and the moon
was yellow as Cheddar cheese, and real
as David Niven's balloon
The air was a golden breath, and we were
rich until mineral seekers came, took
our gold and replaced it with smog
Industrial dust filled our lungs, they said
It was suitable for mass employment
Stars retracted, became dots under
a child's eyelid waking up from sleep
We live in the residue of the past.
Twilight Saga
Eyes too heavy sweetie
On halfway to the realm of dreams
Behold, a sweet harmony
Dance of fairies, whisper of angels
Swan bath in the twilight
Startling eye- catching delight
And my heart throbbing with joy
Admits the words triumphantly,
That you are not just the sun
In whose rays I am bathing
You are not just the inhaled breeze
Into my cute lungs flowing
Well, you are also an eyelid
Eye-fitting holster
You are my lips and cheeks
Limbs, neck and ribs
Fingertips
You are every Me
Born in me
Born for me
Born with me
Born to be with me
I humbly confess
With the deepest breath
Sealed by transparent silence
Marking my restless life
The miracle of my style
The very guy
This confused beast
Determined by God and me
I long to be your angel
Dozing in your arms
The buzzing alarm
When your morning starts
The curtain of the eyelid
Covering your eyes
Your gravity, Moon
Sun Star that shines
I wish I could be
The curve of your nose
Your lips in a grin
Dimple on your cheek
Your vision in a whisper
A sensual smile
I wish I was your body part
Bloodstream veins and heart
Participating in your blood
United in our flow of love
In the shadow of your red lips, angels revile your smile,
A definition of love, where instincts meet in style.
The egg, rolling in infinity, cries in pure moments,
Overturned clouds, round tombs, in my mind's playful torments.
The budding shoots eagerly drink destiny through flowers,
Whose matured pistils erupt in the dawn of dreams' showers.
Your love, without perfumed words that die,
Of my cult, crooked crosses for atheists, a backdrop to defy.
In the astral shadow of the New Earth, the world's wind spins,
Abject stars swarm toward the Universe's hive, where it all begins.
Eternal rotation, in reverse, summer igniting the air,
Imponderability sparking a call in a frail alphabet's lair.
A firm point, a unique end, the start of a calendar's grace,
My transparent eyelid, a humble leaf, the first and last place,
Torn away with modesty, when your pity weeps true beauty,
Dusting cheeks with my virgin loves, singing your story as duty.
Under the world's eyelid, an old eye still dreams in ashes,
rust of gods in wingbeats that no longer listen,
a forest of shadows spreads in my chest, like a hand
that touches a heart-scream, an ancient wound.
In a cracked temple, time bleeds into the mirror,
each second – a claw that grips into flesh,
memory drains down the temple of the thought that I die,
but my soul remains locked in a dream without flight.
I've dug in silences with teeth of glassy words,
to find a light that knows all things are beautiful,
even death – dancing barefoot in visceral snows,
whispered to me that love is weeping in banal forms.
Stars without outline flow beneath my flesh, slowly,
like a prayer that forgets to be concrete,
and then I thought: what if I'm just a poem,
written by a god drunk on night, lost in the system?
In a corner of the abyss, I carry my body of crushed leaf,
autumn no longer descends, but climbs toward wounded thoughts,
while a vulture of salt drinks from my eyes the lonely weeping,
calling a silence that screams in the tongue of ether.
Black lashes
blown off of a fingerpad that throbs
in tandem with an overharvested eyelid
flit to the floor—
wasted wishes
manufacted in mockery of dandelion's dance.
Keratin cracks
beneath the pressure of enamel,
exposing weak, watery skin
on trembling fingertips—
nervous nibbles
evolved into voracious, cannibalistic cravings.
Though hope
fractures under the weight of repugnant gazes
and my unsightly nubs grasp blindly for pigments to suppress
these habitual shames—
flesh forgives
more than the self, and, like a forest after a fire, it grows back.
It always grows back.
Rainstorms in my head,
thunder crashing against my eyes,
blizzards of primal sounds, a boundless chaos
under each closed eyelid.
Between death and life, peace and strife,
I will sleep upon a cliff edge of self -
as a curled kitten in the palm of a caretaker,
or a dreaming child within an iron skull
of extinction or survival,
I shall wait upon oblivion
as patient as any whittled stone
carved by every ancient wave of time.
There, shorn of identity,
surrender to one last apocalyptic tempest,
resting now as a silent voice
within its tumultuous cradle.
The first weakening of night
picks out telephone lines,
black against sky.
The eyelid of a garage door
lurches laboriously up.
A car coughs blue breath.
With aerosols and plastic scrapers
clandestine delights of frostwebs
are raked to chemical sludge.
Starter motors whine.
Windshields cloud with pain.
Gears grind teeth.
An electric train
gingerly
utters inarticulate from the sheds,
groaning over cold joints.
Thinking grimly
of tunnels ahead,
it flares with ill-humor
crossing the points.
On unworked land beside the track,
a fox is heading home.
Gliding through
beneath the "keep out" sign,
he grins at the engine,
which just judders along,
headlights trained
on parallel lines
which glint ahead,
reflecting lurid signal red,
extending out, but never meeting,
towards the vanishing point.
Gentle lapping waters
roll sequentially onto shore,
like tiny crystals sparks, highlighted by the shining sun.
Blackened tree stumps
stand
like soldiers on watch.
A pelican,
skims the surface of the lake,
in search of tasty morsels lurking beneath murky waters.
The lazy dog basking in the sun
lifts an eyelid;
Undisturbed,
he resumes his peaceful nap.
Camp fires send spiralling smoke puffs upwards,
carried away with the wind,
followed by another smoke signal.
The sandy banks,
with mounds of trodden turrets lay in wait,
for creatures on dusk patrol
seeking nightly nourishment.
The setting sun slowly sinks,
sending sliver shimmers across the lake.
Again, nightfall descends.
Another day closes.
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