Sunday, July 8, 2012

Writing tools-

On days I wish,
I was a settler in the ghetto of lost words
perhaps, like a weaver of folklores
coming in and out of verses
that surround my home.

though
life with living words
would be too much of a freedom
where deceit by the metaphors
that carve the cottons of a poem
would bear forcefully
on the shadows of my mortal body.

So, I wish anew, life
in the far stretched island of silent staccatos
where you live beyond the horizon
of sunrises
and sunsets
and moons

but then, such places
have no sounds nor seas

.
Let us meet halfway then
in the summer river of our aching souls
the tropic of wounded bodies
and sand dunes of simmering subconscious
where we live for an eternity
into the slum of words
and the country of portamento

Love, when you sleep tonight
keep the windows of your soul
unlocked