Now that It’s Over

So much is over…
Who swallowed those capsules of time?
And if it’s over and gone
Why does memory live…?
…like a persistent ache
…like a question left unanswered…

Is my change true and final?
If I wasn’t that
Then am I certain I’m this?
Memory is seductive
It beckons me to return
A smoke that suggests a hidden flame…

I stand somewhere in between
What was and what seems to be
Baffled that neither is my ground
I’m wondering then…
What is my truth?
And what skin will cling to me

When this moment too, is over.

Remembrance Is Not Memory

Unaware of my truth

I created memories

Memories of me

Memories of you

Memories of sorrow…

And now

These memories torment me

They remind me of

Why it’s safer

To collapse, to suffer, to hide…

I watch a bird

Fearlessly stand on the ledge


That the chance of falling

Poses no threat.

I wonder…

Just for a moment

What must I remember

To find my wings when

I’m standing on a ledge overlooking memory.


The light that had pervaded

the experiences

That I have come to describe

as my life

Had gathered itself into

a saffron orb

And now it stood before me-

all wise and glowing

All earthly latitudes

and longitudes

Mapping it in a poetic alignment

with the strains of my heart.


What does all this mean

I wondered…

Why is my life on a sprint


Why does my day begin

and end?

Why do our lives begin

and end?

What dawns and

What sets?

What exactly is gained and

what precisely is lost?


It’s in space and light that

my days unfold

And the stories that have

begun today

Will advance in plot

and complexity

Over days infused with

new light

But will I know

any better?

If not a day like this

What will a day of wisdom look like?


And now I’m thinking of

new questions

Does light have hope?

Do I disappoint her?

Does she expect me to meet her

with less indifference?

In what light must I see-

the light of the day?

Now that the day stands condensed before me

as the setting sun

I’m wondering about all the darkness

It has left me with…


Light will merge into light

It’s darkness that will live yet again

For a life-span of a night.









I’m trying to hear you

Behind the incoherence of your words

You dress them up in so many layers

They muffle up your meanings.

What do I make of your anger?

What do I make of your smile?

I’m trying to learn your speak

I’m trying to decode your spirit

The heart and mind-

They speak different languages

And somewhere in between

Lies your essence

You lie in between two warring worlds

A victim…

Of melting feelings and frozen expression.

An Opportunity

The everyday as I  see it

Is a mask, a disguise

A mock constitution

Of half-truths and lies


You think you stand with a crowd

But you’re actually alone

The voices you hear around you

Are really your own.


Then why do I experience

The same world and the same you?

Why do I bring old eyes

To see the new?


We are in a sense blind

Till we begin to see

We’re born enslaved

And we must set ourselves free


How will such a freedom

Come to be mine?

Through the thick walls of my being

How will light come to shine?


Why does my heart, I wonder

Never utter a word?

Why does it suffer in silence

Never to be heard?


The mind is a vacuum

I’ve mistaken for a missing part

It sucks in fear and hate

That silences the heart


The heart will speak

When one is all of you

And not till you stand fractured

Dismembered into two


How do I join together

Parts of my being?

How do I accept your half-truths

As flaws in my seeing?


Where do I begin

Where do I make a start?

How do I silence my mind

And listen to my heart?


The heart I understand

Is the mind of a higher face

Its power of feeling

Removes all distance and space


Let me not just hear your bitter words

But of them also make sense

To the kaleidoscope of the everyday

Let me bring a whole new lens


The everyday is not

A displaced fragment of eternity

It’s what you are and

What you have the opportunity to be.


I pushed away

One dress after another…

None of them was ‘The One’

…I was looking for me.


If a dress were me

How would it look?

What threads would tell my story?

What moments would weave together as warp and weft?


And what colours and textures

Would reflect the age of my mind?

Which anecdotes would be printed?

How would it embrace my body?


I don’t like tight hugs any more.

I don’t want my breasts cupped

Or my buttocks grabbed

Or my form sculpted.


I no longer desire to be desired

I wish for silence and an ease of being

A place by your side

Loved, adored, admired, trusted.


I now like to maintain

A respectful distance

My relationships must stand the test of time

The truly beautiful is never a trend.


I find nothing up for grabs

Calibrated and cut

To the dimensions of my being

Except for this beautiful silk stole…


It’s light as air

I wrap it around me

And it engulfs me like an aura

I smile…


In and through it

I catch a glimpse of my Self

How deep is my need

To be visible, to be freed, to be true.

The Real Need

I realize

That for some

I may be of questionable caliber


They want to assess my sophistication

When all I wish for

Is for somebody to simply listen.


Why- in a strange travesty of intention

-Is my expression more valuable to you

than my overwhelming need to express?


How in heaven’s name

Are you going to draw value from my expressions

When you can feel nothing for my compulsions?