my fire burns
through every room
in this city.
and i
am a moth
in her streets.
Category: General
Kholadna
Experience,
Understanding…
Fighting .
Never one
The other
Inviting.
Heretic Persuasion
I do not have time,
For the persuasions
Of heresy!
You have prayed
In the labyrinth
Of my temple.
You have bathed
In the heavenly waters
That shower my garden.
You came to me mute
And I gifted you
With the language of my heart!
An Old Friend
We wrestled beneath the tomato vines,
Our elbows and knees beneath a broken cage,
Finding each other when no one was looking…
With dirt in our hair, and smiles in our eyes.
I listened in the garden until dark.
Prayers passed,
And the billows of sage rose from
The kettles in town.
What words were you forced to leave with?
Beneath a Sunlit Moon
Let me tell you
About the moon,
As it watches
Over us
Tonight…
What whispers
Will we find
In the warm winds
Of summer?
Let us be
Overwhelmed
By the westward clouds,
And feel how
Life presses upon us.
a walk
In the alleys of solitude,
Wondering selves
Exchange wine.
And in a gust
Of autumn leaves,
I hoped to find
Your eyes
Among
The evening lights.
Like the smoke that slips
Through a window
Of an aged apartment,
Let me be
The afterthought
Of a marooned soul.
passing thoughts
Yet I find you
as dangling dew,
splitting the sun,
endlessly,
in my eyes.
It is your hand
i want to hold
through the garden
of nightmares,
and through
the ruins of day.
…your footsteps,
falling,
breathlessly,
are a melody
to my soul,
burning me,
with life.
“Why are you so quiet?”
Let us not be
in a crowd.
How can their eyes
betray you?
Come for a walk,
I want to feel
how Nature grovels
before you.
amongst acoustics
I can settle for
A stranger,
And their eyes.
What is sweeter,
Than…
A welcomed
Good-bye?
جدتي
If I can just find
That pocket in your eyes
Where I can rest.
Oh memory,
How beautiful is the smile
Of time’s innocence?
Oh to hold that hand
That nurtured generations…
How does one return
The miracle of life?
When a prayer is burning
With the fires of memory,
My soul is lost
On the milky banks
Of afterlife’s river.
My hands are searching in the virgin mountain
Of our being.
Yet I breath,
A wind that has
Already forgotten,
And yet I breath
In a world that
Will not remember.
ahorsealone 
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