Daydream

We are
Consumed by the wind,
As the autumn leaves
That leap from the hillsides.

So we write,
With our darkest ink,
Passages in the sky…
Letting our afterthoughts
Mingle in the gardens
Of heaven
Like careless birds
In early spring.

…testing the emptiness
Of existence,
We listen through the silence
For Grace.

And she says,

“Wake up…”

With the tap of morning dew
Upon my ear.

 

Morning Dew

All that has left

All that has left
So silently,
Wanders among weeds,
Savors sweat as wine
And carnal company…

What of the eastern sun
Which never sets?
What of the whispered tongue
Upon a lovers lips?

All that has left,
Parted with the wind,
And the warmth beneath
The dearest wing.

Sing…
Sing…
Sing…
What of the eastern sun
Which never sets?
What of the whispered tongue
Upon a lovers lips?

I know love
Lets no wicked rest.
And I know grace
Weighs heavy
Upon my chest.

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.