gone

how did you lose in love this time?

when you felt your soul intertwined

I did not think this would happen to you 

                                        my friend asks me these things under a decaying ash tree

                                        remembering when all I could speak of

                                        was the village you lived in

                                        which was the whole world to me

did your love go off to war and perish?

or succumb to a terrible illness,

in your arms

crying in pain

or simply drowned beneath the waves?

imprisoned for the very irreverence

that you found beautiful 

or made to suffer by some jealous and monstrous rival?

                                        all these things and more,

                                        how do I tell my friend?

                                        it was not neglect of lover's duty

                                        or fire of hatred brewing

                                        but the cruel indifference of the world

                                        that took my love away

                                        and stamped out a tale of hope

                                        before it could be written

Hopeful dream

 Others linger on phrases like 

“Singing sands” and “wine-dark sea,”

Speaking of places like Venice and Shangdu,

Mystical lands I’d give up to have you,

I wish I could have seen

That unforgettable onyx-eyed beauty 

One last time,

Before setting off on my journey,

Insisting that you passed

Some trinket into my hand

So that I could remember 

That you were not a dream 

Alvida 3

 They’ll linger on phrases like “singing sands” and “wine-dark sea,” 

Speaking of places like Venice and shangdu,

Shangri-la and El dorado too,

Mystical lands I’d give up if I still had you, 

But there’s a different sort of twinkle in a storyteller’s eyes,

When they speak of my homeland,

Though it may be a world they’ll never understand

But I remember how heavy the rainfall was on the canopy my last time there 

A primeval world

Yet somehow still stifled by laws

I decided I would indulge in the greatest pleasure there 

Before setting off on my journey 

Who could stop me? Who would dare?

As the papeeha bird cried out mournfully 

I tasted heaven on the lips of an onyx-eyes beauty

Who I’d never see again 

The lascivious pink flowers were covered in droplets 

And their arresting fragrance surrounded us 

As snakes hung lazily from drooping branches

I asked you to pass some token into my hand 

A silver bangle or your necklace 

So that I could take it with me when I sought the golden grain 

Where the sun goes to sleep 

And remember that you were not a dream 

Alvida rewrite

 The rains fell rhythmically on the canopy above me

when I decided I would indulge in the greatest pleasure my land had to offer me

One last time before setting off on my journey,

When the papeeha bird cried out mournfully 

I tasted heaven on the lips of an onyx-eyed beauty 

Who I knew I would never see again 

As flowers of lascivious pink surrounded us 

And snakes hung lazily from the branches of trees

I asked you to pass some token of your love into my hand 

A golden bangle or the chain around your neck

So that I could take it with me as I sought the golden grain 

In the land where the sun goes to sleep 

And remember that you were not a dream 

Alvida

So what if I want to indulge in the pleasures that my land has to offer

One last time

Before setting out on my journey?

No one can stop me 

From tasting heaven on the lips of that onyx-eyed beauty

Who I’ll never see again

Amidst sweet-smelling flowers 

With their lascivious pink petals 

Upon which dew drops glisten

As on the greenery around us

Pass some token of your love into my hand 

So that I may take it with me

Beyond the waterfall 

And remember that you were not a dream 

Smile

  I heard about a lady with a breathtaking smile,

Someone who was enchanted by her

Took her away

To a distant land,

It seemed as though she would never smile again,

No matter how hard her captor tried to please her,

No one ever asked her if she wanted to live in

that hostile land with him,

yet one day a visitor came,

Someone who she never knew 

But when she realized he was from her land

She smiled

I’m not so different from her, am I?

In the harsh winter,

I’m drawn to your lustrous onyx eyes

because they remind me of

a place almost lost to me

however grey your heart may be 

Untitled

The Christian scholar honours 

the philosophy of Greek pagans

as the Sufi saint 

considers the writings of brahmins worthwhile

There is more respect between

different civilizations 

than king and queen of the same domain

More understanding between those

who speak different tongues 

than the sun and moon 

could ever have for each other 

Ocean

 The world seems so much more beautiful when I try to see it from your eyes, 

I love your attitude towards life,

The colours that you wear set you apart from

the dreary grey around you,

Were you a flower, you would even bloom in a desert,

Defying all quietness, stillness and fear,

I wish I were as brave,

But I could not even hold your hand

When we sat next to each other,

Though I longed for you like water,

Drinking your every word but not content with raindrops,

Why could you not have been like waves crashing into a beach that day,

Quenching the desolate sands and relieving me of my yearning?  

Simp poem

Others will linger on phrases like “wine-dark sea,”

But you seek out lands that seem like visions in dreams,

They hunch over manuscripts with their pages unfurled,

But what good are scholars if they fear the world?

Fasting and prayer may help one think,

But is it so wrong to long for jewels and silk?

I met you on the edge of the world where the sun goes to sleep,

never having known an ocean or an admiration so deep, 

In all of your wanderings I can’t help but wonder,

Have you ever known loneliness? 

You may go on thinking of Venice and Shangdu,

But I would not dream of paradise if I had you 

Virginia and Florida

 Vermin retreat back into their dark cave,

fearing the sun,

unable to comprehend its greatness,

and I am reminded of when the English and Spanish

were bedazzled by tales of gold and jewels,

in Virginia and Florida,

or how it can be said that ignorance is like living without light,

This is why I wanted to flip through 

the codices of your mind

and decipher your glyphs,

but you could not stand to hear us praise you,

your fellow scholars, lagging far behind,

desired the warmth of your flame,

our love may be fool's gold and wilted flowers to you but,

we never give gifts expecting something back,

 

and we remember your every word,

cherishing the portraits you made,

as if they had souls and flesh

Old Books

 My old books lie neglected on their shelf,

untouched for many years,

no one has removed the cobwebs,

 

When I flip through the moth-eaten pages,

the dust makes me cough,

and the summer humidity has dampened the covers,

 

but the passages I underlined have not faded,

the lines I quoted to you,

debated with you,

the thin strip of paper you once passed to me as a bookmark 

flutters out,

and lands on the floor,

 

no one weaker than me could forget when

 these books were still alive,

being passed between us,

and accompanying

our long evening conversations

and the times I studied by your side

St. Francis

 The pupil leaves that Forever-Learning-Place for the dusty scrolls of his own chamber,

There was a time when the words of ancient poems filled his heart with joy,

They were the light of his eyes,

But the grim black-robed scholars wished to extinguish his flame,

thinking this distracted disciple would put them to shame,

He gazed out the window like he was seeing the world for the first time,

fearing he would burst with all the questions they'd never let him ask,

Is our Lord in heaven or here with us?

Do animals have souls?

If God made the world, who made God?

It was not that he was irreverent, 

only that he saw the divine where others did not,

in Earth's bounty,

but also in her untamable chaos,

When he shut the door to escape from his foes,

only his love was there to embrace him,

It was she who sheltered him in her arms,

She ran her fingers through his hair and listened to all he asked,

for her name was Wisdom,

and out of all those who sought her,

he was the one whom she loved the best 

Pumpkin (rewrite)

If I had a pumpkin for a head,

Nothing would ever need to be said,

For people to flock to me,

To hear the story,

Of how I got a pumpkin for a head,

No need for style,

My jack-o-lantern smile,

Will get them to stay,

At least for a little while,

I knew someone who drew a lady on the wall,

With that he won the love of all,

I'll always be his rival but never his equal,

Until I have a pumpkin for a head,

My friends would stop mid-conversation,

To admire his portrait of a woman,

I thought they would stumble and fall,

As they turned away from me,

One who is made of flesh and blood,

For his lovely lady on the wall,

I remember when he recited poetry,

How many lines did he commit to memory?

Nevermind, his audience would find more mystery,

In one who has a pumpkin for a head,

I'd have a seat at the table,

Where they all would gather,

Not for the travelling musician,

Nor any gallant fellow,

But for me they would offer water,

Though I would not be able to drink,

I would not need any art,

To win their hearts,

I would not need to master,

Any kind of wit or charm,

To earn their love, 

So what is the harm,

In having a pumpkin for a head?

Pumpkin Head

If I had a pumpkin for a head,

Nothing would ever need to be said,

For people to flock to me,

To hear the story,

Of how I got a pumpkin for a head,

No need for style,

My jack-o-lantern smile,

Will get them to stay a little while,

You drew a lady on the wall,

With that you won the love of all,

To admire that portrait of a woman,

My friends would stop mid-conversation,

I thought they would stumble and fall,

They turned away from me,

One who is made of flesh and blood,

For your lovely lady on the wall,

Nevermind, if I had a pumpkin for a head,

I would not need any art,

To win their hearts,

Nor wit nor charm,

So what is the harm,

In having a pumpkin for a head?

You recited poetry,

How many lines did you commit to memory?

But your audience will find more mystery,

In one who has a pumpkin for a head,

I'd have a seat at the table,

Where we would all gather,

Turning away from you, 

Someone would bring me water,

Though there would be no way for me to drink,

If I had a pumpkin for a head,

Always your rival but never your equal,

Until I have a pumpkin for a head 

Wilted Flowers

 You said that

I should not praise you

The joking remarks I make to tease you

are forced out of me

to maintain a semblance of friendship

between us

I would rather say I adore you

but the poems I write 

are wilted flowers to you

I only wish that

you would receive my love

I don't want any in return

We don't give gifts

expecting something back 

warrior and maiden

 She

can not pass through the village 

without wishing to escape the gaze of 

men from the taverns who see her

reddened lips

the way her black hair shines after

being washed with fermented rice milk

somewhere underneath the porcelain mask

there once was a face less perfect

but less bitter

she longs for the days when she felt

invisible

He 

can hardly move under the weight of his armour

nor his sorrow

sometimes he thinks it would have been better

to have been ridiculed as a weakling

than to turn into this

and the maidens who giggle at his approach

mesmerized by the glint of his sword

expect to hear tales of his feats

how can he tell them that he feels as though

he sold his own soul?

They both would have wept at the perfect line of verse, would have painted landscapes and arranged flowers, would have read the chronicles of the empire not to celebrate the conquests but to lament what was lost,

They,

happen to pass by the same pond one day,

though most days are the same for them, 

and there is hardly ever a relief from,

their loneliness,

that being surrounded by admirers never cured,

but the lotuses looked lovely,

the heron's feathers demanded careful thought,

about what colour to use for them in a painting,

there warrior and maiden glimpsed each other,

for the very first time,

annoyed that the other had interrupted their solitude,

they continued on their way

Garland

What worth do minds like Renaissance polymaths or faces like Adonis have,

Above hearts like his?

The rest of them only see beauty in conquest,

But I never cared for the glittering jewels over which,

So many warriors met their deaths,

What could be rarer than,

A heart ready to burst,

Like a cacao pod when crushed,

Full of his precious life's blood?

To conquer such a heart,

Would make one richer than,

All the lords of those far-flung provinces,

What could be dearer to me than,

Holding his gaze for a moment?

I never wanted those noblemen's sons,

Who drain the life out of memorized verse,

The way their fathers slaughter innocents,

Love is just a word to those princes, in those poems about knights and maidens,

I envy the girl who sleeps in a straw hut with her lover while I'm trapped in a gilded palace,

Who wears a flower garland,

While a pearl necklace is my bondage,

I would cast off my rings and bangles,

For the boy who does not wish to be a warrior,

I will not garland the strongest man before me,

For stronger is the one whose small frame trembles with the force of the love he feels 

Warriors (gotta rewrite this when I have time, maybe as a free verse poem)

 Ever since my mind invented the concept of the Warriors, my young heart wanted nothing more than to abandon my stressful life as a university student in an overcrowded, polluted city to run away to the forest and join them. Everything about them was appealing to my rebellious, nonconformist mind. They wore camouflage. They had masks. And guns. Even though they were a band of outlaws, they had wonderful morals and guiding principles. I fell in love with them because I simply didn’t want to cry anymore. I didn’t want to stress about my finances, my grades, my relationships with other people or my abysmally low levels of self-esteem. I just wanted to live off the land and fight for justice. I wanted to prevent cruelty and evil things from befalling good, innocent people. The Warriors were the fantasy that got me through the awful, lonely nights. I was convinced that such a group must exist somewhere- an armed resistance against capitalism, the state, and everything else I didn’t like that caused me to worry about my future. 

At first, it was great that I had something to motivate me. I tried to keep my grades up and exercise regularly so that I could impress the Warriors in my head. When men broke up with me, I decided the reason was because they weren’t anything like the Warriors. And I found it easy to recover emotionally from those situations because I decided they weren’t good enough for me. Or they would’ve had long hair, strong arms, and known how to fight yet still have amazing levels of emotional intelligence and could say exactly the right words to make me feel better when I was sad. Yet what initially started off as a coping method for feelings of hopelessness and shame started to develop into something I believed as fiercely as some defend religious dogma. Friends started thinking I was going too far with the whole warrior fantasy thing and started pushing me away. 
Yet for about a year, the girls in my class obsessed over kpop stars while I worshipped the Warriors.
But a voice inside my head somehow held me back from venturing out in the woods in search of the heroic antifascist militia. Part of me knew I had my own life to live in the city. My own duties and responsibilities. I had a family and school. I had a part time job and a small but closely-knit circle of friends. What would become of them if I cut them all off to indulge in my escapist fantasy? 
I came to my senses after about a year or so of dreaming about the Warriors each night. I was still in love with the idea of them, but I expressed my devotion through my writing and art rather than actually believing they exist and making fiction interfere with my everyday life. My friends and family members were relieved that I seemed to regain the ability to distinguish reality from fantasy. My therapist told me that periods of change were especially hard for me to deal with, which is why this strange coping mechanism developed during my first year of university. Now that my situation was more stable, the thoughts about the warriors went away. 
So for a time the only instances in which I would mention the Warriors would be if someone asked me what my ideal kind of guy was. Or if I was in a creative writing or art club and I was brainstorming for ideas.
But then the Plague of 2020 came. It was slow at first. Many people died, but the government still managed to maintain order. All over the world, scientists scrambled to create a vaccine. But their effort was fruitless. The virus spread until it was impossible to even go to a grocery store for essential items without catching it. It mutated rapidly, becoming both more contagious and deadly. By 2023, it had become difficult to protect the law and order. It was not uncommon for armed break-ins into people’s houses to occur. The worst part was, you couldn’t even really hate some of the criminals. They were just trying to provide for their family in a world where food was scarce and you had to steal to survive. But violence also grew widespread as people competed for resources. Even if the virus didn’t kill me, I expected that something else would.
I wasn’t prepared for when a group of robbers broke into my house. I hid in a closet, silent enough to hear my own racing heartbeat. I felt like a lamb waiting to be slaughtered. One by one, the bodies of my family hit the floor when they tried to resist. They were no match for an armed band of thieves. I am an atheist, but I still prayed. 
I had to jump out of a window when they set the building on fire to escape. 
When I withdrew into my fantasy again, it was because I had nothing left except for Hope. And Hope for me was the Warriors. 
I set out into the forest, ill-prepared and clueless. I no longer feared death, so I acted recklessly. I made no effort to protect myself from the elements. My skin was ravaged by insect bites. Soon I was on the brink of starvation and I looked like a walking corpse. My skin was pale enough to see every vein in my body. My hair was thin as cobwebs. My tongue was swollen and I longed for water.
When I was found, my words were delirious and incoherent. Yet I still spoke of the Warriors with every breath. 
My vision was blurry, and when I came to my senses I noticed that the men who discovered me were large and muscular. They dressed in camouflage. They wore masks. And they had guns. It was the Warriors! I knew they had to exist somewhere. 
They were well-stocked with supplies. I reached out my arm in the direction of their water. But they didn’t offer me any. 
It was then that it struck me that these men only looked like the Warriors of my dreams. They did not act like them. And they did not have any strong convictions as I imagined. They were just opportunists.
The biggest one barked a command to the others to take me as a prisoner rather than to welcome me as a guest. That’s not how the Warriors are supposed to work. They aren’t supposed to have a leader. In my vision, every one of them is equal. 
No one ever made me feel so humiliated. Not even the burglars who attacked my house. It felt like the whole universe was playing a cruel joke on me. And now I didn’t even have a sliver of Hope left. 

Santa Muerte, or Mictacihuatl the Skeletal Lady

You are fleshless and made of cold bones

Yet your embrace is as warm as a mother's for us

Skeletal Lady, how you love all of us

Wretched outcasts

You see how miserable we are and still you love us

I have nothing to ask for in this prayer

All I came to do was sing your praises

Sheltered in your mercy

Ode of Iriria, the Bribri Tapir Goddess

My eyes are bottomless wells leaking a stream of continuous tears that settle like droplets of dew on my fringed, leaflike lashes. 

You could drown in the watery depths of the endless sorrow that was inflicted on them from seeing so many fragile flames of life extinguished. 

Can't you see that I was powerless against the destruction for I never learned to fight, only how to nurture and cherish my children? 

Have you ever seen a creature as gentle as I? I wear aromatic flowers in my long hair and play a wooden flute for an audience of tapirs. I dance barefoot and have naps on the branches of trees. 

My only instinct was to be a protector. But there is no rage that burns brighter than mine when my loved ones are harmed. 

I can never forgive how you tore out my heart. With your first step into my home, you declared war. 

My eyes are scorching hot with venomous fury, fierce enough to make evil tremble with just one glare.

Diss track for a femboy

Even this winter, though it chills me to the bone,

Does not fail to offer,

Some moments of hope,

But you with your empty speeches,

And manners most gallant,

Though warm on the outside,

Your heart lies vacant,

And who can surpass your knowledge of the middle ages?

You're always seen clutching romantic books,

Speaking of the days of knights and maidens,

You press rosebuds between the pages,

But all this is for show, and nothing more,

You've never felt that roaring force,

Of passion that rivals the waves of the ocean,

Your frame is far too delicate to endure,

The trembling when one's soul is on fire,

Love's just a word, a trope,

In that poem you read about Tristan and Iseult,

And until you understand, you'll always appear silly,

When you attempt to embody chivalry 

Soul-Hunger

 You must have been starving where you were,

as you hungered for beauty,

you turned to the ancient, the flowery, the romantic,

when they wanted you to see the light of reason and become a critic,

I never wanted the splendid sun,

that ball of light,

nor the urns decorated with images of heroes, warriors,

the bold speeches of leaders that conceal wicked deeds,

the bloody conquests,

I only longed for the pale moon,

She's like you in your black gowns like raven's wings,

with your love most chaotic and unreasonable

The Sun and Moon of Awadh

 Darkness crackled on the electric the night,

 between the last day of the month of Ramadan and the first day of Shawwal,

Under the new moon and fiery stars, 

I wore a kurti with tiny mirrors sewn into it, 

my arm covered by silver bangles,

I heard people filling the streets with a tapestry of voices,

There’s something ancient about our friendship,

You were there because you always were,

Our grandfathers were friends too,

In your father’s house,

Idols of various gods were found,

But that won’t stop me from,

Flying kites along the bank of the Gomti with you,

Is there anything more powerful in the whole universe than,

The force of a glorious, sibling-like bond? 

In your calendar, on the last day of Shraavana,

You beamed and your heart was warm as the sun,

And the rakhi I tied on your wrist was threaded with gold

Why I have that library book on hold

Alone in my house when it's raining,

I think of your bronze hair,

The shape of your eyes,

And how I must conceal my adoration,

If I want to hear your voice again,

In the absence of a God I made you my religion,

One day fortunate students will listen to you for hours,

And the less fortunate among them will linger over the words in the books you write,

Searching for a trace of your original voice,

That careful editing could not suppress,

I am unremarkable as the houseplant in the room where you study,

You do not remember the words I say to you,

If you knew how I pined,

You'd surely leave,

And I would not be in your lecture hall but the library 

Second femboy poem (it's so over for me)

You are a water lily in a wetland,

The scholars surround you,

They did not expect to find beauty,

In a place like this,

Where did you come from?

With your eyes greyer than glass,

And your mind like the sun,

You cast your spell,

Without even lifting one of your lovely fingers,

Nor raising your soothing voice,

A girl looks at you dreamily,

Struggling to ask you the right questions,

About the things you love,

To hold your attention,

And you are so humble in your wisdom,

Your friend embraces you,

After not seeing you for a week,

As though reuniting with a part of his own soul,

And they all pass books in ancient languages,

Into your lovely hands that seem to have been made for strumming lyres,

You dwell on words they'll never understand,

Until you emerge, 

With your hunger for meaning quenched,

They watch as you glow,

And they too are satifised,

for they live to make you smile

femboy

 He hungered for beauty,

So did I,

You must have been starving where you were,

when you turned to the ancient, the flowery, the romantic, 

they wanted you to be a critic,

with the light of reason,

but your heart was between those pages in search of beauty,

I don't want the splendid sun, 

a ball of light, the urns decorated with images of heroes, warriors,

the bold speeches of leaders that conceal wicked deeds,

the glorious, epic conquests,

I only want the pale moon, 

she's like you in your black gowns like raven's wings,

your love must be chaotic and unreasonable,

I am intoxicated by you,

I'll show you that the beauty we craved is all around us, love,

here on the earth in the gardens with the flowers,

with you the most precious among them all

The worst poem I have ever written (for some femboy who made me lose NoSimpSeptember who I've only seen three times)

Your eyes, already mesmerizing as they are,

Separate my soul from my body when you line them with kohl,

I live to catch glimpses of you,

Of your soft hair and innocent face,

And to hear your gentle voice,

How like a rare flower you seem to me,

One that I want to protect,

But most of all, I wonder,

Are you kind?

My heart's been broken more times than I can count,

And it's more delicate than your pretty hands,

I wonder if I could trust you,

But for now I think,

What is life but to be near you? 

Red lynx opening

Your gods are not mine,

In your land, rocks seem alive,

Trees seem to speak,

Deer run wild,

Wolves and bears prowl,

The people are free,

The palaces of my ancestors make me dream of former glory,

Just as I long for the days you were with me,

Your words are not mine,

In your tongue, there must be no way to say "jealousy,"

Could I say that I love you?

Or would that make you feel

As though you were in captivity?

Guilt

River-sylphs,

Protect the mournful lady,

Who sits by you and cries,

As though her life is over,

Her head drooping,

Her hair like weeping willow branches,

For she was so terribly wrong,

and she can not be forgiven

by anything earthly now,

Or else let her drown,

With guilt in her heart weighing more than the rocks in her pockets 

Quetzalcoatl (devotional)

Under your soft wings

Watched by your

Eyes full of love

With pupils like slits

Sheltered in your green plumes

And your endless mercy

I remember at the majilis

They said there is a world

Beautiful beyond imagination

But they must have been mistaken

About the pomegrante and date trees

Because I am certain they must have meant

Your land of cloud forests and quagmires 

V. T (horrible draft)

How strange is it that she gave me a book of Cree stories even though — neither of us is from this land of forests and muskeg,

Well then, I'll read about moosewa the moose and musqwa the bear,

the horrible carcajou — the wolverine, that I see so much of myself in,

And beloved Weesakeejak, the trickster,

who doesn't love him?

But I do wonder,

About what other words they may have in their language,

And the silly Europeans,

Romanticizing everything east and west of themselves,

Told us that every Native lived,

With more freedom than a monarch in one of our oriental palaces,

And it follows that such a people would have a very different view on love than we do,

Not a love that seeks to possess,

But one that sets the beloved free,

In this land of forests and muskeg,

How can I let you go when you're lovelier to me than their prairie sunrises?

You gave me a book of Cree stories,

Which I treasured because your soft hands once held it,

And I learned a bunch of animal names in the Algonquian tongue but I can't help but wonder,

Would they even let me call what I feel for you love?

And I'm not talking about,

How we're both girls,

I only mean that the one word I've found,

To capture how I feel for you,

Is not in Cree but in my own language,

rakshesa prema,

"Monstrous love"

(incomplete) In Adoration of Nezahualcoyotl

 Your mind- 

I wish I could flip through its pages,

like one of your deerhide manuscripts,

folded accordion style, 

I want to read you like a book,

your wonderful painted glyphs,

I wan to guess their meanings,

the things we'll never know

Your mind

Half-dreaming I heard

a voice like a flute,

I thought I felt a cool breeze,

There was a magic within me,

That made you appear in my dreams,

Even when I thought I'd forgotten you,

I awoke longing for ancient forests,

Endless and free,

You're the genie I battle in my sleep,

What I remember when I see-

God everywhere-

In art you'll never understand,

I lament the fall of empires,

Of the fate of the Aztecs and Incas,

So many languages,

And ways of seeing the world,

Lost because of the greed of a handful of men who wanted gold,

Five hundred years ago,

You know it best,

And you were suchba different world to me,

And I loved you,

In the rarest language

How can it be,

That a line drawn on a map,

Can cause so much destruction?

What causes the urge for some,

To destroy nature,

When it is what we depend on to survive?

I did not even have the chance to ask you such things,

To read your mind like a book,

Flipping lovingly through its pages,

I did not even explore the depths of your eyes,

The sights I sant to see

Within my lifetime

And the knowledge I crave

Was all within you 

Hope (rewrite)

Her eyes are a night sky filled with stars - offering a glimpse of the eternal,

Her fragrance comforting - she is a rose that blooms in a dream, not here on earth, too perfect for this world,

She sees God everywhere - not only in the mosques and temples she enters,

The universe can not hold the weight of her love, her passion,

The most beautiful thing about her is her mind - I want to lose myself in it, in her,

She makes me want to forget my own name,

She is Hope itself 

Hope

Hope smells like roses,

Her lips too are like the softest of rose petals,

Her touch is heaven,

Everything about her is soft, comforting,

I'm sheltered by her, freed by her,

She heals me 

them

the way he smelled

the way she laughs

the way he walked

the way she talks

his gentle hands

her lovely smile

his irresistible lips

her comforting thighs

the way he broke my heart

the way she gave me false hope

the way they can not see me

the way they do not know me

the way I'll always be ignored

the way I've always been so lonely 

animal within me rewrite

 My longing for you is an animal within me,

I desire to flee civilization,

and seek refuge,

in your wilderness,

Others long to be remembered,

they aspire to fame,

but you make me want to forget my own name,

 

The Animal within Me

 The diligence of a scholar,

alienated from the world,

has resulted in a row of glittering prizes,

on the shelf,

perhaps I'm doing it all,

to feel worthy of you,

but I'm losing the game,

consumed by my reading during the day,

every night is the same,

I return to your arms in my dreams,

no matter how hard I try,

to forget you when I'm awake,

how do I forget you at night?

My longing for you,

is an animal within me,

desiring to escape civilization, 

and lose itself in your wilderness,

sheltered by you,

my refuge from the world,

the others desire glory and fame,

but you make me want to forget my own name

Eboy (condensed)

The Apollonian archetype, now destroyed:

ten fingers for strumming lyres

two Elysian eyes

one radiant mind

all elusive as a dream,

all pixels on a screen 

Eboy

 I called you “my life,”

But didn’t I say,

Freedom is dearer to me?

I burn your effigy,

And with it, the Apollonian archetype:

Sun god, 

radiant mind, 

benevolent heart, 

wise,

Free spirit who dwells in the woods,

While I remain confined,

These images have been tossed into the fire:

The Elysian eyes, 

The soft voice,

The fingers meant

for strumming lyres,

The only magic was my imagination,

It could evoke a sigh,

You came from a place where,

You were told you were broken,

And needed to be fixed,

Faced horrific injustice,

But still you conquered the world,

At night you trembled with,

a sorrow I could not stand to see you suffer from,

and I cursed the world for not granting you happiness,

When I reached out, you shrank away,

Seeing me as just another person who had wronged you,

You had no understanding of me,

You with your different gods, different language, 

What were these but shadows on the wall?

Was it a friendship at all?

It is hard to believe you ever existed,

That you were not a dream,

What were you but pixels on a screen? 

We are from different worlds

where you were born,

trees seemed to speak,

no one could tell,

what secrets they'd keep,

wolves and bears prowled,

deer ran wild,

it was where you belonged,

where you were free,

not in my palace,

not in these walls,

now all of this opulence,

seems so wrong,

I'd give up my crown,

to be by your side,

no glittering jewels,

could compare to your eyes

D.C part 2 rewrite

Do you remember when we saw,

The holy men in their black robes,

As they arrived singing to their god?

You blushed when I said you had elysian eyes,

I said I left my old ways behind,

But I lied,

Your love set me free,

But I did not want to be free,

I wanted to be yours,

I held on to you for my life,

Everything about you,

I would applaud,

but those men kept such words,

for their lord,

For Him, there was no pain they would not endure,

But they said love made me an idolator,

With endless praise,

They expressed their devotion,

But when I did the same for you,

It was madness to them,

When I told you I loved you,

And only you,

Did you think it was madness too? 

Different Civilizations Part 2

Do you remember when we saw,

The holy men in their black robes,

As they arrived singing to their god?

You blushed when I said you had Elysian eyes,

I said I left my old ways behind,

But I held on for my life,

Even when your love set me free,

The holy men kept passionate words for their god,

But everything about you,

I would applaud

For Him, there was no pain they would not endure,

But they said love made me an idolater

When they said they would harm themselves in the name of God,

they were seen as pious men,

but when I said I would do it for you,

It was madness to them,

Now I wonder,

When I told you I loved,

You and only you,

Did you think it was madness too?

Different Civilizations Part 1

Your love set me free,

It was the warmth of the sun,

You did not wish to possess me,

It was the gentle morning breeze,

Under the endless sky,

I could have wandered,

Every direction called to me,

There was a reason why I came,

Something to study, to investigate,

Why does it matter now?

I left my old ways behind,

When you fell in love with me,

Everything felt new,

Even in that ancient land,

Your love set me free

You found me when I was lost,

I feared beasts that were unknown to me,

before I heard your soothing voice,

somehow everything felt new,

even in a land as ancient as this,

where the rivers and skies are abundant with life,

There was a reason why I came,

Was there something to investigate, to study?

Why does it matter now?

I left my old ways behind,

when you fell in love with me

under an endless sky,

where I could wander in any direction,

your love set me free,

it was the warmth of the sun,

you did not wish to possess me,

it was the gentle morning breeze 

Carpo

 I adored her abundant harvests,

and lost myself in her festivities,

when I drank to celebrate my good fortune,

I fell in love with her long, red hair,

she extended her cold, skeletal fingers towards me,

and marked me as her own,

She was the maiden who commanded the earth's bounty,

but who also sent the plagues,

Now I am becoming weaker,

in the Season of Death,

I hear the cawing of a crow,

when she walks away from me,

taking a winding path between the trees,

soon there is no trace of her left behind,

but a trail of withered leaves

Hate

I hate that I love you

but I can not help it

I would love to hate you

but I can not bring myself to do it 

Hatred revisited

I hate you with

the same intensity I once loved you with

the force I never thought I could muster against you

the feeling I once directed at myself

It shouldn't have been so hard for me to hate you when

it was so easy for you to leave when I needed you most

Flute Song

 The lovely notes

of the silver flute

belong to the woodland

as much as birdsong

The gentle melody 

and the scent of flowers

fill the air

and all is still 

tranquil 

as the waters of the glistening lake

My Love's eyes were just as calm 

and blue

the dreamlike flute 

play a lullaby 

soothing as 

My Love's soft voice

I remember the sweetness 

of the familiar sound

from lips like rose petals

My Love's mind was as brilliant

with a heart as warm

as the sun 

with delicate hands

and long fingers 

ideal for 

that pleasant flute

The wailing flute

cries out mournfully

the sound my heart makes

when I realize

you are gone

Enough

 Do you remember when,

you met someone who,

knew nothing but how to adore you?

When on a winter night,

you offered what you called,

your love,

from your heart's barren wasteland,

and you thought it was enough,

Perhaps it would have been better,

to have said nothing at all, 

than to have become,

the weed that,

strangled the exotic flower,

that your lover gave you,

Rare as your words of praise,

though your lover's compliments were,

always abundant,

and you knew this one would spend,

a whole lifetime by your side,

but you would only surrender your heart.

if feathers sank 

By springtime, 

your lover had read

of Tristan and Iseult, 

of Pyramus and Thisbe,

by the time you knew you were wrong,

your lover was gone,

having read of Mirza and Sahiban, 

of Majnun and Layla,

and knowing you

were not enough