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Enmeshed

Enmeshed in thoughts of black and gold
of amber and of careful skill,
and drawn towards these almond pools
whose sparkles drain my will

Enmeshed and tangled into strength
which carries weakness in it too,
caught up in thoughts uncertain of
the whereabouts of (always!) you

Outside my window stands a tree
with leaves unfolded, clad in green,
and on my window sill is set
an ashtray, cigarette butts within

But in my head I only see
those smiles, those tears, those memories
who with your disappearance ought,
yes ought!, but never quite do, cease

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Ageing

The changing features of your ageing face,
a 1000-year old oak could have for bark,
that natural, innate and rhythmic grace
that leaves my words of poem in the dark

The life that thrives in your dark, simmering eyes,
the radiance that shines out of your mind,
that flow; continuity of time that lies
beneath the changing forms of our kind

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When You Smile

Those wonderful, curious ridges
and valleys adorning your face
that speak simultaneously to me
of agelessness and bygone age;

Those shadows and highlights; treasures
of wisdom both old and new
contained in your smile and your wrinkles
ceaselessly draw me to you;

What good is simple beauty
that knows very little of time?
No, tempered by time and struggles,
such polished it’s made sublime;

And through your beautiful wisdom,
which smiles bring to your face,
I sense an ocean of vital strength
transgressing the passage of time, and age.

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Iconostasis 1.

Your lips and their redness,
their fullness and flavour;
their warmth and their sweetness
that I long to savour.

Your jaw and your cheekbones
in exquisite sharpness,
the hollows they leave in your cheeks
make me breathless.

Your straight, perfect nose
showing proudly between them,
those arches of beauty;
some time I will kiss them.

Your hair, neatly trimmed
with few spots of greyness;
the short ruffles, curl-like,
my hands have caressed.

Your eyebrows that arch up
and frame in your features;
your brow with the wrinkles
of thinkers and dreamers.

And lastly your eyes;
the amber-brown wells
whose dignity shines
on the face where it dwells.

You rarely show feelings
so I do for two –
but any expression
looks stunning on you.

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Iconostasis 2.

The touch of your hand and the sound of your voice –
the smile and the movement of lips and of tongue –
the flicker of eyes and of eyelids, your breath,
the turn of your head and your shoulders, your warmth –

The tightening of sinews, your delicate fingers,
the ironic glimpse in your flicker of smiles –
the picturesque shape of your bones and your features,
the dignified shyness of poise and of gait –

The worries that furrowed your brow and your cheeks,
the wisdom that rests behind smiles, behind tears –
the knowledge you’ve gained, the illusions you’ve lost,
the marks left behind by your loves, hopes and fears –

The distant remoteness you try to preserve,
the closeness you need and the substitutes for it;
leave that in the past, and let’s see for the future
if not my embrace could prove much better fit.

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The Conch

I used to hear the sea
when holding conch shells to my ear;
I never knew an ear could be
the same shape as a conch
or a heartbeat
mimicking its melody.

I used to miss the sea
when roaming from my home;
but now its melody
resounds to me through you
in pulse and breath and heartbeat.

You, portable new sea
and portable new home.
The currents of your body
sing my private lullaby
while I rest in your lee.

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Firelight

The light of the fire flickers on your skin
alighting your cheeks, your forehead and chin,
unmasking a deeper, hidden hue;
the flame that flares inside of you.

In red and orange and yellow now shine
the skin and the heart within that is mine,
the shadows of deepest, darkest blue
perfects with their contrast the image of you.

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On Drawing K In the Shower

A monumental quality
as such there shouldn’t be
in a thing as transient
as the human body.

And yet there is a sort
of perpetual strength in
the look of your muscles
and sinews tightening.

As if you were a cliff
squaring up to meet the sea;
enduring and majestic
in its rigidity.

Yet as that cliff you are
still vulnerable too –
these years that pass away
are also marking you.

So here I am at work
attempting to preserve
through graphite, yet again,
every sinew, every nerve.

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A Crooked Tree – II

I’ve wished that I was beautiful,
spent years pining therefore –
I thought myself to be sorrowful
without admiring glances,
and wasted years by dreaming me
into something that I couldn’t be –
just this I am; a crooked tree;
the only beauty found in me
sounds through my crooked branches;
the wind’s cheerful melody

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Fragile Dawn

Fragile Dawn – I barely see you
as you shimmer through an eyelid
halfway gone before you’re here,
halfway gone while you are here –
You bring promises with you
that, forgotten, fade with you
in the bittersweet gradient
of morning sky and clouds –
A barely registered pulse
of colour and of sounds
that goes unnoticed by and large
and passes at a glance.

A single bike whirrs by beneath my window
with the buzzing of a fly.
A factory chimney across the bay
spews rosy haze.
The sound of rustling leaves,
suddenly turned up high,
reaches me as you set the world ablaze.

Your beauty lies in this
ability you have perfected;
to make things beautiful
that normally
go undetected.

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YOU

to the girl

YOU
are streams of music, tones of rain
and moisturizing breaths you share,

YOU
are a song that comes and goes –
unnoticed though by most –
that follows me asleep, awake,
and lives inside my palms

YOU
breathe out tenderness and contours,
breathe in life and dance
and paint a life with nothing
that has meaning

YOU,
your…
yours…
your…

curls of heat that stir the air
on a hot summer’s day
and fuses floral scents
with everything, everywhere

YOU
are everything I see –
you are in flowers, are in trees,
are in valleys, are in hills,
in the earth and in the sea

a breath of freshness
yet to be renewed
in waves that lap these
strands of welcoming seas

and a continuous harmony
playing its soulful airs
of tension between sea and sands

and YOU
as you recline and you observe
the ordered mayhem you create –
that is created from you –
spiraling outward from you
in its warm, entangling curls

a softness like the finest silk,
a moisture like the thickest mist,
a penetrating scent of life and light

and YOU
who just perpetuate –
who just persist –

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Gold Stripe

Gently tuned clangs from the ivory
of the piano keys –
a breath disturbs the dusty air,
the dust grains now break free –
amidst the tunes they dance
as if by music struck,
awoken into life
where now they run amok –
the golden stripe of sunlight
enlivening the keys
and the frail and tender breath
keeps them alive and free –
lit by the sun they sparkle
like particles of gold,
accompanied by Chopin –
what beauty does it mold

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Sunbeam

A ray of sunlight escapes the clouds
illuminating everything in its path;
the red, yellow, brown autumn foliage
is set ablaze
as the withering leaves sponge up, consume
the heat – the foliage turns luminous,
sending incendiary sparks with miraculous
mind-healing powers to you.

With an air of the utmost defiance
the sunlight illuminates the hindrance
in its way,
and turns the clouds yellow, orange, pink instead of grey
as the sun’s golden orb, overflowing with light
kindles fiery beauty in nature
on its endless venture
to prove to the world its might.

The sunbeam, interwoven with the plants
seems to subtly, casually dance
and as it hits the dust with flares
the world is chaos
of overflowing beauty encircling every living thing,
but then the clouds get envious
and close in to destroy the tempestuous
joy, which sunshine to the world’s mind brings.

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Streams of Water

Running from your hair, emitting from your eyes;
clear streams of water does appear –
spouting from your curls, and lighting up your eyes
with their translucent light gives you a share
of beauty unknown previously to me –
engulfing now your body everywhere
the streams of water flow, uniting you
with the stream in which your feet appears
disfigured seemingly by water, greenish-blue;
and throwing back your head you laugh in cheer
as if you know not, never knew, of any care;
the silver curves of you, enriched by water
appear in snakelike movements, as another
being than I normally consider you;
the streams of water have transfigured you
into a nymph, a Naiad, and it seems
as if, in this form, you should appear in dreams
and not in my trivial reality, but this you do!
And had I known this waterfall was all
that it would take to see this side of you
I would have brought you here before,
and never would have left for want of you;
of seeing you as I now see you through
this stream of water under which you writhe
your body in exquisite, liquid curls
of such a shape that I could not have dreamt
up something half as beautiful as this.
It’s such a moment as this one
when beauty seems to have become
the raison d’etre for my life; and you
no more than sunlight, clouds or morning dew.

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The Drawn-out Note

The impulse sparked in me by your pulse –
a pianist’s long drawn-out note,
a tune of soulful melancholy
revolving around love

Vibrating, trembling in the air
the note, materializing here
in this soft, rhythmic atmosphere
struck by your pulse to keep pulsating

Lingering for a moment with us, then
dispersing, and dismissed we breathe again

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The Sun Is Floating in a Sea of Mist

The sun is floating in a sea of mist
with two pale cloud-boats in its wake,
and all the sky irradiates as it emits
its golden light to mist and clouds alike

Then sinking in the sea of its own home
it dips its redding globe in the horizon
where silhouettes of trees, instead of foam,
await to drown what others let arise

And for a while two lonely clouds float on
lit up from underneath by fading embers
until the red fades from them too and they are gone;
only this poor rendition now remembers

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Sunset at Sea

On such a pleasant evening I rejoice
in the ocean’s waves’ ancient-old voice
as they their thuds against the ship let sound
amidst the vast, blue realm which us surround

These waves, these North Sea hills and vales
which I was taught to fear
from childhood days through songs and tales;
but now they seem so dear

And the beauty is quite overwhelming
as blue sky and ocean blur the horizon
so the sunset’s golden stripe, glimmering,
remains to separate them alone

How odd it seems to muse today
over this stripe of gold
that only ever points my way
with beauty manifold

As centre of the Universe I feel
when seeing this arrow point to me
with never-faltering constancy and zeal
over much-less-constant deep, blue sea

I near forget my destination
as this I observe;
and feelings of emancipation
eases quite my nerve

But even now, in the back of my mind
I know with certaintu
that the freedom and openness I find
on the sea; lives only out at sea

The coast that comes in sight
soon takes it all from me
so that the sunset’s golden light
alone will linger – in my memory

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Spring Coronet I

Come and remove this crown from my head;
a laurel crown whose leaves are dead
and replace it with a circle of flowerets
with spring’s brightest colours and shapeliest shapes
which your timeworn hands over my hair shall drape –
a life-reaffirming Spring-coronet

Let’s go out together through the forest green,
pluck the prettiest flowers human eyes have seen –
daisies, cornflowers, buttercups –
while we take in the birdsong greeting us through
the twigs over our heads, the Spring-birds will woo
us till our hearts burst, soaring to the highest tops

And let’s dance there together under the trees
to the sound of the birds’ soulful melodies –
it is Springtime, how life-reaffirming the word,
let us praise it together in song and dance
with an air of unmistaken romance
aided by sweet-smelling flowers and a wooing bird

And when the long, joyful day comes to an end
we’ll gather the flowers we plucked and descend
from our private Heaven to a humbler abode
with the coronet glowing with pride on my hair
waving in the warm, sweet-scented Spring air
as the sky darkens, and the birds now sing in Aeolian mode

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I Watch You Sleep

With golden strings inwoven
like tiny light-beams,
with sunshine interwoven
in your hair, you rest in dreams,
your head upon my chest
with the golden hair cloven
into two braids of mild unrest

With eyelids flickering
observing your dreams,
you lay quivering,
uneasy, so it seems,
in my adoring arms
as I keep gently whispering
your name, oh, how it warms!

With regret I await
the moment you arise
and thereby close the gate
you opened to the skies
when your head rested,
here on my chest
for an hour truly blessed

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in sunlight

on a hillside in the sunlight,
heated only on one side
while the other remains cold,
you stand, covering your eyes
with your hand, watching the skies
growing paler all the while
they approach the horizon

so dark and yet so bright,
so cold and yet so warm
you are in the sheer sunlight,
seemingly your body’s torn
into two different entities –
your one-side skin is painfully white
to view with the naked eye,
the other side coated with shades of grey

in sunlight your united being
seems torn from outside, not within,
but as I hold my breath
awaiting the death-awakening split
tearing you in two,
a lonely cloud with silver lining
floats before the sun, and you
then seem united with yourself again

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In the Rain

I want to see the raindrops in your hair,
after a summer shower, warmly refreshing,
resembling the pearl necklace which you bear,
(the one he bought you),
shimmering white and fair
as beautiful as your shining eyes and ivory skin

I want to see the rain run down your face
as tiny translucent streams, clouding your beauty
so I can pause adoration, and avert my gaze
from the celestial refined beauty I see through a haze
and return to the present moment, though reluctantly

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Dewfall

Dewfall has happened in my heart, night descends
warm and moist upon my soul, and therein you
lie asleep calm and peaceful.
I wish you would awake, I wish you could,
to quell the claustrophobic silence of my room,
but you are ever calm and peaceful, gentle, ever quiet,
ever asleep in my soul and never a threat to peace.

Dew has fallen and everything is calm and still
as if the cool night wind blew through my heart
where you lie asleep.
Asleep on this pulsing bed of blood
wherein you float, intoxicating me,
deafening me to the world
as if every dream I’d ever dreamed came to live
within my heart where you were laid to rest.

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A Vision of Her

I know not whether dawn or sunset shone
but such a light was in the sky;
deep turquoise in the background
and clouds of saffron and vermillion,
which I could not separate from
her hair which waved in the light breeze –
her smile made all sensations cease
and merge to one sweet unity,
the sun behind the wondrous clouds
seemed to play in her opal eyes
reflecting the spectacular skies
above her head; as beautiful was she
as only visions, not reality, can be –
and yet I knew that behind this pretense
there lurks a truth destroying my defense;
however way the matter may be turned
there’s truth behind the vision, truth
exposing what it is my heart has yearned
for since my earliest time of youth:
That beauty has its earthly competition
in the green eyes of her who in my dreams
expose herself, as she did in this vision,
to show me how love makes things seem,
beyond comprehension, divine –
that kind of beauty in her shine,
although my eyes alone can see its gleam

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What More

What more can I achieve,
or what more see –
what I have seen is the sublimity
most people won’t achieve
and cannot even bend their minds to
think of, therefore not aspire to

What more is left for me,
what more to do –
for after having been looked at by you
there’s nothing else I wish to see
and I can find no reason to go on,
the world to me is mere oblivion

What more to do, and why,
why carry on through mediocrity
when I have seen and known the beauty
emanating from your eye –
why live, when you have grasped eternity,
why drag on, when there’s nothing more to see?

That beauty, let it rule me, I
want no more achievements in life,
but lying down to end my strife;
your beauty fills my mind and eye
and all the world’s impurities
mean nothing more to me; my strife shall cease

Oh, let it, please!

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Girl By Window

No light brightens your face, alights your hair,
you stand in hiding in the shade –
I am relieved to see you there,
seeing you in the light, my vision could fade
when seeing your illuminated face –
I know your beauty, I don’t need to see
in detail what is hidden in my heart –
and I’d more often like to see,
as now, how you your beauty guard,
and as you look down sideways
(a pretended sign of modesty)
I don’t look at you but skywards
out of the window, feeling free

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Your Contour

Shimmering in the light that turns you black,
your contour dances in front of the door;
a throbbing pulse of movement reaches me, a sight
as unlike your appearance as the sun itself –
you’re vivified by light and in your shade,
granted enormous proportions now,
I stand incensed, appalled yet, at your life –
your contour’s dancing with the sun in front of me,
its darkness seems to come and go; to be yet not to be;
only your shadow falling on the floor seems real to me