Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Gone this autumn

This autumn, falls quicker than I can master
the young hairs, fresh like dew
the oldest of friends, all departing for lands with longer winters
the epiphanies of a homeland, that awaits trial by errors and worngdoings
the chants of my lips, the wait in the music
all with the leaves,gone this autumn

Tuesday, September 19, 2017

the evil eye

An eye that winks
with the reverence of a tear
can also sting with envy

Take my eyes, friend

Take my eyes, friend
I will be able to show you how beautiful is broken

into little pieces of light colored scarves, like whispers
floating through the air,

Take my eyes, friend
I will be able to show you fear in different forms

how the house my grandfather lived in was broken into one night
in his eyes, as he departed, the sunshine broke over the grey sea

the sea where we swam
where we swore on our bodies, we shall be back, one day

take my eyes, friend
I will show you what it means to learn to dance for hours straight

yet still be awkward about the thousand ways
a woman is supposed to cross her legs

with decency, with vigor, with pride
without showing too much, or too little skin and stone

take my eyes friend,
I will take you to where a woman stitches pieces of tatreez

together, black background and red thread
one for blood, the other for those dead

take my eyes friend,
for my broken is beautiful
for my fear is accepted
for your love is redeemed with the wave of a hand to beauty.

Sunday, September 17, 2017

Teenage love

Your old violins,
a long black overcoat that lines your features

your imaginative ways to make me smile
a turban wrapped to heat your bald head in the winter hours

 your new cigars
smoking breaks between the instruments and the music

always sweet,
the exchange of note to voice, of symbols to music

your hands and fingers
made razor sharp by the incision of strings

Nowadays, your violin weeps
for another woman while all I can do is hold to memory

On my back

We want different things from this life
I don't want your lame limp arm,
the one with the ring on its tips
on my back

Saturday, September 16, 2017

Wakefulness

Hard to be awake these days
when the night-time is a blessing
alcohol, dreams, your soft lips

Pride

To stand up tall, in shoes that you realize
fit perfectly your ankles
the satisfaction is pride in its glory