The subsurface chaos

 

We believe we know a person

till some happening

finds us staring at a stranger,

All familiarity gone,

Because it’s hard to have a sense of

the vast expanses of the unknown

hidden inside a person.

You may have heard a million words

from a mouth,

but we are also full of

trillions of unspoken words,

You may have seen tons of smiles

on a charming face,

but these hide rivers of tears as well,

You are acquainted with love

but it swims like a thin layer of oil

on deep waters of hate and pain,

Beyond the familiar stale stimulation of

superfluous comfort,

there is a stealthy man-whore

prowling in the shadows of love,

Beyond the lovely musical whispers

emanating from beautiful lips,

maybe there is a scream

imprisoned in the curvy lithe body;

vibrating inside,

looking for a way out.

As you play at the level of body,

don't forget the pain locked inside the soul,--

the epicenter ready to unleash earthquake

upon the outer shell,

Because below the apparent stable crust

there are thrusting, shifting plates.

The hidden hole

 

All of us have one primal need,

An emptiness, a deep desire,

A hole in the soul

that works as the core of our existence,

It fuels the impulse to live and exist,

It shapes our body, thoughts, emotions

like a pot maker

shapes wet earth on his wheel,

We spin to its force,

We bend, curve, mold

to the expertise of its hands,

This want or need is crystallized

with clarity in our soul’s pit,

Buried and hidden under

a thick, black cloak of confusion,

But below the rubble of what others see

this is the most real thing about us.

 

The warrior woman

 

By giving your hate, lust, greed to me,

you can’t change, redefine, transform,

or undo what is essentially me.

The shower of your scorn off balances me,

That’s natural,

But I’m not a product of

what you do,

Yes, the bushfire of your lust

burns my luxuriant canopy,

But there are seeds under the ashes,--

the carriers of my legacy;

the seeded me;

the tiny container of my fundamental code.

It just takes some time

for the rains to wash away the ashes;

for the sun to kiss infant saplings,--

the little me pampered by mother nature,

And the small me will be a full me some day.

I’m inching closer to that reality

from the nightmare you’ve held me in;

from the prison of self-loath, anger, helplessness

to the beautiful grove of love and light.

Not yet ready

 

Soiled with shame,

Scratching the crust of grief

on the skin

to make it a live wound,

most of us are not yet

ready to heal;

just not in acceptance

of the idea of healing and wellness.

The killer kindness

 

Sometimes

pitying eyes

hurt more than

hateful

and angry words.

The war

Some fighting

to douse fire in the belly,

Some in the mind,

Some in the heart,

Some in the soul,

All fighting for food, knowledge, love,

And these sire a concoction of ambition

to breed, greed, anger, fear, insecurity. 

The eraser

 

I’m in enchanting fascination with life

when you melt to joy in my embrace,

Pleasure swimming on the wings of

freedom in my rushing blood,

Joyfully the sun setting around me,

The light in your eyes

dwarfing the looming darkness around,

Your touch crafting a sweet tenderness,

Excitement pulsing through

our shared identity,

The expansive sweeps of time

narrowed to the tiny

curve of your lips.

 

Now when the fairy lights are off

and transitory rewards gone,

If an eraser must be

for all those moments,

let it be a soft one,

not hard like wire bristles,

I hope

that's not asking much.