Son of the Original Sin

You will expect long hours, sleeplessness 
insomnia befriends those who haunt the witching hours 
you do not expect your toes to feel frigid like frozen shrimps
you already cover yourself well with a history

Read the rest here: http://visualverse.org/submissions/son-of-the-original-sin/

Meditation

I look into the olives
that have not yet fallen
even after the leaves of autumn surround the grounds
how strong can you latch on
when the world lets go

Another half

You talk about yourself as whole
when others insist you are fragmented, a half of a lemon
a halved moon, an incomplete dent

because you do not have a trail that runs behind you
like a school of ducks
running with small feet toward the water

as if the things that stand on their own
cannot be compelte
when was the last time you looked at a tree?

full branches, leaves, bird nests
bird song, water
you can stand tall and be whole

you contain more of the universe
when you stand upright
because you know you can bend without breaking

into a million little pieces
that scatter like glitter facing
the wind

you are aware of the effects
of lonesomeness too
the longer nights, the unending realizations

that you can be part of the day
without being an active ingredient
in the making of the every minute

yet you cry
for the days that are wasted since they drag
like long unfiltered cigarettes

leaning over the view of the river
you will note
you can be the current and the overflow

just wait and shut your ears when you hear
talk about someone to complete your life

to be the other side of you, like a flipped coin

a question to the skies

Is it still blue and dull
the sky that receives my open hands
every single day?

my freedom, my cigarette

You said my freedom ends when yours starts
a common misconception
wait then till I finish my cigarette, love

Father to son

like son, like father
like father, like son
like the sun in the sky
this sin, this son who sins
like father, he sins,
like father, like son
like the sky, like the sun
evident, this sin
passed from father to son

Misfortune

You discover late,
the door that closed
was left open for a long time

After bravery

So much depends upon your poise
strong and tall over a white white sink
when you pour blood that washes out with water
after bravery

the other face

Empty tissue boxes,
syringes with caps left open
the prose sleeps in between dosages of medication
this is the other face of illness, no one sees clearly

We talk

I tell you how to fry an egg without burning it 

give you direction to the folding of t-shirts and the saving of old pots 

teach you over distance how to carve a perfect apple 

how to pick your fights

how to assure you never lose your wars

all that you could have learnt had you been a sunshine 

through the family home, brother

the power of three

There is something about the power of three items combined
a reason behind faith and magic:
three stars aligned in the talisman around your eyes
the trinity of holy, sacred and sinful
gathering like a storm that finds its end before it begins
the after thought that by omission
a grand touch of breeze will find you, near the river
with three books near you, with your hunger
gnawing at the power of trinities

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

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.

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

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

Sadness in a tragedy

Can we be sad, you question, on tragedies
that happen away from our own?
humans trailing wheat from their burning fields
why do you keep questioning what has rightfully been, a reality?

Slain by nostalgia

An old movie, a new friend
there is a shift between the new and the old
between, we are slain by nostalgia

A good read

Some things are harder to read:

A book in tiny print
a hand for care
a few coffee grinds, for destiny

Kindness

The orange on my desk
peeled
instead of these chapped lips

Class II

The notion that I cannot touch your hand, or whisper what I want in your ear
these days with modern technology and old-fashioned brains
makes me worry, for our future

Class

Every time I walk into class
I realize how well educated I am
how little I know

Practice

Practice what makes you stand still 

the silence 

Practice what makes you shiver 

a dance in the rain 

Practice what scares you

be alone

Practice compassion 

be for others what you are for yourself 

Practice giving

by receiving unexpected patched up desires 

Practice wellness 

to receive good fortune, is it not how the world works? 

I open my palms, and this is what the fortune cookies tell me 

what do they know of this body? 

Anniversary

Do we need a reminder on occasion of the passage of time
a month, a year, a day,
we grow older yet nothing much changes except our skin
the way we spell our names, the way we make for others space in our stead.

You smell like roses

You smell like roses
red red roses
stolen from someone's backyard.

A stranger's hug

In place of a celebration
of self-made misery
you receive a stranger's hug

closing the door

Close the door
there's power in things slammed
said the seer who lost her eyes to an accident

soul search

We are impatient these days
searching for our souls, as if it will be granted, a reserved finding
in speed and haste we wander

the answer we get is computerized to our value
error 404: not found

Laundry hanging at the end of August

Put the linen away from the sun, less it fades
the colors evaporate to their eternal mother
sunshine and terrain

dust particle on your exposed ankles
exposed knees bending over the basket
watching behind you for a glaring eye

a red eye my teta used to say is an eye that wants no good
yet quiet not envious or jealous
a red eye is a difficult eye; clouded by short-sight

lift the blankets over your head
it is fine if you do not see where the line meets with the sky
because your garments are presented to the world now

exposed, sun kissed,
the details of your life as you do your hanging
your hand is soft but you hand with firmness
old t-shits, socks, and crucified lovers never thought of again

the trumpet, your back-garden

The trumpet in your back-garden
a horse neighing
into the night

end of summer, by the shore

The sun takes half of my youth
yet the remainder
is swept over the high tide

To lift the guilt

To lift the guilt of the lazy days
I keep track of the things undone
with the surge of hopeful tomorrow.

Reference check

watch how you refer to your own body
the language you use for the ears
the speed you cater for the tongue
the darts you keep for the eyes
the remainder, flesh on flesh
skin; soft like almonds and sweet like honey
watch for the references you make to your own body
cherished, but like an old dress in the back of a closet
forgotten from day to day