Enchantress

ancient January night. and the cold leopards of winter sleep on your skin. in the silence of your breath; among the thin, blue calls of neon lit raga…they sleep.

your voice casts a shadow in the warlord’s dream, who wakes up to the touch of the nuclear moon. jazz-licked whispers in his ears.

his mistress, a young maiden of twenty. she sleeps in peace tonight. delirious. her face, stained with the language of sex, pearls and emerald.

Enchantress! you are the preserver of the elixir of romance! Vile. Voracious. his spies have followed you for long. their footsteps still echo in the rooms of exorcism in every nightmare..

they have traced you…

from the cloistered streets of perverts

to the coffee beaches of painters

from the naked forests of forgiven hunters

to the deserts of secret refugees.

the one-eyed general, his insidious laughter now spreads like venom and smothers him, the last poet of the earth.

they find you now. hibernating in the ruins of the martyr’s last elegy.

strident sounds of evil in the cavities of your dream.

you awaken , looking for an answer

and you run…

Horror. Prayers.

you run through the fields of sorcery,

you run through the hamlets of fever

you run

until you melt with the stars

seeking refuge in the clandestine visions of a snowchild…

The Song of Love

dance
dance
dance behind the mirrors

weep in bliss, lady

glide through my dreams

as I offer
my poems at your feet

sing a song

overdose the sitar with your voice

and
forgive the serpent’s eyes

hide the night
behind your mad smile

flirt with the child in his sleep

I know
you ruled the sandstorms
with your fingertips

steal the tears
of a wounded eagle

reward the earth with your soul

and then
come,
hallucinate with me

disappear
in the moonlit canvas
of an ageless February evening.

Few Words Of Love...

revolutions in the liquid sky

love
is that what it is called?

roses in the garden

a room of music and scent

why does the harmonica always
remind me of you?

songs in the hourglass

poems in the weed

the poet’s
kiss still rots upon your skin

you awaken
like a legend

with a memory
and the last line

snowstorm in your eyes

and my dreams behind them

dreams in the night

and the night sleeps

upon your lips.

Dream Woman

evening
intoxicated as usual


wild music
and desires


a V of black swans
in blue


a poem or a song
or maybe,
the bride of the evening jazz


how do you feel
as we watch it together


and they answer
to our secret calls of destiny?


(I imagine bliss)


our thoughts meet
much to the silent agony
of the lemon earth


you chain me
with the final color
of the evening


and I stare at you
in wonder



as the November breeze
gives you an uneasy shiver
in the dark


dream woman,
are there still words stuck
inside your throat?


or why else
do you speak to me
through tears?


maybe,
I have lost my old style,


my old style of seduction
with masked words
of love in my mouth.

Dreams in Flames

a very urban afternoon

my dreams,
yet again,
go up in flames

and let loose
those ugly earthworms
upon the marble floor

tired
are the heroines
of the midnight drama

they slowly undress
before my eyes

and disappear
in the radioactive touch
of the sun

the superhero is lost


and so is lost
the fictional
lady in red

it is only her voice
that I remember now

the streets are again breathing

with rallies,

murders in the unknown alleys,

fake political promises,

chasing policemen,

busy drug addicts

sweating jobless artists

and hungry beggars
in the footpath

but
they don’t excite me anymore

so please,
let me be silent now
for a while

as I look up

and think
of a poem

that can earn
this ailing poet

some money
for this month.

my silence speaking of only
romance and crime…