A morning in the heart

Morning boats on foggy waters.

fish under the shadows.

Invisible knife slits the sky

and the sun pours gold in the meadows.

A mystic's path

Rich is a heart that sees beyond want.
as a tree is full of blossom to make the air sweeter
as the wind is upon the sails when the oars can pull no more
as silence is upon the tribulations of the spirit
as sound becomes voices to cry freedom
as freedom glows from the dark of our eyes
as radiance is the face our very nature.

Return then, to your interiors ; alone.
wisdom seeps as a perenial stream
As you bend upon the waters to wash your face
whose face shall you see,
the nameless one of your long search;
or your own original face you had lost somewhere.

The mist and the mountain

My hungry heart feeds
on the mist and the mountains
of your smiles.

The fire and the flame
continually moans through its throat.
Though the world may not hear the secrets
love opens the insides with her songs.

i wonder where you lie hidden.
i look into the longingness
i look into its mornings
i look into every secret path
And everywhere, i find the rising fragrance of your sweet presences.

There are a thousand million things i want to talk to you.
This pen and paper and you
makes these pages wet with tears
Mine, are murmurs of a lover
while you, the one who can't hear it.

Love swirling

A dervish turner dances in my soul
Day and night he dances
He dances in silence
on the palms of god
And God's heart breaks in tears
by the beauty of this dancing

Salut au monde.

You may find me somewhere high on a cliff
in a gardern of clouds
where i go often
To greet the universe.

Pink peach flowers sways in the valleys of my heart
and the sun rises from its horizon
No kurushetras; no allah hoo's
No mystical mantras
No kabala symbols
No crucifixations.

Only pink peach flowers
perfuming.
Making space for the nameless .

Unfiltered silence
More intoxicating than all the wisdom of men
opens the pages of my heart
for god's own finger to write
this morning's poem.

God wrote.
And
Love stepped in.

She wrote on my skin

Her warm mouth
wrote on my skin
How the moon travelled in the sky.

Light fell
everywhere she wrote.
like a cloud she let me float
until flowers rained from volcanoes.
fell hot pebbles
on hot tongue.
bees from heaven, my brain they stung.

She
called me with her soft looks.
A look you hear
in whispers.

fill me with the tide
and tie me to your river .
when dawn breaks
this night you shall remember.
How my moon travelled in your sky
And how my warm mouth drank from your river.

Xilence*. A poem, for a poet (written to style her own metaphors)

Step into the river.
We could drink our solitudes for tea
And leave the biscuits crumbs on the table clothes of our skin.
Pecking at them with the lustful beaks of our minds.

Ungloriously, looking at the dying sun.
Consoling the scars that are.
And those that will never be.

The bitter taste of the known , numbs our tongues
while words mumble in fear
to deaf gods.
Nevertheless, the acuphene is only a hum that won't disturb the music of silence;
Nor, stop being a lover again.

If we could look into the mirrors of our faces
And watch the melting of the sorrow we deny.

In denial, feel the stink in every God's shitpot
the leftovers of his paradise.

Remembering, to forget
your last dance in the sand.
The winds that carried your sand dunes
into the heart of a forest, growing out of your own myth.

And so what, if hatred are the shoes in which you walk
screaming, blasphemy for philosophy
from the sour rivers of our experiences.

So what, if insanity laughs
in every crumb that we ate.
The bitterness now
on numb tongues, babbling...
Indifference, puts hers arms arround our shoulders
drying the streams of life.

So what, if our open eyes, before beautiful landscapes, suffocate in their blindness
transforming canvases, drenching with wet paints of our pain.

Refusing to die.
even, when the walls of our ego fall upon us, in crushing piles.
Kissing the feet of the Gods we have created
from the hankering of our desires, for heaven and immortalities.

Step into this river
Never to be the same ever again.

when memories have been washed away
Our own Godheads shall no more be a myth .

our faces shall have no more their skin
from, the endless to endless, we shall stay flowing .
From, the nameless to silence, we shall sing our songs and dance our dances.
The beautiful shall no longer be a quest -but, the emanation of our beings.
Our shoes, discarded by its uselessness
we shall walk ,naked feet in our souls, and fly without wings in our heavens.

The landscapes where we wander
where wanders also our rivers.
Thus, be witnesses to them, without the need to open our eyes.
For it is'nt through our open eyes we shall witness our own ungowning selves.

Step into this river,
the endless river of breath;
With each breath, we shall melt down our masks,
to see our faceless face
unfolding out of every flower .

Step into the river.
Within each heart
the springtime showers the most beautiful perfume
spreading in the nostrils of our soul.
And only one word shall name it

Love.

And it shall remain more than a word.

Step into the river
Love is more than a word
Just as, the ever changing smiles on the lips of the Nameless.
Each day, invites us through open doors
passing, secrets only our emptyness can grasp.
Translations only our silence can understand
Be there then, with the river
endlessly flowing to the nameless.

The happiness that we seek, shall depend on no heaven
And the heavens that we seek, shall depend on no God.

Is not God the mysterious quality
of Love flowering .
Is not the flowering of love - God.





*Xilence ( to be pronounced as exsilence) is a new word that i've created.
it means = exiled in noise.