Her voice lights my silence
like stars in the womb of night.
Even in a stormy weather
a bird can still be heard singing.
a flame streaming from the palm of dawn,
falling onto the sky.
even your shadow is a beacon to my soul.
Over the wing of solitude I glide,
in my ocean churning honey and wine,
painting the whole sky.
The flower joyfully surrenders
her scent and essence
to the lips that stroke her heart.
An unborn love and yet,
in the thickness of the night
her whisper breezes through my window,
covering me with the warmth of our dawning home.
Her swirling skirt becomes a burning disk,
exuding impassioned rays
as fire seeps liquid like golden honey
over the softness of her thighs.
If the curves of your lips
were the contours of the sky,
then I am a white flower
perched like a sun in the depth of your mouth,
then I am a drop of honey
like a golden moon waxing and waning
as I wander the length of your tongue.
The deepest and most needful change that my spirit underwent in relation to women is this: that I am repulsed by certain women whose bodies are “picture-perfect,” that I find them unappealing, even ugly, and that I am attracted by certain other women whose bodies leave “something to be desired,” that I find them beautiful and appealing. Appealing is no longer figure-fixated, but soul and heart motivated. Fulfilment is soulful and not just physical. Soul permeates the body, and this is now what my eye is becoming more and more able to see and appreciate. In other words, I am now confident and mature enough to view women as human beings instead of mere objects of my desire. This is, by far, most essential for a boy to develop into manhood, and one of the deepest cultural and educational distortions that I’ve overcome.
To flow onto your shores, O solitude,
The darkest ocean had I to sail through,
Part its bleak waters with the fortitude
Of an oak which roots deep in the earth grew.
The chalice that shivered now grows heavy,
Full to overflow with milk and honey,
Giving like the sun in the early dawn
In silence spreads joy, bathing sky and lawn.
The breath of heart over the forest wide
Hums through the leaves a loving warmth of light,
Shapes words of fire raining like a tide
Forging the world anew with deep insight.
Solitude is a garden in full bloom
And a beehive where thoughts, as in a womb,
Are gathered from flowers inside to grow
And rise from darkness, burning in full glow.
The axis where the world turns
has always been the ground
graced by the touch of your feet.
So the axis of the world
falls after your heels.
When your kiss snuggles into my ribs,
it rains from a clear sky.
You wield my soul like a rainbow,
stroke with its colours
the cheeks of lovers and flowers
as they majestically bloom.
Suffocating on my pain I prayed for breath
and the Beloved sent you,
a burning kiss consuming me to ash,
a wind scattering me in the blue.
I become a gardener
so that the flowers would nurture me,
soaking their scents and colours into my soul.
I become a poet
and the poems spread my soul
like a blanket of silence
over the desert face.
Things done out of love, emanate with love.
Mapping the freckles on your skin
bright stars which oracular motions
foretell the ebb and flow
of the ocean of my heart.
The water of her moon churns through my soul.
sentient stars guiding me
as I cross the bridge of dreams.
In your presence,
drawn into the sweet tide of silence.
The water stills, clears.
Knowing, on butterflies-wings
flutters between our hearts.
Your voice, a whirling death-poem,
a prayer intoning a rite of passage,
a shamanic dance encircling the altar
where I am laid, open, ready.
You press your hand against my chest
and my entire past comes gushing
through your palm and fingers,
beating into your heart.
In your eyes I see my future unfold,
wild flowers opening their petals in prayer,
welcoming the dawn,
stars in the womb of heaven
shivering with eternal light.