Tuesday, April 28, 2009

O Grave, Where is Thy Victory?

I’ve walked, numb, through infinite possibilities
and purgatories
Like the crucifix – visible through soul searching reminders
And opportunities, squandered
I’ve looked across the shooting stars of a
sleepless city, contemplating the
pallor of dead maidens’ cheeks, turning my
nightmares cold, and freezing the hysteria
of the aces, kings, queens and jacks…
The stepping stones of light and stardom –
they’ve waved at me, like shadows from
the other kingdom kissing the dawn
Sexless solitudes have caught up with me
and naked angels with pistols have shot

me down many a times…

Caliban has chased me out of the tempest
I’ve heard the dirge from the lost inferno
raising its head out of the whirlpools
of hopelessness
Many rose petals have fallen on my feet,
mistaking me for God

The howl of dogs shattering the midnight silence
and reverberating through my spine made me happy
And the clitoris of nymphetamine crying out

for my forked poison-tongue made me sad…
And I’ve seen my happiness and sorrow
having sex on the pavements of Sodom…

I’ve raked through the fireplaces of
unknown people in search of charred
remnants of torn pages from the last
holy book…
Madly in love with Vulcan, I’ve
trembled through the smouldering
passions of Dante and the sighs of Petrarch
I’ve spent my nights pressing my ear
against the sidewalks to hear the wailing
saxophone from underground
I’ve spent my days waiting for the holy sign
and crying
eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani !”

Like a misspent sixpence, my twilights --
they created me as the foster child of
lost and forbidden desires.
Prophesies ring out like
telephones and through the cracks of
the walls carry the forebodings of
eternity in their wombs…

As I stared at the fluttering mayhems
of my own canvas,
thinking about David and Jonathan,
thinking about nightingales,
horizons and the dear departed,
like a dead man looks at life,
Light crept in through
my broken windowpane, held
my little finger and led me to
the solitary dawn of the first day of the world…

And then enlightenment arrived

like the pedantic realization that
the only thing that I can call my own
is a drop of tear


Looking outside the window
A still quiet afternoon sky
Tufts of bohemian clouds
And the copper April sun…

It’s too hot to dream
But like the ceaseless
woodpecker, I can’t
afford to become too busy
expecting the rain

Dancing with rhythmic reveries,
The world needs water to survive.
Veins – throbbing and feverish,
Phlegm and melancholia, like
incestuous brother and sister --
Sensual, like summer vacations

Thinking of all oddities and ennui
It comes, like an inconsistent gust
of wind…
The realization that I’ve never been
untrue to my own flesh and blood…

April, afternoon
The sun keeps on blazing through the rooftops
Dreams take the shape of inspirations
Inspirations hide behind the façade of poetry
And like chaotic possibilities,
fever creeps up…

Sunday, April 26, 2009


The purple clouds whispered to me a purple dream
of restless symphonies and golden eagle’s eyes
And I could hear the trembling sighs of the candlelight,
lonely like the rain and the cherry tree ...
The parrot in my golden cage - she fluttered to be free…
It was then that I realised how much you’ve bled for me

Thursday, April 23, 2009

To Lorca

Your gypsy moon seeps
through my night sky
I hear the moan of the corpses
at the dead of night,
And the garland of my freshly cut tears
decorates the margins of my heart…
It’s true that I do not know my own geometry,
And I shatter my mirrors with my axe,
But the perfume you smelt –
Of that dark magnolia, of that womb…
I can smell that too…

You wanted to be a heart
And they tore it apart…
The green valleys of Andulasia
are red with your blood today
You wanted to be a nightingale
And they shot it down…
But it’s mournful songs still fill the Spanish nights
For they couldn’t kill the songs…

I was looking for my voice
in a drop of water
And you gave me your silence –
A ring – for my little finger

I worship you, with my flowers…
And my flowers are nothing but the
sadness of Cyrano and Quixote

I saw you, as you came bleeding from the
gates of Cabra, wishing to die decent
on your bed…
But they didn’t let you do that…
And I heard your sighs…
They rang out like frozen screams…

As the moon crept up the sky
The bells stopped tolling
Water from the seven seas
washed the earth, and
I saw your heart, trembling,
like a lonely island surrounded
by Eternity…
I lost my way, and I reached the frozen
As I trampled over the grasses that
had grown over the twentyone dumb centuries
I heard your thousand violines
and saw your muted tears…

Every clock showed five, I remember
So did every twilight of every dusk
While you were crying for Ignacio
The gangrene raised it’s head
And you forbade the moon to rise
For you did not want to see his blood…

The gangrene stabbed you too
And you too fell…

We stood and stared as the most
beautiful flower of Spain fell
to the dust
And we did nothing…

For we were the archers
And we were blind, like love
On that night of anise and silver
That shone, like it still shines
On the streams and the mirrors
Of our lonely nights, our rooftops
And we were too busy listening
to the starless silence fleeing from
the rhythmic tambourine of Precosia…
As the gypsy moon, the parchment
moon, glided on her ballads…

Then your poet friend – he shouted out
“Come and see the blood in the streets!”
“Come and see the blood in the streets!”
“Come and see the blood in the streets!”
We rushed out, and you were there
no more…
We couldn’t find you,
But neither could they
And in their wrath, they
broke down the churches, cupboards, graveyards
and barrels…
They snatched the golden teeth off three broken
Yet they could not find you…

Years have passed,
Death for piano has painted all
the little boys blue…
And your flute still plays
beyond the horizons, bloodsheds and
breezes of the bohemian cities
where the flags still flutter at the
street corners,
and black horses with black hooves
stand, and the three Sultans of Persia
stare, with wonder in their eyes
at the virgin wearing her almond neckless
and her chocolate-wrapper dress…

Tell me, Poet, tell this to me,
Did you find what you were searching for?
Did you seek in your heart for the
ivory letters that say “siempre” ?
Where have you gone, Poet?
Where did you vanish?
Did you go to the first picture?
to the water, to the rustling autumn leaves,
to the newborn, where the black-eyed
frosts fail to reach?
Are you floating around in the first breeze
of love and sand, above the crowd of
the boats, above the empty riverbed?
Have you gone to the Green that you love?
To the balcony, where she dreams with
her cold silver eyes?

The careful river, the little lonely
Perhaps you’re there, perhaps
you have found her warm heart…
But I won’t go searching for you
For I am a flutist
and I’m not wanted there
I’ll be a woodman, and I’ll
cut your shadow down,
for that’s what you wanted…

And I’ll leave your balcony open
So that you can see the little
boy eating his orange, and hear
the reaper harvesting the wheat
on the lush fields of Granada…

Poet, I know that you’re not dead
You’re only sleeping awhile –
a minuite, a century…
And dreaming of the apples …
And you’re dreaming of not dreaming
Within the cascade…
For I can still hear your guitar,
Beyond the tents, across the
lonely Malagueña nights
And I know that
the rose didn’t want the dusk
And the two black pigeons
you loved – they were the sun and the moon…

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Missal, Unfinished

Across the desert is Ithaca
And we wait for Ulysses to cry
Meanwhile, a little black kitten crawls
towards the dry pages of my
gypsy nights…
I’ve never stepped on the same
moment twice
and Heracletus will know that best
Ten million rhapsodies dance by
the bonfire…
Fairies, whores, angels, fireflies,
Buddha’s drooping eyes,
Good old boogeyman, busy reading
120 Days of Sodom by the fireplace,
Hunchback of Notre Dame sharing
a cigerette with Dorian Grey as they
discuss the prospects of
immortality ,
The blind priest searching in his
pockets for a loaded revolver,
The slaves in the galley cheering out loud
as Giordano Bruno’s getting burned,
all tied up at the stake,
But we shall not protest,
For that’s the way Zarathustra Spake…
Know what, folks,
I’ve lost the key…
It’s a punishment
I’ve sinned…
I had fallen asleep when the
Crystal-gazing lady and the
Phantom of the Opera were
dancing a tango together…
But don’t worry, we’re all waiting
for the rain,
And that’ll come for sure…
My heart bleeds oil and tar, I know
But that’s all a part of the deal
I made with Mephistopheles while I was
gambling with him at a small tavern
off the minefields of Elysion…
(Had I won I would have owned
Gethsemane, but never mind)
I was banished to the East of Eden
where I met Adam and Eve
Busy making love since the
time the Bible was written…
But I managed to flee
And here I am, standing in
front of you,
seeking explanations
for not waiting for me
and moving along…
I’ll let the fire burn
And I’ll let my one winged
parrot chirp on…


Ahoy there!
N.B. the Flying Dutchman sets sail tomorrow….

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Verily I say unto you...

In a broken temple by the riverside my lonely god stays
In a broken nightsky of a deserted city my lonely moon strays
And in my broken dream, the lonely god says
to the lonely moon – where are your rays?

The lonely moon – softly she cries
“I’m waiting for the poet who dies
At the end of a broken love story
For me to bask in the glory
Of unrequitted love – of dreams, dust and sighs…
Of truthful lies, and faithful butterflies…”

The lonely god – he replies
“I too am waiting…for the King to rise
I’m waiting for a roll of the dice
Some day a great rain will come, I know
But that day isn’t tomorrow…”

The god and the moon – they made love on the riverside
The rain fell, the poet died
And the King was reborn
Wearing his crown of thorn…

The valley of my dreams, it trembled in fear
Echoing through my sleep – I could hear
a thousand whispers, couldn’t make out what they said
I tossed and turned, and I prayed
I refused the ale, I refused the bread
And Satan – he unchained his beast
On Jesus’s flesh, it made it’s feast
His warm blood it drank
The great flood came and there was a carnage
Neptune unleashed his fury and rage
And Noah’s Ark sank
Heimdall’s horn – I heard it’s knell
Mothers cried, heroes fell
down – at the bottom of the wishing well…
I was shaken to the core
I could bear it no more…

Serapis winked and asked “ So what’s the deal?”
I replied – “ Why bother? Let’s go for the kill”
He gave me a knife – sharp and bright
I set out – on that disturbed night
I stabbed the moon, I stabbed the god
As I asked myself – “Did Homer nod?”

And Aaron – all bearded, wrinkled and old
He raised his rod – and to me he told
“Well done son,
You’re very brave
And now you can dig my grave
The days of your freedom have just begun
Set out now, don’t wait for the Sun…”

Since that night, since that fateful rain
I’ve never been to that eerie valley again
Across the world, I rambled and I strayed
In rain and sun, in light and shade
In search of ale, in search of bread
And in search of a thorny cactus bed
To lie down and rest when I’m dead…

Friday, April 17, 2009

One Wink Closer to Eternity

Nothing but empty snowflakes
And flowers for the memories --
too sacred to be worshipped
yet too profane to be indulged in…

As the wheels of unbroken time –
They keep rolling on in search
of yet another glorious
And hollow whispers…

Ah, but for my memories
They keep on falling
like ceaseless crusades,
like those mystic shadows over
the valley of dead dreams,
Tearing through these cobwebs
of the sonority of silence…

Like a fly, trapped,
And waiting for the glaciers
to melt…

Menagerie of words
Faces in the crowd
Raindrops and thistles
Dangling skulls
And echoing mirrors…

All those fairytales
of thousand Orpheuses living for
one single Eurydice to die…
Parsifals fooling around with
magicians, whores, knights and poets…

One world, one word,
One shithole
Just that, and you sleep
like a deaf man in a jamboree…

“So let us not talk falsely now
The hour is getting late” –
Thus spake the prophet
So it’s better that we
keep shut, and listen…

The world’s still round
for you and me, my love…
Only that my pen’s bleeding
blatant lies

But what can I do?
You see, I’ve been vainly searching
for solutions to illusions,
For lies that smell like truth…

Oh hopelessness ! you’re my only
Oh faithlessness ! you’re my only
Oh loneliness ! you’re my only

So that’s the way shadows
That’s the way poets die
And that’s the way the
light reaches out
Melting through the ceaseless
stars, deaths and revolutions…

Immortality beckons
But I’m too tired
I need to sleep

Yes, I do indeed need some sleep
But I fear those nightmares…
those screeching nightmares
of naked truth and biting reality
They haunt me in my dreams
like warewolves.
I see fountains of blood
gushing out from the mouth
of the infidel goddess…

Mother… Mother…
You needn’t take this badge
from me,
Just take me back to your womb
The warmth… the eternal darkness…
That was the last place where I slept
in ethereal bliss, you know…

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Drunk, Silent, Phantasmagoric

Storm and dust - raging throughout
the empty canvas of my heart
Roaring by my bullit aches...
In the feet of the dead Pharaoh
My worship and my flowers converse
By the ethos of the totemic mongrels
And the deserted prosceniums...
Sealed lips,
Bitter moon... waning orthodoxy of the words
Saladin's sword glinting in the naked sun
of the hatred that had burnt eversince....
Blatantly, loveless,... shaken like a charred
reverie from the morbid pages of history
As Hynkel the barber stands tall, with
Sisyphus and Harun-al-Rashid joining
the charade...

No point staying put now
For the platoons have fallen
And all poems are banished from the
kingdom of the prophets....
Let's just keep the fire burning,
(without giving a shit 'bout whether we
started it or not)
for our memories and our children
to feel the warmth...

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Seamless, Dreamless...

Down here nights are grey
And heaven tumbles like tenpins
on the trembling summit of the one
who is free
Predestined hoarfrost
Prostitutes and angels lost in the
halogen maze
And distant rumblings of
the chained beast
turn into a glass-shattering
and Assault Kalashnikov
and Agent Orange…

Poet –dead
Music – asunder
Bohemian – oversexed
So finally, the countdown begins
And the lonely saxophone wails out…

Voices and sounds soon disappear –
into the jet-black ether
And the dirge of the dead souls, lost
in this never ending blizzard of the
loveless pursuit for faith and hope…
…Night reigns… Caesar falls…

Smoky words dissolve the silence
Starving jokers with sad eyes
Starving poets with dreamy eyes
Starving prophets with brooding eyes
Starving tramps with happy eyes
Starving beggars without any eyes
-- they keep on digging the silence and the
darkness, in search of some
treasure-trove – which all have heard
about, but none knows what it is…

Suddenly, just plain suddenly,
The countdown ends
But nothing happens – no,
not yet, and perhaps never, and perhaps
Not even a single candle-
flame flickers, unless of course there’s
a breeze or a moth dives into it

The stars, the mist, the silent waves
The raindrops, the tree-heads and the
Fatalists digging for gold
Revolutionaries in love with gold
Poets in love with profit and loss
Phlebas the Phoenician in love
With heartbreaks and sighs…
after burying the dead…

So it is, and so it shall be
Hence, now let’s get used to
This numb pain of feeling no pain
This stuffed hollowness from within
And those little rainbow bubbles…

Every second the stars keep on
moving away from each other,
And the starlight, vainglorious --
racing against time to reach a given
point in space which is not there

Poems, monads and fumes
Live in the Freudless dreams
And reason starts falling
apart, from the old moth-eaten wisdom
of the moon…
Let’s love to love no more
Not to love never, but ever,
To love forever
Or at least for one moment,
One wink, one detached
eyelash, floating with the snowflakes
Glinting… Teardrops… dewdrops…
A few drops…
But no rust,
Just plain pure diamond…

Bow down, for Anarchy has arrived
In the chariot of fire,
Bow, quiver, arrows and sword…
Eyes - glowing with passion and hate
Hair - flowing like the flame of Hades…
And now the lemon will be peeled
off, in one slash…

Glasses – broken
Leaves – shed
Music – jaded
Horizons – faded
Eliot – dead
Singers – tongues cut

So nothing remains to be stay
Nothing remains to say,
To be said, evermore
To be written in the epitaph
of they who went
And did not return anymore…
Pilgrims and sinners…

The equilibrium has come
Everything seems the same
Everything is the same…
No one dies, no one gets born
Nothing to mourn or to rejoice
No new songs to sing
or poems to write…
Avalanche… bitter moon…
Sleepy cactus eyes –
He’s coming.
Love to hate and
hate to love…
East of Eden, gift of the bosom
Of eternity…
Holy Ghost… Father, Son
Like a pack of cards…
Edifice built on the quicksand
Of time….
Night, kiss me
Kiss me, night…
I am your creator,
Embrace me, Morpheus….
Love, dream, hope, faith and sighs…
Arise, arise, O poet of the dark…