Ether

it is a guerrilla night

in cities and in the forests

three ancient ghosts roam

and in the country of ghosts

the inns are full

with lost sailors and motivated poets

roaming, disinherited, incomprehensible

I am, who you are.

and us – mirrors.

and in the mirror, do you see the light -

of glowworms that must not glow bright -

on a guerrilla night?

candlelight is different

so are moonlight and neon-light

the alleys of the cities are full

the jungle-paths are full

the stormwatchers’ tower crumble

who are we? – echoes whirl

weary garrisons pant

weary chimneys pant

dog-eared city turns a page

forests stare and shrink

the heart’s terrains shrink

the mind gives a jewel

the giver gives it all

who is there to take?

who is there to play?

mist gets thicker on everything

everything is nothing, or else

nothing would ever make sense

the grand temples fall

trumpets trump no more

Meher Ali knows. Meher Ali knew.

dusty leaves of towns

catch a faint note or tone -

recall carnivals. dream dense ancestry.  

some dream of magic

others stand to make sense

water flows. the moon rises. the earth ages.

and thus, having moved

in circles, we return – we turn

to being, to time and to space.

in this dot, shadows are dead

light is darkness and darkness is light

or else the wells wouldn’t fill

somewhere, a solar storm breaks

some catch a whiff

from the seas and dream of homes

flowers bloom in garden of love

flowers wilt in island of pain –

ghosts and lovers know of the breezes

the rest who went to know

met a broken bridge or two

and thought they would swim across.

for such, beloved, is the situation –

moonlight guards birds. birds guard cornices.

it is an aware night. it is a hungry night