Struggling to conceive a non-visual  God

In the nucleus of an eye, clouded, stained;

Battling to lie to the trauma of Life,

She makes love to a barely surviving

Fantasy of Death.


Pull out the plug now:

Let me breathe in another sphere,

Even if the breath be yet another sigh:

I insist, pull out the plug now!


My heart, over-fried in the oil of your affection,

Lit ablaze by an insatiable quest,

Feels such a mess!

I wonder, how and why it beats!


You know well, to teach a wanderer to stray.

What must belong nowhere, ought be on their way.



An Ode to Silence





A rush of feelings unspoken, words unfelt:

In a daze of illusory righteousness,

It was your demons I fed, I adorned;

And mine with whom I went to bed.


What does a child know of (revered) sanity!

What do they care for childlike purity!?

I lose touch with my fabric of woven riddles,

I’d rather be naked than masked in disguise.

I’d rather be someone else for a moment,

Than to be me, and be full of lies.


The dance she MUST dance, to keep away from hell.


No disciples desired, no fame required;

Each time we would sit, Him we admired.

An intense whiteness , for what we aspired:

Nothing is mine, all is only acquired…

I am only to watch, being watched,

To recognize, this, and

To see my stance being played,

And being played well, indeed.


Master! Mercy! For your sake of God!..

This flower shows healing in her winter harvest;

Blossoms in a white, as liberated as Death.