Always still dark

This still born darkness

Tearing through the night

Has ruled over us for so long

I have forgot, what it was

To feel the sun in my eye

It has been this way, ever

Since I lost my way, somewhere

Between Nietzsche and Camus,

When darkness came riding a Horse,

White as light and heart just as black

The legion in me, held its peace

Thinking here at last, peace is at hand

But wrong we were, like every time

Evil was too arrogant and we were too vile

It chose not to hide in the dark

But in the light

Landscapes of misery as far as

Eye can see, illuminated by the moon

Of despair , the half-dead along the path

Mark the way to the house of

Storm.

The Walnut doors hide the

Tempest within, screams of joy

(or are they sighs of sorrow),

ring the air, taking apart my hope

on an assembly line till

nothing is left, except a placard, which reads

‘Always, still Dark’

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The Empty Apartment

I draw a deep breath, An empty chair sits in the corner Hastily scribbled notes scattered Around the desk, abandoned Like lilacs in battle filed Wandering eyes rest among the Clumped clothes, a black sequined Scarf pokes pathetically from Among the ruins of our lives, Staring at me, accusing me A half-eaten apple still Sits on the top the fridge, next To the owl totems from the time We visited the dead shaman, You used believe in -- The movers are here, Walking up the narrow stairs Stomping feet leaving shoe marks, You so hate, across the Floor, Our floor The empty boxes laid in front of me Forcing decisions I never wanted To make, what to keep and what To ditch, how much luggage to leave For the insidious new occupants -- Tz

Some Other Time

We will be counting days again, till we say hello again— only for us to say goodbye again. We always knew we’d have to say our goodbyes one day. Then why does it hurt so? Even so, when we know it won’t be long before even goodbyes are a luxury. We cling to hopes— that this isn’t the only life we will live. That one day, we will meet again, in some other life, in some other time, where we won’t have to say G oodbye.

Zulaikha’s Lament

Blotted and Stained Like blood on apples, My reputation remains in tatters After these years But what was a woman to do? -- He had the face of An angel His shoulders, A sculptors dream His eyes, spoke a million languages his lips, like daggers driven apart -- I grew outside of Cairo Unloving father and sad mother Sold me for a goat and A bag of gold To the first merchant who They came across -- My Husband, Kind, Generous man Made me his wife And put me along with Thirteen others -- My Husband, Kind Generous man Kept me happy Visited me twice a month Blessing me with His drunken kisses and Impotent rage -- I was never sad What more could A woman want? Lots of wealth and An impotent husband Sex was a chore The price of being so glad -- Then he came Chained and covered with dust Another man from the Slave traders den He stood at the gate Neither sad nor in jest Even at a distance...

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