Yours

There are times when

I wish I knew magic

I would weave a spell,

I would conjure a trick

I would heal your heart,

But

There is no magic in the world

There are no phoenix tears

No enchanted pomegranates

No exorcisms for the ghosts of pain

No magical mortar to cement broken hearts

There are times when

I wish miracles still happened

I wish prophets still walked the earth

I would visit every messiah I could find

I would follow every prophet to heal your heart

But,

The Dead no longer rise on a touch

The seas no longer part for striking rods

The Lepers refuse to dance with joy

The moon and the stars are no longer cleaved

There are times when

I wish time travel was possible

I would freeze time and trace back steps

I would stop you from walking to that moment

I would break the space-time continuum

But,

Rivers refuse to go upstream

Mountains refuse to bow

Sands refuse to meld in the sun

But,

I cannot heal your heart,

No matter how much I try

No matter how hard I cry

All I can do is give you mine

Take it,

It’s yours

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For posterity

--- The following is for public record for posterity and history Let them know you were here etch your names on these walls Die in the name of revolution, Industrial, or Agricultural, Political or, Sexual, Just find a cause Don't decline this invitation to your private doom, It is a limited-time offer, For all sales must end What utter madness is this? Why are you running away from this? On what list is your name on? Who did you meet? What did you talk about? Was it about me? Am I sounding too paranoid? A little insane Ignore the glint in my eye, I take no pleasure in this All I say is accept this love After all, whose love isn't a little tainted? Whose name, a little tarnished? Spill out your silences now, I have shown enough love Others here are much worse, Brotherhood and fealty mean nothing here I am here as your fri...

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...

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

Tasenda

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