I, Conjurer

If I could craft her essence into words,

Muster even a mite of her majesty,

What words they would be!

Freeing David from dead marble  

Remains the stuff of dreams. 

Still, I try

To conjure magic

Out of the mud of words

And the breath of my life-giving spirit.

Cure

In a lab full of vapours and spirits and twisted tubes,

He set out to conquer death. In this mad lair, 
Unsleeping and forgotten, he toiled 

And at last, with a slight touch of thyme,

Held a vial of liquor to the light – at last! 

He put the stuff to his lips and drank the cure –

No longer would he contend with the malady.  

Senescing

With time, our joints are loosened by winds,

By scouring sands in the winds,

By soaking rains hauled from high mountains,

By quakes that crack us open, leaving us helpless

Against the brutish rush of the elements.

We raise walls to keep them away –  

Will the wildness of time away,

But soon we’ll be lost in their insatiable lust, 

And the magic of the moon will mean nothing.

Insolence

What insolence, to tear my soul from nothing

And throw it screaming into this horror.

Why would you shatter my peace?

Why pull me from the never-ending quiet?

Should I be grateful

For your drop of water in a world aflame?

No, I ache for the bliss of the unknowing,

For home, where sands shift unheard.

Discontent

Dog! You’re an instrument of discontent;

always wagging your tail for more, always

sniffing for morsels in places you shouldn’t.

The taste of your own vomit, 
does it not tell you? Even the universe will not 

fill that void.  

Butterfly

Gorging itself on the open

Secrets in petals—   

The scents & the succulence,

Forever in the pursuit of transient beauty;

Who knows better the secret of living?  

Wings

When the eagle rests, 

tired of its majesty, wait… 

it’ll soon find its wings.