Thursday, January 3, 2019

Random reunion

















We get to the hillside restaurant
Three nights after Christmas day
To meet some schoolmates
From the past days of adolescence

First comers appear to be Fasu & Sandy
Who sit and wait in the dark left corner
Right beside the window front

His features look the same as I recall
With a fully pledged black beard
While she looks a little augmented (lips & cheeks)
With a nose stud that glimmers
To the sound of rainfall thundering through
The mountainous range overlooking
The dense and beastly city capital    

The owner of the establishment Ricky
Shows up to welcome every single guest
At this party of alumni creatures

Then walks in Peter with his circular spectacles
Holding firmly a wooden smoking pipe
And a sophistication conceited behind his unchangeable
Posture
“We at pearsons are looking for employees
To work at our Saudi branch… interested?”

Lajal enters next
All jumpy and jittery
(Just the way I remember her when she used to compete in track & field games)
She now has two kids & binges incessantly
On roasted pumpkin seeds

Few moments later
Karen & Akram arrive
With smiling faces that embrace
Surprise for not seeing me
For some score years ago

A rose is a rose is a rose
She follows gracefully as she shakes my hand
And kisses three
Stamp my cold cheeks
“Last time I saw you, we were both yay high”
As her dimple ignites
A vibe of curiosity and kindness

Samy’s entrance flashes juvenile moments
(which I thought were totally forgotten)
As she sits beside my twin
To converse in matters of antibiotics, vodka
And her high level of alcohol tolerance
She appears to be adventurous and full of life
A gleam in her eye, quite refreshing

The oud plays loud
The singer even louder
As the small talk turns to friendly yelling
Across blusters of smoke of insidious pipes
Thick cigars and scented hookahs that sing
Beyond this rainy evening of nostalgic assembly



Tuesday, July 10, 2018

Behind that telephone pole



Behind that telephone pole
I see the fading blue
It is 9:24 pm and the horizon
mirrors its summer orange on
the grey prancing clouds

Zoom back and the old neighbor
treads calmly by
holding an AM radio
close to his right ear
An ear
that has heard a million voices
and has seen too many faces

Behind that telephone pole
The wind, cool, picks up now
through my hair they brush rhymes
of laughter forgotten melodies
of hymns chanting
from the sacred ancient land
they call my home

Behind that telephone pole
It gets dimmer while the lamppost
turns on a jet plane slashes
the evening tone and a swept crescendo
flies you to an ovoid sphere
of expired dreams and extinguished libido

Behind that telephone pole

Monday, May 28, 2018

Fountainhead


      I do not know
how to explain
to you
My heart
My finger
& my core
as it beats flushing
Away
from my existence
toward onward march Johnnie march
 tell me why
your teacher was so kind
when in her arms
Things disappeared
into dark mornings
as the wind of total oblivion
cannot conquer my sprite
for blood will reignite
the songs & hymns
into prayers
merrily merrily
Life is not a dream

9-5-2018

Tuesday, April 3, 2018

Katyonak thrill (farewell my muse)






















A glare in her stare
Wakes me up from my bed
A stare free to care
Thinking about everything she had said

A scent of her skin
Remains behind in the air
A vein stretched to my chin
A temptation pending to dare

Her subtle flirtation
Turns to a rapid anticipation
A touch of her flesh
A yearn a desire afresh

A finger in the snow
A caress on her body
A patience for her flow
A chance to hear her melody

Cold bed warm thoughts
Her face is changing
Brown eyes engulfing
Slender weight inviting

A comfortable gesture
A hug to remember
As the daylight rises
With her aura surprises



Sunday, March 11, 2018

A poe aime


The title is Philip’s suggestion
That is what makes it a contraption
A surge or a possible explosion
Ideas & thoughts in profusion

In a cast of many apparitions
We see the darkness & his sister madness
Bodies of cats eyes nine lives
Hang across his sky of boldness

In endless screams for Lenore or Madeline
Our houses squeak our nerves are fine
Rage & hidden desire calls for lust
On this snowy night we reclaim or bust

His dreams within our dreams slumber
They fester in our brains & cumber
A reality copies from the imagination
A psychosis comes from its stimulation

Small things of a Poe aime
His spirit a rampart for viable commitment
Ligea or ellenora knock his heaven’s door
His red death will remain for ever more!

Saturday, February 3, 2018

A Forgotten Gift














Belonging seeks assistance
Refusing loneliness convictus
Escaping future thoughts restricted
Arrested by past memories conflicted
Turning self-loathing a present resistance
Harassed by nature succumbed by time
Extinguished all in one flush of respiration

Monday, December 11, 2017

Late Knéfé


The chest is exhausted from the sativa suit he wore the other night. A body in fatigue avec slow breath. Alcohol blood stains the kidney stones purple. A bacterial infection also comes from stardust. Fester Saturday seems quite holy. A brother fills up a cup of jasmine only to smoke another ghost sensibly. Flushed in sugar syrup sesame cheese. A brunch considered occasional. Far from the notion of home the whistle blows jazzy trumpet rhythm mellow. Reebok rubber stains the parquet of autumn. A familiar taste of haagendazs chocolate fuels hope. She takes off her robe gracefully in early November until chills prick the tender pink skin of a winter approaching.


27.10.17