Between You and Me

what will you have me make
of us when the sun has long set

what kind of song
can we raise for the children
when they hold black-eyes
carried from a harvest of many tears

somewhere in the corner of my dreams
I have come to the crossroad
and without lingering a bit
I go without you

I have asked the plant-doctor
to stop crushing leaves and berries
to heal the thousand wounds
festering, whistling somewhere in the soul

for many seasons I’ve tread
through gravels with a dove's step
rising every dawn among twisted pine
on my bedroom wall your paintings
stall tall demons of despair
they stare at me and now I face the owl you hid
in the bouquet of wildflowers

this dawn, in the sitting room I read
about the windless threadwork of hatred
and the landscapes of tears
you left on the darkening window
when all stars melted away

THE LAST BOOK

I dreamt of a time
at the end of a dream
where we wrote a book
you called it, the last book
it was full of laughs and stories
of love of tears and dreams
the poems like flowers came alive
it was sad time slipped away
and the last book spoke of us
remembering to all
what we had

do you remember
when we flew among the clouds
and caught some misplaced chemistry
in the corner of our eyes
and we smiled as we realized
we were meant to jump
the broom

PRAISE SONG FOR MAREENA

before I left that wild land,
before I left,
I never promised I will sing a song
about the harvest on its craggy hills
talk of walks in its fruitless bushes
mention years along its wrinkled ridges
or dream of times along its swirling river
I never promised I will sing her a praise song

my song for you Mareena
is tossed about in cheeky echoes
like one dirty from muddy tracks
bleating on windy afternoons

I remember the haunted evenings
the falling stars in the dark forests,

sometimes the hoot of owls
the lonely bird’s calls
the frogs and the raggy tunes they sing
in the dark dying night

I should have listened to these sighing in my ears
but, your hushing to make me sleep,
bedded down the smoky haze
and the blinding lights sank me down
and I faded
in the dusky purpling sky
like the son of the brave
running away from death at war times

SONG FOR A WAYWARD WIND

(for Mareena)

I will not bend my song into the bow of a praise song
I will not and will never
blow my song into a razzle of soap
I am Azaglo the elephant of the wilds
he treads and the earth quakes

you thought a parasitic plant does not
bloom and branch out
it can only bend and bow its head
you got it wrong
you misread the message
encoded in the rhythms of the song in my lame voice
you confused steps in my fetid dance in the sand

it is true death has taken me unawares
caught me cold at birth but
don’t forget
the preying eagle does not swoop away
the tortoise lying flat on its belly
it can only occur and occur only
in mysterious circumstances

do you know you own
a dead mother’s soul
she who had drunk the destructive ram’s blood
picked up guns and machetes
when villagers are full of festive songs

she who thinks she can steal comfort from the hand of hope
when she never believed roses could grow by the roadside

bystanders say with a religiosity
she thinks orphans have to
groan and yearn and moan
stammer and suffer hiccups
and with bended knees weep riverfulls of sorrow
or not born at all

tell her
tell it all to your mother
I am not afraid of a few vacillating ratbags
that boast I was not born to dance with kings

tell her
I’ve closed the door this Monday morning
rolled from the grass to the driveway unbruised
I am on a jet plane to harvest life in Laughter’s deepest Soul
away from your gipsy hearts
far from your cloudy mantras

FORGOTTEN DIALECT OF THE HEART

if you had loved, nursed and taught me to smile
you’ll have bewitched this soul
broken the silence and burst the dam of dreams

if you knew how this heart yearns for dances
wants to listen to rhythms that’s thrilling, caressing
like a wedding song, soulful songs that make life sing
I’d have woven this hair in braids, wear bracelets, anklets
of gold, string jasmine and wear clothes like a bride
I’d have waited for your return to tame my looks
and ride together into the sunset with a dance

if you had known how to relight newborn breaths
I’d have stayed longer outside the door
to sculpt words for a crackling song
and at your feet my songs would have wept
to burn a sparkle in a lover’s eye
and with a sole desire sing ululations
expressing nostalgia and desires
this lips too would have wound its arms round you
to uncover your heart piece by piece