Light Sound Rain

We bade farewell to-
eternal waves on white sand,
rhythm of hues on seashells,
a lonely heron among seagulls,
rows of sprawling palm trees.

Rest of the sunset was
lingering on the blurred horizon.
We had to rush for home before
heaven burst into sound.
Defying our predictions,
water was poured upon us.
We stopped at Tampa Bay
for Cuban Sandwiches and red sangria.
Music just started a few black women.
They lit up the night brighter than
collisions of million clouds.
We froze those moments
by drinking and dancing.
We came home happy.

Colors Of Tears

Water is clear, so is a mother's tears.
She is burying her favorite son in-
Homs, Beirut, Baga, Paris....
every day in every corner of home.
Sun sets without a promise.
Cold wind whispers without a whistle.

I didn't cry for her tears.
I was busy in a coffee shop
telling others stories of-
colors of tears,
shadows of unequal deaths,
politics of asymmetrical humanity.

Monalisa Lost

sleepless eyes-
gloomy days
broken marriage
loveless sky
man or woman

lackluster forehead-
decrepit hair

absurd clothes-
ordinary breasts
fright overweight

delusional da Vinci

just sex

screaming night of-
seductive skin
bewitching lips
raptured waves
aroused figments
surged oxytocin
withdrawal effects
vulnerable ego
inflated promises
confused twilight
decadent tomorrow
lingering pink
fragile sex
just statistics

Living

I met her in a whirlwind of romance.
Smile was her veil of hurt,
evening fire was her lips,
tumult was her freckled face.
Free but reckless passion assured her,
almost numb, almost divine!
Her soul was glorified by my flesh
and others'.
Again and again.
Then came love, doubt!
There, she created music of eternity
from memory of tears and decay.
She was the darkest and the kindest-
a saint and a whore; an oscillation!
She died once at the alter of
a million rules of a few men.
Not anymore,
slow redemption of a benevolent slut.
She is living.

Weeping Milky Way

It was an agile September night in Southern Utah.
Heaven showered twinkling lights on her.
When shooting stars flew everywhere,
I watched a fire consuming her history.
Happiness flourished amid cacophony of crickets;
I heard loud illusions but she listened to the hope.
We burnt throughout the red mountains and desert-
I was blue and she was pink.
Tears fell upon the Milky way at the dead of the night.
She whispered, "the brightest road is our dreams."
Ah, we are fading fast into asymmetry now!

Gone

She was here,
then gone.
Her mama's empty arms,
now, barren sky.
I wonder if she is-
on the mountaintop,
on dusty crystals,
in purple flames,
in summer rain,
in spring blossoms.
Eyes were bright;
smile was courage.

She is right here
and everywhere.