My El

    My El

In those forgotten and

passing moments, or

in their still, do you recall,

when suns ago,

I once fell, and time

had stalled, but you were

there to fill this surreal void,

and then all felt,

for a timeless stir, safe and

comfortably stowed,

there, between your smiles,

and buoyed,

with every fervent,

sigh and stare,

do you recall?

That I owe this and more.

How much,

I will never know,

for love alone,

for sure,

may not bear or show.

The Shape of Void

The Shape of Void

Distant, and close

as close as now

and no farther than

this air

this rose

this lonely pose,

and this deferred vow.

What I see in

symbols and in prose,

is you,

hidden,

in void and in those

nulls,

blurred and shun.

Can you feel me?

I am here and you’re not,

I am there, but I ought to be,

where you are, where

the Sun is, and we.

Can you feel me?

Can you show me,

how shapes come to be,

where light avoids all,

and fails,

and how void becomes you,

and you, the shape of void,

unveiled?

The only Mohammad I knew

                The only Mohammad I knew

I read your words, brother,

but where was your voice?

I could read your mind,

but I always wondered if you

could see, or heed this void?

I wondered blind, in this distant,

surreal, stir, did you?

I recall moments and ages, brother,

when all was you and buoyed,

far from this fall, far from all.

I wonder still, brother,

will things always be,

as they never were?

Or will they, in your absence,

remain a heedless call?

To Live and Die by an ROI

     To Live and Die by an ROI

I hear and not see,

as I long and

cheer for you, and try,

stunned, to compute,

for you,

this bewildered string of things,

numbers and shapes.

I watch them pass me by,

real, but guised and draped,

in a blurred and patched shy.

They stare at me, hollow,

I think,

but silent remains the broken flute,

when binned blunt,

and too thin.

What is this thing, I ask less of you,

is it our loss, win,

or their stirred, surreal bluff?

When You’re Here

                   When You’re Here

It is just us, my dear,

no sound, far or near,

but your voice,

and no light,

but from your sight,

my only star,

to rejoice and wilt,

to hold onto, in  this

blurred flight,

moments of old and new,

unshared and not,

in this bliss,

this unquiet calm,

stirred by its silent wind,

which you see as true,

and I, see you, as its one,

and only soul and hue.

Life...a la Carte

Life…a la Carte

Moments reincarnated

you would think and hope

anew

no cohort

yet so few

never once fully acted

and always a blink

or two

short.

Thus is life,

I am told,

Are you sold?

Or haven’t you heard,

of a place,

where the old

and the new

together onto a shy sun flew?

With words of strife,

in a silent roar, wry they remain

and untrue.

Did I blur the two,

those moments,

of the mold,

and those that are wholly yours?

You thought

you had lost,

won, or threw?

Moments reincarnated,

in semi-lies and semi-truths,

but always yours to hold.

Light upon less Light

Light upon less Light

As you fade softly from my sight

ascending those lofty stairs

looking back at me in spite

of moments shared and those that were not 

blending present with past

and dreams with a future passed

a beginning with no last

I ask where do you go?

when I am here and you are so

close,  and yet so distantly vast?