Sunday, December 9, 2012

butterflies' war

I am being chased by butterflies. The nights are infested with moths, dragonflies and beautiful butterflies. The sleep was like a finely composed photograph. I always love to take photos with some greenery in them. In this frame, there is a branch of a small tree with yellow green leaves, flowers and butterflies and I love them usually. But in here they look absolutely mean, looking straight at my eyes with some sort of a judgment. What are they needed from me? The colors I took them for my poems? The fluttering movements copied or their soul I kept in that crystal pendent, when I was so little? I don’t really know and they are not explaining. They are just there - flying endlessly and aimlessly inside the walls of my sleep, from one branch to another, from one frame to another.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012


Last night
My son told me, I am your photocopy

Stunned, it was a revelation
A thought, memory

Am I a copy of my father?
His pains, loneliness
Abstract philosophies

He must be a copy too, of
An ancient past
A forlorn town
Words of an old type writer

In time
I merge into him
My soul

An old pen
A Camera
Some words
A blood type

To my son

Last night
My son told me, I am your photocopy

Monday, September 24, 2012

Night was young
When I was awake...

But not anymore…

Thursday, September 13, 2012

After the rain

A sheep grabbed the grass
from the clouds


My body tattooed
In your eyes
A shadow
Beneath your breath
My tongue
You swallowed
I slept, with your hand
On my soul
I kissed you
In an apartment
Infested with moths
My hands
Their shape
On your back
I lost my way
In your depth
I tattooed
My body
In your void
My face
In your retina
Under my skin
Your smell
A long pause
My Time
Tattoo of a clock
On your neck

Wednesday, August 29, 2012


A crow
On the
Shadow of
A branch


A cow
Shadows of


Shadows of

Under the
Shadow of
A tomb


Cycle of life

When I walk
It walks after me

I walk
I walk towards it
Even if
It walks towards

When we meet
There ends

The circle

Sunday, August 12, 2012


An eye Sees nothing, stores nothing

Yet an eye as an eye
Took shape of a bird
Spread its wings
Draped the light with darkness

It burned a silence
In the heart of a God

An eye as an eye
Became a bird
Took the sky in its eyes

(The third edited version. Thank you Cristina, Lekh and Avy.)

Victoria’s Secret

They said it’s all a secret
Revealed in pink for the crowd
Nice and laced
Brunettes in chocolate swimsuits
Blacks wearing red two pieces
Whites with practically nothing
But all with wings
Remains of discarded angels

The lights were dim in my room
Beats from a rock band
The catwalk
FTV was showing
How the secrets are exposed
Through bare sadness
In victoria’s eyes

Monday, August 6, 2012

In a Poem...

The rain was on their roof. Early morning cool breeze slowly came through the open window, the curtains dancing with its rhythm. Her head was on his shoulder, his soft breath as a mesmerizing chant wrapped her in sadness. She was not slept that night. Still she was glad that he was sleeping, calm, and her smell wrapping him in a serine sense of belonging. The rain sounded sweet, as his love that made her life meaningful. At that moment as a line in his poem, she belonged to him, body and spirit.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Life, a memory

A memory
In our bone marrow
In a language
No one
Till now transcribed

Life after life
It flares
Being a beacon
Guiding us
To a point
Not yet mapped out

Memories may
Unveil footprints of
The moment
Where we took our time
And surrendered to birth

There stopped the reality

My print of body

I touched you

 A shiver
A look
Shadow of my spirit
On your being

Time stopped
A breath to flow


My print of body
On your eye
Writing a poem

Their whispering

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Cityscapes - 3

above the street
a dried


Way side
lamp posts
the shadow of
a water tank

ran past
in a row
a procession
of holy drinkers
fumes and speed

Snapshot of
the street
in that noon

- A cemetery of
small shadows