I dont...

I dont sing

Like singers do,

And I dont paint

The evening view,

I cant pretend

The dreams I see

Will bring you dancing

Home to me,

The only thing

That I can do

Is use my words

To worship you.

I dont have

A smile that shines,

Like moonlight

On the dewed pines,

I didnt know

The things to say,

To raise the curtain

On our play,

But give to me

The words and time

And Ill write you

A special rhyme.

I dont know

The heart of you,

Or all the things

You say and do,

And I cant walk

The glens today

For there are words

I need to say,

But maybe

In the coming day and air..

Youll come to see

The way I love and care..

Come to me my love....

Come to me when all mysteries have been exhausted,
when wonder and innocence have died.

When all the fragile jewels of Earth lay broken at my feet

let me gaze into your eyes.

The goat-man has led his goats

to their evening pasture,

the monks have sung their evening song

and sit in silent meditation.

The stars steal one by one into the darkening sky

to await the silver boat of the Moon.

I sit within my little room

and wait for my Beloved.

A score of worthless thoughts

come to fill my head,

they sit upon my chair

and lie upon my bed;

A hundred tunes and enchantments

assail my ears and mind

and beg me to put

all thoughts of you behind.

Come, delightful lover,

come resplendent Lord of silent Thunder-

the fruit these phantoms offer

is sweet but does not ease my hunger.

The ferryman has tied up his boat

and retired to his little hut,

the golden gleam of its lantern seeps

out into the darkness

like honey through a crack.

Before me the moonlight casts

a silver road across the water;

the world with all its sleepy towns

and dreaming villages

falls away behind my back.

Come to me when all mysteries have been exhausted,

when wonder and innocence have died.

When all the fragile jewels of Earth lay broken at my feet

let me gaze into your eyes...

Speak to me the ancient word

and call me by my name,

lift me up in your arms

and make me yours again.

Look up my love

Look up, my love, and see where stars are falling
falling over antique Egypt and India,
falling over far Greece and ancient China,
stars like crystal tourmalines,
stars like poets fading dreams,
stars like fallen gods and angels in eternal descent,
stars like the falling petals of autumnal blossom
shaken loose from some great tree
to light the skies above you and me;
falling worlds of wonder that have passed millennia ago,
as fiery as the hearts of raging suns,
as cool and exquisite as winter's first new buds of snow,
falling stars like words of love I may not speak
for fear of Time's stern jealousy,
stars that write a heavenly message in sigils clear and true above Thee.

Look up, my love, and see where stars are falling
falling like the wisdom of serpents and doves,
falling like so much past and perished dust ignited by the atmosphere,
each star a dead and fallen world
with all its people's joys and fears turned into a torch above us,
a plea for understanding, a shout of triumph,
a brief moment of incandescence before it is plunged into eternal Night
beyond the sight of Angels and Men,
never to come again.

Look up, my love, into the splendid night
with its ever-shifting aurora of dreams;
lay your head upon my shoulder beneath the poplar tree,
above us Heaven's milky stream that flows from dusk to dawn
between oblivion's banks,
and if a word from our joined lips is torn
then let it be a word of thanks.

CoMMunioN

Across the great and shining void,
he called,his spirit in reverberation sang.
So silken were the fetters binding us,
I gave a start as bells of silver rang.


Soon he was everywhere and so was I,
our hearts in holy ardor blending bright.
How pure the emulation, once begun,
when did my soul begin to turn so white?


Such joyous chords, too high for mortal breath,
Oh, my beloved show me now the way
and let our hearts in merry tones now blend
as sweet communion sparked eternal day.


The revelation struck me like a knife,
before the earth began we yet were one.
Creation called and thus our spirits cried,
resounding at the birthing of the sun...

Walled Garden...

I have enclosed this space

Planted trees blinds, screens, trellises

So it is private; in all race

A rare luxury in this country

No eyes penetrate here,

Only sounds;

The mindful slapping of flesh

And the mindless smack of playing cards.

Brick red the wall,

But also clay yellow

Moss black…

Mud brown

Warmed by sunlight

Chilled by shadow

Damp with ivy

Glittering with parked dragonflies.

There may or may not be

Lilies as white as the moon..

As lies…as innocence ;

A mango, a fig, a pomegranate in flower,

A serpentine folly & other gothic paraphernalia..

Looming in the moonlight

A grapevine to camouflage a washline,

A septic tank covered over with turf

A wilting pear..

A tiny blood red spider…

A gate, sweetly shut on the World..

Impossible to believe in history walled in here,

Impossible to believe in this garden walled out there..

Its slavery or evasion or can it be both..

My garden roots me and frees me…

Exhausted by evening I step out onto the back..

And there is a spill of sunlight on the bricks..

A moistness in the air

A cool blue grey sky and

Fresh green leaves on the mulberry..

And without warning me,spring from the top step

Just takes off,

Ranting silent hosannas like scabrous angel,

As if the earth & everything in it were a gift…

Meant only for me..

I come thudding down on the Garden,

Ofcourse, but the mood is still on me,

And again the Divine Madness returns to claim..

Allright!!! its Slave..

A Slave..behind the Walled Garden..!