poetry

poetry

I Am All

I am all. And all is me. This street in an ancient town has killed many and saved many. Don't look for order and justice and goodness. Look only for the dim yellow light.

poetry

Svabhava

I was travelling to Konya in late winter on a clear morning. The fields on the sides of the road were light brown. And far off on the horizon, a little house, barely visible. Perhaps, the house of the farmer tending to these fields.

poetry

We, The Condemned

I took the image of the semazen (in the cover) during a sublime performance in a caravanserai.

poetry

Mythica Apocrypha

poetry

The Gentle Mother

I do not remember how this poem came to be. I had an image of a gothic veil in my mind. The image is of a dry lake somewhere in India. I took this many years ago.

poetry

Pilgrims without Shrine

The exiles and the renegades The merchants and the usurpers The givers and the takers The noblemen and the plebeians The brown and the black The stone and the gossamer The Jaisalmer yellow and the Iznik blue The Damascus dagger and the ultramarine dust These pilgrims without shrine. ~mk

poetry

A Tale Was Once Told

A tale was once told Of journeys and pilgrimages Of penance and repentance Of redemption and absolution There were many in that wagon to purgatory. A scholar who lost his mind A priest who lost his faith A general who lost his command A consul who started a war A

poetry

Siris - Trees of Northstar

I write poems for kids, for trees, and some reflections on the trees. Trees of Northstar. Our guardians. Custodians of memories. Listeners of our tales. They will be here when we no longer are. This is my attempt to share the beauty and grace of our trees. SIRIS A giant

poetry

Boulder Ruins

The teleology of architecture is ruin. The fate of empires is to lay waste. Those cities turn to dust, By the marauding armies of horses, And elephants, and men in armour. Armour of greed and hierarchy, Of memories of loss. The granite boulders carved into monuments, Only to be ground

poetry

Silent Runes

Silent runes and arabesque Tell a story Kafkaesque Of a riverman When the river dried A doorman When the doors closed A clergyman When lies arrived A swordsman When they won A spokesman And lied some more An everyman. Silent runes and arabesque Tell a story Kafkaesque Of found treasures

poetry

Embers and Cinders

I had nothing to give to that old woman. Who begs at the lights, She gave me instead, Embers and cinders; Decay and suffering; A life unredeemed; Infinite infamy and inquity, I have it all She gave me more, and old poem too. Yanked out like a spasm. A poem

poetry

Consummate Fangs #2

Part 2 Or The First Zombie The bottomless pit Of content and horror Deterritorialising My eyes My mind. In the consummate fangs Of the fiddle device Everything is a spectacle A performance, a caprice His voyeuristic instincts Blindingly perverse Not unlike my doggerel verse. Every blade of grass Every drop