tearbrush

as an artist without a paintbrush
i use my tears as the paint
with which i try to recreate
the stars on a clear night
upon the floor of this borrowed home
where we dance and kneel
where we bleed and peel
back layers from the night sky
of our own dark hearts.

confessions -1

While I still breathe
every mortal moment 
of my life is timeless
though I am not.
So do not comfort me 
with promises of reconciliation
in another world
this is the only one we know
this moment, the only one we live

ode to artists in exile and the freedom of expression

Do you know what it's like to write a poem about your home
and not be able to share with your neighbors?
Or what it's like to make an international award-winning film
about your people and then be outcast from your country?
Can you imagine singing a song that captures the heart of a nation
only to be barred from setting foot there again?
[The artists in my country are bleeding.]
The flowers in my country are torn from their roots
before they have a chance to blossom
Hear me out. Imagine, the very next time you come up here
to this stand and perform a poem before this mic,
you go home and sleep, like any other night
and the following day you get a letter in the mail,
signed by the highest authorities, informing you
that you must never again return to your birthplace
that you may never again see your parents in their own home.
I can't speak to that...I'm not there, yet.
But one of the saddest tones of the human voice I've ever heard
was a man singing about the separation from his homeland and mother
and what broke his heart was that he couldn't be there
to bury her when her time came.
So for all the artists out there, all the boys, girls, men and women
with fire in their lips, hands and feet
who are questioning whether or not to continue
keep perfecting your craft.
Don't take it from me, take it from the exile.
This is our greatest liberty, the expression of our humanity.
So the next time you come up here, keep that torch burning baby.
Keep it burning for the rest of us,
keep it burning for those who are kept in darkness.
And I would humbly ask that you not only keep the torch burning
but that you feed it until it burns so bright
that it illuminates even the darkest corners of human imagination

Ancestry

Do you remember...
Do you remember where you were born?
Do you remember the words whispered
and murmured over you in the womb?
Do you remember the sounds of your parents lovemaking
when you were conceived?
Or their promises when you were given birth?
Do you remember your birth?
Was it when you came tumbling head over heels, crying
while still hanging onto the umbilical cord of your former self?  
Was it when your parents first laid eyes upon one another?
Was the song of your birth written hidden
foretold in the genetic code of your first forefathers?
Or was it when the sun first laid rays on the virgin body of water?
Was it when the earliest wave heard the call of the moon--
broke to the shore and spelled your name on the sand in its wake
before returning to the ocean?
Do you remember the stories that the trees have been whispering
through their roots and singing through their leaves for millions of years?
Do you remember when we were held in the womb of the stars?
Or when they died?
Do you remember the universe echoing
with the glory of the unapologetic death of ten thousand suns?
Or the passing of untold numbers of people, creatures, plants,
planets, stars, and solar systems for life right now?
Do you remember...
before word, before memory and before birth
Do you remember the divine notes of that primordial sound
perforating what was not yet silence?
It was not the sacred beginning--because all is sacred,
But it was a beginning, our beginning.
And those stars dying like cells splitting were creating something new
So what had to die to pave the way for the birth of this universe?
I may never understand. It may never even matter.
So let us know nothing
like the nothing before the eye of the universe was opened
and maybe, like that wave rushing for the coast
we will arrive, leave our mark on the shore
for a few moments, and remembering home
return on the long journey back to the heart of the ocean
and all the cradles from which we sprung to life.
Back to the earth, to animals and plants, to volcanic ash and water.
Back to supernovas and the first star nurseries
among interstellar clouds and nebulae.
And when we have tasted the perpetual darkness before light
and drank down enough of both to contain the sum of all experience
then, we may return, with a few stories of our own
to that foremost moment of inexpressible possibility
the birth of birth itself.

a short history

At first

unformulated

unborn

sightless

unlettered

wordless

unveiled

to the last seam

and then 

unearthed

metamorphosed

a thousand beams

into a sun

a thousand suns

into a heart

unnamed

and untamed

upon which 

masks come undone

violins unstrung

throats unsung 

for thousands of years

break unbridled

unchained

the strong, the meek and lame

the wise, mad and vain

the proud, forgotten, and slain 

quotes 1

"To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated and to never complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never, to forget."

-Arundhati Roy

thank you p. 1

I had one moment
one pure, unfiltered moment
and the veils were lifted
for a split second
and I knew, oh I knew
that I was watching
the universe undress itself.
It took me a soaked shirt
before I could put words
to that moment of unveiling.
And even now, I can't tell
if I was crying or laughing
but I remember
for the barest of moments
I was made aware
of a beauty so indescribable
the only way I could express
its recognition was through
pouring tears and rolling laughter.

confessions p 16

You are your own universe.
The Unnameable became man
so that man could become unnameable
In you, lies an entire world
the purgatory of your own deliberation
and all the heavens and hells.
You are a drop of the great churning heart of the cosmos
you are the universe looking back upon itself
the crowning achievement of consciousness.

You arouse the jealousy of the greatest Angels
and when you burn through your clay chains with Love
the stars themselves gleam with envy. Don't you know?
Don't you know that when Love was created
none could bear its tremendous weight
neither the mountains or the oceans
nor the ancient earth--not even the heavens?
None, but you.
You are a mirror unto this dance
between being and non being.

Like a black hole, we swallow up
solids, fluids, gasses, even light!
Our hands are executioners
smiling lips reading out death sentences
our teeth, guillotine blades
mouths the sacrificial alters
through which we keep ourselves alive.

Through the story of our bodies
you could trace the passing of our seasons
like the damp before the storm
and the rosy blush of blossoms
like long luminous days and the slow trickle
of sweat over sun-wrinkled skin
like the ripe fullness of harvests and the changing leaves
before the cold stiffness of our final winters
when we will all take that step without feet
and "they will ask you
what you have produced
say to them
except for Love
what can a Lover produce?"

**Rumi quote

the truth is like the sun

I have no words
for the perfect revolution of stars and planets.
That would be like
describing the brightness of day
or the darkness of night.
I have no words for the vibration
of the smallest building blocks in particles.
I am barely aware
of the thousand and one dominoes
that must fall in place for me
to even say this right now.
If just one of those dominoes missed a beat
I could have been illiterate
I could've been born deaf, blind and mute
or I wouldn't be able to breathe
or I would've never been born to parents who love me
or the earth would be too close to the sun
or the universe would not expand
and matter would never come into existence.
I could have been dead
a hundred times from sunrise to sunset.
I could have come into this world as a stone
or a dog, or a muddy stream
but I don't have the consistency of a rock
I don't have the loyalty of a dog
or the mercy of water.
I have no words
for the perfect revolution of stars and planets.
That would be like
describing the brightness of day
or the darkness of night.
I have no words for the vibration
of the smallest building blocks in particles.  
I am speechless before the sublime serenity
of this dance between stars, atoms and hearts.

Every journey is a circle

This is what I want you to do
turn off the lights
close your eyes
let your entire body become an ear
for your own heartbeat.

Talk to someone who can tell you your childhood stories
play all of your favorite songs
dig through the relics of your past
look at old photos
remember past lovers
promises made and broken
remember every moment you can't forget
even the ones you didn't enjoy
don't dwell
just, listen.

Trace with your fingers
the shimmering aurora of your past
and somewhere in the night sky
you will see the shining outline of your future.

the confinement of words p 7

People who claim mastery over the world

are often most afflicted by it

"The world is an ancient master"

and does not fold beneath images

In the world of images and words

Everything is and becomes its opposite

Let me step out of these black and white 

compositions into color. 

**

Rumi quote 

ceaseless sojourn

On that day
I will walk
and I will have
"miles and miles before I sleep."
I will walk
until the only mirror I come across
is that of my own heart

*