Rara Avis.

Unbeknownst to the many clouds that swim Heaven's wide expanse,I had flown the entire breadth of the darkest matter and glided beyond ethereal wisps.

If any of you doubt,I will show bulbous eyes red-rimmed from flight.

And frayed wings that cannot be unruffled.

I will brandish talons sharp as any sword.

And feathers like the billowing veils of inner sanctums.

Dancing where the wind willed.

 

 

I have gone with the birds.

The wild ones.

The ones that poke your dreams until they become gangrenous.

I would make amends,only if I knew how best to wrap my edges till I become a calabash for ashes.

And how to wash tomorrow's greasy stains.

 

 

What is your grace to me? your beauty and your womanliness? and all the other rags your hang around your neck.

What are your curves?

What is your skin?

And what is your honor,fellow?

What is your gold and your manhood?

What is your demon?

What are your wings?

What are your friends?

What is your joy?

All I have to declare is my genius,

a curved beak,and sour onions to make the hours cry.

 

 

Can you entice a star enough to bring it down?

 

 

Can you look History in the eye and curse her?

 

 

Will her waist swallow your eyes?

 

 

Can you build a word?

 

 

Have you chewed charcoal with a pyromaniac?

 

 

Have you mastered the art of losing?

Have young princes and princesses treaded your terminus.

Did you lose them?

Has hope drank from your spring?

Have you felt the fingers of God in your head?

Has the cold tongue of stillness licked you whole?

Did you feel a stirring?

 

 

 

Have you heard the angels that whisper beside the Dandelions 'stay' and 'be still'?

 

 

Have you heard grandfather clocks that do not chime but chuckle like grandfathers?

 

 

Have you woken up to smell fragrant curses and the breaths of martyrs that did not die well?

 

 

Yet, you built your walls in my palms and your Congo in my ear lobes.

Your grasses burn with my speech.

I palpated your tears with enough tenderness to make them stand like priests and sing with the majesty of Gregorian chants.

Look over at the meadow.There is no place for me.

You age,but I don't.

I wisen with the salty sea and rise with the sherbet sunset.

And until you turn around and strike me with wild water you will continue to sing the song of fools.

 

 

 

You are a she-oak and your branches obey the seasons.

My only allegiance is to the Dandelions.

Reviews

[SHEEMA HUQ]

at first I thought that you were an eagle or another large preying bird, casting authority over the planet from a very high position, and then this unpredictable write, changed into perhaps, a set of a statements about, dissatisfaction, frustration, relationship blues....your writing is open to many interpretations, which is what is so good about it, well done

[.]

~ when we have nothing more to lose, we become invincible... oh, it's excruciating but also equally enriching... mr. ed hart had once said... "the name of the lesson is loss but it is a gain"... hello, fellow member of the dandelion club... here, sip some champagne... you have arrived at a place which makes you immune to the volcanic eruptions on no man's land... well done... and...of course...cheers... :P

~ p.s. and thank you for sharing this spectacular piece of writing... :)

[Priscilla Sayers]

You seem very angry in this piece, love. Very pointedly speaking to someone who has brought out your "talons". As always your expression and writing is superb. The passion of your anger screams like wrath.
I do hope your anger resolves.
Peace and love my friend.