The path of love

You walk a fragile path, my child,

you walk the path of love

and as you venture through the wild

as lightly as a dove

don’t seek permission to take off

nor leave to fly above.

You walk your anguish and your hurt,

you freeze on riffles’ sound

and as you linger through the dirt

as shaky as the ground

don’t mind the bullets that you’ve dodged

nor exit wounds you’ve found.

You walk a lonely road sometimes,

no shortcuts and no breaks

and as you count your countless crimes

as harsh as your mistakes

don’t be so quick to draw the line

nor judge your childish aches.

You walk with no one by your side

To guide you on your way

yet as you walk over your pride

as humble as the prey

don’t  underestimate the grace
that shadows your dismay.

(dedicated to Vera

photo credits: http://www.decarbonazul.com)

Be gentle with yourself

Be gentle with yourself
as you would be gentle
with a stranded seashell on the shore,
and the River shall gently carry you
back to the numinous sea,
for you carry the seed of fierce waters
within the shell
of your womb.

Be gentle with yourself
as you would be gentle
with a wounded deer
and the Earth shall gently embed your roots
into the yielding soil,
for you carry the seed of splendid antlers
within the hollow
of your mind.

Be gentle with yourself,
as you would be gentle
with a fallen bird
and the Wind shall gently lift you off
into the misty air,
for you carry the seed of mighty wings
within the nest
of your shoulder blades.

Be gentle with yourself,
as you would be gentle
with a burned out firefly
and the Fire shall gently ignite a spark
atop a soaring mountain,
for you carry the seed of astounding flames
within the walls
around your heart.

Weed blessing

How does one even begin

to drain the hate under their skin,

to squeeze it in and spit it out,

to clear the vessels clogged with doubt?

How does one begin to trust

when evil wills and evil must,

when anger bites and anger thrives

on words that cut like poignant knives?

How does one begin to see

that which was drowned beneath the sea,

that which was cast in such disguise

that it befell on blinded eyes?

How does one begin to feel

the tombstone weight that made them kneel,

the legacy of hurt and sorrow,

the prophecy of doom tomorrow?

How does one begin to love

from down below to high above,

from wretchedness to gratitude,

from loneliness to solitude?

How one does, I do not know

I weave my verses on the go,

I sow my dreams with timely seeds
I bless my flowers and my weeds.

Now you are free

Now you are free

And not because you are finally healed

But because you wear your bruises and scars

In the open

Now you are free

And not because you have arrived

But because you realized you were already

Home

Now you are free

And not because all your duties are met

But because you found peace amidst

Chaos

Now you are free

And not because you can travel the world

But because you are exploring the world

Within

Now you are free

And not because you have untied yourself from the other

But because you opened your heart to

Love

Now you are free

And not because you finally dared to speak up

But because you found solace in

Silence

Now you are free

And not because you are fearless

But because you have fearfully tamed your

Fear

Now you are free

And not because you are unbound from earthly things

But because you are no longer driven by

Desire

Now you are free

And not because you have finally earned enough spare time

But because you found timelessness in your own

Breath

Now you are free

And not because you loosened the grip of your chain

But because you found your true voice

Unchained

Now you are free
And not because you finally forgave the injustice inflicted upon you
But because you blessed yourself with
Forgiveness 

Now you are free

And not because you are finally good enough

But because you just realized that you were always
Enough

Now you are free
And not because you claimed back your freedom
But because you just allowed for complete
Surrender

The wanderer

And as I pin my bones

deep down inside this chair,

I stretch my legs onto the seas

in hope to find you there.

We shall grow fish scales on our soles

and algae in our hair.

And as I dye my elbows

in bloody corporate red,

I arch my arms onto the skies

my feather-fingers spread.

The wind shall carry our good byes,

on airy star dust threads.

And as I tuck my children

in bedsheets stained with hope,

I cast my thoughts down the abyss

To bargain for some rope.

For what are bones but anchors moored

in dreams kaleidoscopes?

The dance of lovers

It is nothing from you I want,

nothing you could give up

in order to complete me.

Not your love nor your freedom,

not the story of who you were

nor the dream of who you are becoming.

Yet it is of you I thirst,

of the truth that pours from your lips

when your mind falls into silence.

It is of you I hunger,

of the sweet nectar that emanates from your body

when you loose yourself in your senses.

It is of you I lust,

of the ecstasy that rises from your touch

when your fingers run wild throughout the forest.

It is of you I yearn,

of the gentleness that lights up your eyes

when your tears yield for forgiveness.

It is of you I remember,

of the seed you sowed in my heart

when you spoke my name for the first time.

It is of you I need,

of the life that you shelter in your breath

when you let yourself flow with the river to the sea.

Yet it is not I who needs of you,

it is the flame in me that needs to reunite

with the flame in you.

Can you not feel your own flame

calling onto me:

‘it is of you I need’?

Yet your fear of me

as the prey fears of its hunter,

reluctant to surrender to the feast of life.

You suspect of me

as the blind is suspicious of his light,

unsuspecting of the rainbow arching beneath his brows.

You deny of me

as the deaf denies his own voice

unaware of the symphony playing in his heart.

You disapprove of me

as the fool disapproves of his own power

uneager to take his place in the family of things.

Yet I still stand here

with my roots embedded into the yolk of my land

and my wings orbiting the path of the stars.

I claim what is mine

for this is my place

and I have the right to be here.

I am here to remember

who I am, woman,

keeper of wisdom and grace.

I am here to learn how

to look beyond my own reflection

of mirrors in mirrors in mirrors.

I am here to dance with you

the dance of lovers until

we become the vessel of love.

The whisper

And when you get so weary from following the sun,

You rest your shadows by the moon

when daylight comes undone.

The forest whispers to itself the prayer of the wind,

You lean your bones against a tree

and listen to it sing.

Your longing is a freedom-song of flawless violins,

You stroke the chords of yellow gold

that shiver through your skin.

You speak your voice with starling words that murmur in the air,

They linger at my kingdom gates

to lure me out of there.

My guardians suspiciously forbid your entering,  

‘Do let me in to quench my thirst

Yield to my offering.’

I climb the mountain next to yours and settle on its spire,

and as you kindle your own flame

I too ignite a fire.

However far apart we stand on manmade temple stones,

Our flames are twins that burn in love

the whole of human thrones.

And when you get so weary from kindling your flame,

You rest your ashes by the moon

when daylight turns to pain.