In The World

An ethereal idea finds celestial peace;
Prophets weep tears of blood,
as perverts mangle their gospels.
His terrestrial gift is squandered;
Overzealousness is no virtue,
as radical freedom may be the road to slavery,
If temperance is unheeded.


Safid quietly meanders his body,
below the watchful eye of his mother Talish.
The family sits as Kura pours our tea.
Grandma prepares the chicken;
I miss fresh meals.


Mama stirs gravy for the biscuit in the window.
Para el hombre Viejo… su vida está replete.
The red clay beneath the feet of the babies,
Smiling innocently,
They see only the window to each other’s souls.


Avenues and boulevards;
Broken glass and shattered spirits;
Apathy is the morning’s reveille;
Corners are wastelands;
As the Wind blows in its City.


Lovers graze on pure grass with dirty minds;
Don’t be so prudish;
Filth may be a matter of perspective.
Fidelity is innocent until broken,
So is a kiss.