Connected

Cum nexus
Bound together,
Tied together,
Fasten together.

Like the humble ox
That pulls the plough
Opening the earth
To her own fecundity,
You stand, ample and wide
Between protection and support.

Traversed by
The thin red line
That pierces through your feet,
You vibrate in unison
And like a nectar,
A gentle force travels within,
And powered by the heart
Gushes out
Your arms and hands
Showering the world around.

Enticing
Are the shapes and stories
The vital source conjures,
But often misleading.
It is the binding of
Cells and light,
Of oxygen and blood,
Of sound and bone
That fosters the transformation.

The gold that seeps back in,
Trough the soles of your
Nourishing steps,
Fertilises the earth
With seeds of joy
And you shine under the sun
Of your golden presence.

Your presence
Unique, necessary,
Essential,
Connected,
Bound to
The all sustaining,
The all nurturing,
The all-pacifying.

Lithe
“Outlined by undulating, soft and gentle curves”

Holding, held,
Sustaining, sustained,
Welcoming, welcomed,
Fluid exchange of breath and sound.

Breath knows profound ways,
Loosens the noose
Of the scaffolding,
Artificial structure,
Poor protection.

Up and down narrow stairways,
Distorted thoughts
Constrict the body,
Humble movement,
Vertiginous is freedom.

The lithe breath
Loosens and unscrews,
Unlaces the corset,
Tears down unnatural constructions
And flows unrestrained.

Thus, the body
Becomes sigh, and
gracious, malleable and sinuous
Accompanies visions
Of raptures and embraces.

A vital femininity
Weaves together
An inviting masculine,
In that inner dance
Whirls my heart.

Audacious,
Infuses my hands with
An eloquent hum,
Vital life force
That warms and heals.

It kneads
Color and light,
Leaves sweet loving traces,
Invites joy.

If you look
With eyes wide open
On a full moon night,
I wish you to feel.

Femina faber, woman the maker

Never have I learned how to draw,
Never did I aim
At reproducing
The outer landscapes
Of my world.

Even my grandmother’s fluffy chicks
Became on paper
A string of yellow shapes
Messengers of a tenderness
That made my chest warm.

Colors, pencils,
Brushes and sheets,
Canvas, cloth, clay,
All exited me
And called me so
That nothing could
Stop me.

Not my mother’s perplexed gaze,
Nor judgments
On my untrained skills,
Nor the invitations
To pursue
More serious activities.

No one could silence the call.

The call comes
From a place within,
Where fullness appears
And the body submits
To the dance of making,
Graciously,
With bubbling excitement.

In the suspension
Of time and space,
Beyond good or bad,
“Femina Faber”,
Woman the maker,
Has dwelled in me,
Forever,
And dwells in you,
Even if you are a man,
Hidden in the folds
Of your heart.

I tend to her
As the precious gift
That enchants my life,
Leaving traces
Of my passing
Through the meanders
Of this earth.

Take up a tool,
Any tool,
That helps
Your soul reveal!

Homo faber,
The man who makes,
Gives shape
To his destiny;
Femina faber,
The woman who makes,
Gives shape
To her love,
Unencumbered.

”You have the energy of the sun in you,
but you keep it knotting at the base of your spine”

                                                                         Rumi

 Let me guide

It is
In the core of my being,
A dinosaur head,
Sleeping yet ready
To dance with me.

Then,
The sacrum
Takes me
To Chinatown,
In Frisco.

It is a dragon
Spitting fire
And undulating
In a night
Of celebration.

Red lanterns
And city lights
In the starry sky.
The ocean scent,
And sweaty skin.

The gleeful eyes
Of the child,
The dragon
Is held
By the leash.

Source of resurrection
In the afterlife,
Key stone,
Apex
Of my delight.

Carrying
Spine and pelvis,
It is
The launching pad
Of my spiritual power.

The sacrum
Is the temple,
It holds
Life giving
Organs.

The lower cross
Contains wisdom
And knowing,
Like a pendulum
Swings.

Between
Sky and earth,
It holds and creates,
The fire cannot destroy it
On the cremation pyre.

It takes me
Into a tribal dance,
A gut dance,
Peremptory it says:
“Let me guide”.

Making Love

Of textured waves
Iridescent,
Fluidly melting;
Shades of red and
Mother of pearl.

Convex and concave,
Over and under,
Unified space-time
Of shimmering light.

Touching, gliding,
Dropping
In a glimpse of
Eternity.

This Body

What I bring to the circle of life

Is this body made of earth,
Is this body made of wood;

This body made of grass,
Made of air, made of fire;

This body made of tears,
Made of prayers, made of hope;

This body made of whispers,
Made of songs, made of cries.

What I bring to the circle of life
Is this life unique, eternal.

Once upon a time there was
A scattered geography of love,
I made it into an embroidered cloak
To envelope you all,
Tenderly.

Dancing Heart

The day came,
I was nobody’s child
Anymore.
No one to hold the sky above me,
No one to go back to
For Christmas.

The silver in my hair
Brought moonshine
In my thoughts,
The wrinkles of my face
Mapped the geography
Of my soul.

Then the day came,
I was called grandmother,
A mother so large
To contain the clearest of laughter,
The softest of cheeks,
The abandon
Of the sweetest embrace.

A mother so free
To rock in the longest of rhymes,
To meet foreheads in recognition,
To sing at the top of her voice, the crocodile
The one without overcoat,
To run on four
In the wildest of chases.

And when the day will come,
The wheel of life
Will move further,
And I’ll have a dancing heart,
Shining with gratitude
For this grand love
I have felt.

Compass

Just like a shooting star,
Or a spermatozoon
Fighting to reach
Its aim of life,
The idea crossed
My inner firmament
And I was set to go.

From the top of the world
Of a wiser age
I stand,
Clad in red,
Wondering
Where will
This winding road
Take me next.

Mother earth,
Fertile,
Kisses a sky,
Pregnant with golden promises.

The mighty star,
Not yet visible,
Spreads his hues
On his beloved,
Inviting her
To one more dance,
One more day.

If the destination
Of the winding road
Won’t be revealed,
A feisty compass
Will appear
Large and wide
Above my head.

And there I’ll stand,
Reassured,
That I won’t lose my bearings,
That the way home is clearly mapped,
That home is where
My heart sings of joy,
At the thought of you.

Body in Therapy

When the barriers knocked down,
The fears calmed,
The centre unveiled,
The body in therapy
Becomes
A fluid entity of matter and
Light.
Perception of a fluffy
Density.
Breath that cradles and
Lulls.
Taste of eternity,
Music of the spheres,
Celestial fragrance,
Even terrestrial, at times.

Body in therapy
Traverses and attains,
Gathers and digresses,
Progresses, retreats,
Experiences and participates
In the subtle vibration
Of life’s mystery,
Humbly related to the whole.

Mother now

Mother now is no longer here
she goes where her mind takes her
and talks to those she meets there.

Maybe they know
her gibberish
and can understand.

At length she plays with the black belt
that straps her to the chair, a throne
she never asked for.

The only certainty,
no one will ever sit her
on a wheelchair.

When her neurons lighten up
on their usual path of pain
a tear cuts through her face.

At night she shouts:
“Grandmother,
come and take me!”

In the day she wants no teeth,
her hair candid white,
the only joy, the songs of her youth.

The woman who knows,
What irony, wears the veil,
my mother abhors.

Her days roll on identical,
her eyes riveted on the ceramic clock
hanging on the wall.

The clock has her name on it
And measures the passing of her identity.
Slowly she goes.

I fear standing in front of
her grief,
helpless to straighten her back.

I look for her then
in that ineffable density
where eternal hearts meet.

Homecoming

The time has come.
After wanderings and endless travels,
it’s time for home.
A new home,
The home of sunset.

Sunsets are gorgeous;
the sky tinted with wild hues of purple and pink,
now it is permitted to sit down and contemplate,
reminisce and relax.

A few steps to be accomplished,
yet so complicated.
Undercurrents of resistance and fear,
bursts of anger.

The refusal of letting go paralyses.
Letting go of the way we were,
High achieving surfers
on waves of cultural adaptability,
fluidly changing personas.

And now that cries of war roar
in the silent alleys of empty airports,
now that winds of change
blow away the pretty masks,
and impose identity-less ones,
illusory powers stripped away,

a fragile light within,
at home,
kneeling
into acceptance.

The Shape of Water

Dumb with fear,
we go about
the scary lab of life,
sweeping and cleaning,
as if to make it neat.

When Love arrives,
the chained alien,
Compassion fires courage
and Soul, naked offered,
melts in a tender,
but fierce embrace,
oblivious of the world around.

In special conditions only,
does Love survive,
it needs the turquoise waters
of care and
the salts of wisdom;
it behaves in unacceptable ways.

It needs protection
from the dark shadow within,
the rabid hyena
hovers around,
ready to kill.

Its putrid breath the closest…
Faith, the loyal
friend, steps in
and sacrifices for
Love, the alien,
together with Soul,
to jump
in the waters of the unconscious,
united.

Miraculously,
Soul breaths
in the aquatic realm;
a new respiration
takes place
through the old wounds.

Melting in a sinuous embrace,
diving deep and deeper,
into bottomless waters,
Love and Soul,
sing in unison
with a new voice
the song of whales,
the mighty mammals
who trust and plunge.

Reverence

Reverence to the ritual and the sacredness.
Reverence to the love, lost and gained.
Reverence to the body, scarred but whole, knowing.
Reverence to the souls of Light that came to open the heart.
Reverence to the tears that wash and nourish.

Reverence to this woman of beauty,
This woman of courage,
This woman of truth.

Reverence to life.

Ripe

Measure of flowing time,
morning fragrance
fills belly and lungs
with the edible fruit of the road well-travelled,
full grown, ripe.

Ripe is always tinted in warm tones,
as if in the vacuum of the cells
the sun had leaked in
with incandescent light and
juicy vigor.

I observe diligently
everyone’s maturation,
warming with attention, listening and care,
sour fruits from trees forced in shadow and ice,
unaware of the possibility of spring.

I water arid roots
with the tender warmth of unmoving trust,
to see them sprout again, timidly at first
then thirsty of a fertile humus
made of new thoughts.

I fertilize the barren, dry earth,
with the pungent manure
of thorny questions,
capable to penetrate
in the nooks and crannies of the heart and revive it.

I envelop the entire plant
With an invisible veil,
and with a mellow voice I warm
the air it breathes, and I invite it
to dream of fair weather.

Then one day, unannounced,
Covered in dew,
Ripe is the fruit,
sweet metamorphosis,
witness of a completion.

Up to the ripe to chose
the best way to
offer oneself to life,
ready
for yet another transformation.

Long live ABAJI

When his frail body had consumed every inch of life,
He left with a gentle, inaudible sigh,
Surrounded by the love
He had tended carefully all along.

No one was left out,
Those far away were visited in dream
And in the density of prayer,
His vast heart had space for everyone.
Strangers of any kind landed
At the threshold of his world
And everyone was welcomed,
Fed and kept warm.

In the morning, he sat
With chai and grandchildren,
Always elegant in his checked lungi and skullcap,
Distributing zoot and “bonne maman” jam.

He never approved of my black coffee,
But always knew where I could find
“Mion samovar” the way he called
My Bialetti, testifier of identity.

When he dressed up for the market
He wore the karakul,
And echoes of the ottoman empire,
With the scent of roses.

In Delhi, he watched over
The strains of my creativity,
And the pulao he made for me
Will stay unmatched in my taste buds.

A young man still,
He ran after every elephant, shouting “hati hai”,
Melting at the joy
Of the astounded child in his arms.

When his beard had turned all white,
And hair had deserted his head,
I could dare to gently kiss his cheek,
He was by then, the only father I had.

Love was his path,
His philosophy, his religion,
No matter how tough at times,
He stood by it.

A true Sufi,
He revered the unseen,
The miraculous,
And the beauty of togetherness.

And if I don’t carry his name,
Nor even his blood,
I feel I carry his spiritual genes,
He inoculated me with in mysterious ways.

Abaji now walks the garden of heaven,
And the chambers of my heart,
Forever telling me stories
Of wondering holy men, in Baghdad.

Our dear father is no more,
The handsome young man was already no more.
The father of four children in a Chevrolet car,
No more.

The man planting trees
And tending his orchard, no more,
The merchant in the red market no more,
The devout sitting in the Asthan, no more.

The ultimate transformation has claimed
Our dear father now, but

Long live Abaji,

In the ripple of his kindness,
In the whisper of his values,
In the embrace of his care,
Long live ABAJI.

It takes courage

It takes courage to dive deep into the waters of our shadowed life.
It takes perseverance and determination,
It takes energy to let go of old household stories,
And the spectacles we inherited with the colour of our eyes.

It takes time to walk the way, as there is no destination,
But meaningful halts where we meet light in the inner journey,
Where major insights are revealed,
Where we gain strength for the pilgrimage ahead.

It takes a mighty heart to see the misery of the world and still believe.
It takes sticking to it and yet let go.
It takes much love, not romantic love,but the love of the soul
that reaches out to Him and says: “I am ready.”

I see you in the light, dears,
And call all blessings upon your heart
For you to find roaring joy
Upon your path.

The one who vibrates

The drawing speaks:
“My voice is soft,
You can hear it in stillness,
Embodied in a circle of life,
Hands that hold and heal,
Energetic flows.

I testify
Of the skin’s permeability,
The merging of fluidity,
The enigma
Of the red sickle
That tastes like blood.

Green is the color of love.

Entwined in a sensual dance,
Fruitful emotions
From the time of togetherness,
When home was a retreat
From the furore of the world,
In the bosom of nature.

There is a fire at the heart of life,
In the rib-cage,
That is not a cage,
But a treasure chest,
It’s a drum
Nestled in breath.

When looking in the womb,
You can see life,
Vibrating constantly,
Through every season,
Recurrent and eternal.

Flourish!”

Woman

In the tepid waters
Of your hips,
You have met
The solid base
Of your desire.

While outside
The hurricane roars,
A membrane
Of hope
Protects your dreams,
Elastic and vaporous.

It covers the skin
With a veil of light,
Timid like
A winter dawn,
Wherever you go
It brightens the way.

A soft mist
Covers the horizon
Where the wave of breath
Crashes gently
And washes away
Menacing fears.

If the wisdom of your feet
Sustains you,
A center of life arises,
A primordial sound,
A voice
Archaic and surprising.

A sailboat
Your pelvis
Sways and contains
Prodigious music,
Voices of lived life
With a mysterious meaning.

In the vibration of song,
Light seeps into the core,
Ineffable spring,
Resplendent star,
And births
An explosion of joy.

Fruit of your womb,
woman,
This love that mocks
And wins
Over the terrors of the world
With tenderness.