The Song Woman

"She was a phantom of delight
When she first gleam'd upon my sight
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament"

-W Wordsworth

you come,
in the breath of a second


amidst folk tales and forgotten smells


as your song-burnt hair jazz up winds
with a hue of purple whispers


when the nighttime raga lights up the breeze
with a rhapsody of aimless tunes


and the music rises like thoughts,
to conquer the moonbeams,
and carve a rainbow in the sky


I drench in your nocturnal smiles
beneath a twilight of dreams and colours......


are you real, my midnight angel?


so many night-pills,
and so many unfinished songs


poems grow like weeds on your skin


your lips are the sketches of snow,
your brows the music of temptation


make me a disciple of your holy glance,
who submits poems and prayers
at your doorstep


how long can you hide metaphors
behind your smiles?


cross the ancient river
that flows between us now,
with a scent of dead lovers


and show me the doorway to those secret empires.......


mother me with your dreamy kisses
and distant odours


on nights of sights and sound........


did you once speak of love


as we waltzed across the floor,
remembering witchcraft and Shakespeare?


my song woman,
did you not complain of solitude?


was it the smiles or an overdose
of cocaine?


your celestial eyes grow dim,
and you melt,
like the moon on the mirror


and those optical spies,
their songs wet with an eclipse,
still pray for a miracle.........


sex or supernatural?


I hunt for lost codes,
inside the entrails of a dead city


what happened to the songs and prophecies?


the senses,
now a motion blurr...........


who built the rhetoric on the tombstone?


a creaking door seeks a reply...........