Dream Annex Within the House of My Heart

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Annex

: to add (an area or region) to a country, state, etc. : to take control of (a territory or place)

1:  to attach as a quality, consequence, or condition

archaic :  to join together materially :  unite

:  to add to something earlier, larger, or more important
:  to incorporate (a country or other territory) within the domain of a state
:  to obtain or take for oneself

Somehow you became annexed

within the house of my heart.

 

I spent one evening with you

that ended with us lying in bed,

entwined in each other’s warm arms.

 

That night I soared

on wings of sleep

through a rambling series of dreams

in which you made me laugh,

entertained me with anecdotes

and did not leave me.

 

I woke the next morning

to find you had moved in

to my inner world.

 

Now you are dwelling within me

like a part of myself

and I do not know

if I am dreaming you

or you are dreaming me.

It Was Like A Taste

I could write this poem again today

erotica poetica

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It was like a taste that appeared on my tongue,

the sumptuous taste of sex with you,

unforgettable, inimitable.

 

Suddenly that taste filled my thoughts

and I savored it within my mouth,

my appetite whet

to feast upon you.

To eat you.

 

I was sitting up in bed,

but I lay back into the pillows.

Subtle fabric of desire

covered me like silk,

and I luxuriated in imagining the sensual fibers

of our bodies sown together in tautness,

in delicious pleasure.

 

I could have drowned

in those opulent thoughts

of fucking you.

My nipples became hard like pearls,

between my thighs I was wet like the sea.

I rode the waves of sensation

as they broke over me,

came gasping

to the shore

of my bed.

 

Your dream penetrates me so hard sometimes,

touches me deep inside.

You arouse me so much in those moments

that…

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God’s Eye

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I weave a God’s Eye

with the strands of my aching heart.

straining to see with the vision of the unseen,

the construction of this wayward pattern,

this painful unravelling.

 

I dwell inside the dreams of others like a tenant does in an apartment,

renting a small space in which to live.

These walls are not what I would have wished them to be,

if they were mine

I would paint them differently.

 

I seek solace in myself.

Within my void,

truth rearranges itself,

refining the movements

of its delicate shadow dance,

turning and shifting

with changing gradients

of perspective.

 

Like the caterpillar in the cocoon,

I am formless,

a nascent fledgling of raw possibility,

just hoping to someday

become a butterfly

and fly free.

Hamza Al Din

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Nothing in this world is as amazing as something that is neither clear not unclear.

I was contained
within the hypnotic rhythm of the desert
the way cloudy wine of the Sufi
floats within a clay vessel.
My heart danced
and inside it the Nile was a whisper of majestic hypnotic sound,
a winding river
meandering on a musical journey
through mysterious Time.

Beat of the tar,
shimmering curtains of reverberating strings, thickly woven skeins of melody
that I channeled through my fingers as they plucked oud.
Materializing complex tapestries of ancient sound,
evoking magic
out of thin desert air.

I can tell you
that there was a richness to this life.
It was a richness
like the sheen upon the surface
of a pot of Turkish coffee.
It was the richness of date syrup;
how sweet it was!
It was a quality of light,
like the delicate dawn some mornings
of my childhood,
the sun’s rays spread in gentle waves over the desert, billowing,
like my mother’s skirts
in the breeze.
And behind the whistling play of hot wind I heard within my own Nubian ears a twisting symphony
of flutes.

Between each note,
silence speaks.
Music quivering upon the depths of the quiet.
My gentle song was always soft whispers,
intimations
of what lay beyond
in invisibility.

Like the fragrance of jasmine,
so subtle, yet so sweetly aromatic.

Reach beyond the bounds of yourself, the thin curtain, into the depths…
and there you will find me, your own ancestor,
archivist of the human heart,
a greater library than ever thrived in Alexandria,
where the spark of knowledge
emerges out of the void
and sacredness lives beyond simple light
and sound.

Baul

parvathy-at-the-elephanta-cave-2009

I am:
Baul.
I am
mad for God,
crazy for journeying
through the world
within,
singing my inner song
to the wind and the dirt grooves of the road,
to the stubbly grass and ancient watching trees,
to the blossoming flowers that grow
along the way.
A wild string of
heartfelt words,
each note
a cry
from the depths.
please return to me.
I am seeking the
“moner manush.”
The man
of my very own
heart.
So I will walk the path that knows no bounds.
I will keep playing my ektara,
plucking the strings,
desperately,
pouring out my soul
in one ephemeral moment
of delicious touch.
I will wander like a minstrel
through the faraway lands
of my own consciousness.
she has learned what she wanted to know,
but only she understands.

 

Sufi Poetry

Belly_dancer

I decided to include some of my Sufi Poetry on this blog.  I feel it goes well with the erotic poetry, as they are really one in the same to my mind.  It is the creative tension of longing, the longing to be filled with something greater than we currently are, that lies behind our human dance, that is both erotic and spiritual.  To touch something beautiful beyond the bounds of our known selves, whether within us or without us, is the essential crux of our desire.

Outside of this realm there is only fullness.  I know because I have journeyed there as consciousness (another story for another time).  And so we are in anguish here, but we are in pleasure too.  For we cannot know the deliciousness of being filled until we have been empty.  And is this not why we have chosen to live this dream here as humans?  To experience something that cannot be understood any other way.

“He has learned what he wanted to know, but only he understands.”

— Conference of the Birds by Farid ud Din Attar