Update from the front, on the battlefield of Love
: 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
2 archaic : to join together materially : unite
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.
I could write this poem again today
It was like a taste that appeared on my tongue,
the sumptuous taste of sex with you,
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,
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
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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
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.
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,
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
Between each note,
Music quivering upon the depths of the quiet.
My gentle song was always soft whispers,
of what lay beyond
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
mad for God,
crazy for journeying
through the world
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
from the depths.
of my very own
So I will walk the path that knows no bounds.
I will keep playing my ektara,
plucking the strings,
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.
but only she understands.
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