Oh yes, friend! I'm crazy-
that's just the way I am.
I see sounds,
I hear sights,
I taste smells,
I touch not heaven but things from the underworld,
things people do not believe exist,
The kitchen's old-fashioned planter's clock portrays
A smiling moon as it dips down below
Two hemispheres, stars numberless as days,
And peas, tomatoes, onions, as they grow
Under that happy sky; but though the sands
Of time put on this vegetable disguise,
The clock covers its face with long, thin hands.
Another smiling moon begins to rise.
We drift in the small rowboat an hour before
I'm going out and get something.
I don't know what.
I don't care.
Whatever's out there, I'm going to get it.
Look in those shop windows at boxes
and boxes of Reeboks and Nikes
to make me fly through the air
like Michael Jordan
While I'm up there, I see Spike Lee.
I do not ask for youth, nor for delay
in the rising of time's irreversible river
that takes the jewelled arc of the waterfall
in which I glimpse, minute by glinting minute,
all that I have and all I am always losing
as sunlight lights each drop fast, fast falling.
I do not dream that you, young again,
might come to me darkly in love's green darkness
where the dust of the bracken spices the air
They sent me a salwar kameez
&nb sp; peacock-blue,
& nbsp; and another
glistening like an orange split open,
embossed slippers, gold and black
&nbs p; points curling.
Candy-striped glass bangles
&n bsp; snapped, drew blood.
Like at school, fashions changed
&n bsp; in Pakistan -
In many shades of floral, flawless beauty
their variant scents, sometimes fruity.
Swaying in sunbeams, joy flows
Solo dance, wind blows.
Garden beauty pose
in lazy heat's daydream throes.
Bringing luxury to days, duly
Deep green fields,
Sun has gone,
Burns up days.
In the wilderness of emerald summer, rose blossoms brightness,
Like the moon's latterly visits, in pearly, glimmering contriteness.
Her scent lingers in the hearts and minds, of those who knew her,
Through the precious and golden days, gone by in a piquant blur.
Grace, beauty, and cool elegance, in a thousand delicate shades,
Swirling and dancing in silent places, that honeyed sun pervades.
Unforgettably luscious and languid, visitor to many dreamy hours,
Pursuing on a winding path to forever, with odd, hypnotic powers!
in scarlet hours.
Sleeping beauty rises
on unseen wings.
Under the golden spell
For years I was an aspiring singer, performing in trendy nightspots,
And I sang my heart out each evening, in all of the local hotspots.
Among the enthusiastic locals, at long last I'd made myself a name,
As we remember a rich golden sun, for the colors of his dying flame!
Despite this major accomplishment, I yet found myself dissatisfied,
As the sun grew dissatisfied, when full moon would not be his bride.
Being ambitious I craved the big time, with all of its fine rewards,