Yet alone I am

From all across the water drop,
Endless minds whisper dreams into my eyes,
share what lies beyond my door,
and touch my horizon with their fingertips,
yet alone I am.

From all across the water drop,
rainbows shimmer with the light,
arc towards our heavy hearts,
stretching, they never break,
yet alone I am.

From all across the water drop,
kisses pluck the rosy cheeks,
plant a seed within my blood,
growing ,it nurtures still,
yet alone I am

From all across the water drop,
souls dance upon my fire,
yet still and forever ,
yet still alone I am.

The Old Train of Melbourne

We all should escape to Melbourne,
away from here,
away from people like clocks
their metal clicking,
rusting and ticking
into the asphalt earth.

Here in Melbourne,
a cranky old kind train,
whistles from your childhood dreams
a soothing lullaby that hops across the lake
to caress our tired skin,
gently undressing our roots.

Everything,
including Mr. Train,
and our dreams and summer skin,
breath in awe the presense of the Atlantic,
our home , my birthright,
the dream before this one,
and into which all of this and us awake.
Thats why the air has the colour of drowsiness
just right before waking up.

And, as I sigh,
wondering what use words have,
or what they mean,
sea drops dissolve throughout my being ,
whispering thoroughly:
you are but a shore,
your dreams an ocean bed.
"Just let it be".

Will Loss drown ?

How can you ever be happy
while loss playfully puffs
bubbles into your hair
and caresses your sweet spots.

How can you ever be happy
whilst that innocent child
ever present behind you,
ever washes your deep sunken fear
with its laughter.

Yet , how can you still be sad,
while the chubby lips moisten
your ankles into the creamy dust.

Oh tell me child,
tell me fluently with our tears,
how do I tear your heart out,
and feed it to our thirsty bones.

For I have fallen
and the fallen are my beloved,
and nor your putrid sweetness
or your creating soul,
shall wash away our salt from
your domain.

And when you reach your door,
And in remembrence swim up our echoes,
don't cry for us , don't sob,
don't plant happiness or swallow despair,
just let the winds carry your scents
towards dreams like us yet again,
for the harsh cleansing of dreams
needs awakenings still,and forever,
unless the child drowns in our salt.

The World , my love

To be disenchanted with the world,
is to know it for the first time.
A moment of imperfect epiphany,
a recollection of what has always been,
yet is no more.

To be enchanted with the world,
is to swim between its waves,
drowning under every crest,
yet still coming up for air.

To be outside the world yet still within it,
that my love,
is another world ,
which may save this one.

Lullaby To My Heart

Awaken my heart , awaken,
Do not tremble for you will not be forsaken,
Truth will not forget you ,
Nor the ages forbid you
from sailing past the moon.

And if moonlight dares to pierce you,
remember it does not despise you,
it simply does not care ,
for bleeding hearts and broken masts,
of either friend or foe,
it only seeks to grow.


Sleep my heart , oh sleep,
lay down , forget how to weep.
After the stars and beyond the curtains,
no light shall dare,
to illuminate your wounds,
or tell of your despair.

What Jesus Yearns For

A speck in her eyes he lies,
A drop between her thighs .

Her womb , a God's abode, he suckles,
point of light,
Christ's first plight.

Her hair , his coffin,
within its waves he drowns,
for our father who is in heaven.

On her nipples ,
a phallic cross he does erect,
For he does not want to resurrect,
just dissolve into the milky wells,
into that beating heart,
to rest between its ripples.

The Purpose Of Life

The purpose of life is to sharpen your eyes,
heighten your senses and alert your mind.

To be ever vigilant in your inner world,
for no one can tell,
when the chance presents itself,
to escape sideways.

Upon hearing that Mahmoud Darwish was ill

and I hear that you are in a hospital near Paris
and I hear that you are very ill
and I feel my hair chilling
and I say no I cant write a poem about Darwish
he is my enemy
but I know He is not my enemy
I am just afraid of what the others will say
It's one thing to say that
Darwish is the best Israeli poet
just to see their half smiles
saying that I am crazy
and another to write about you
and I have loved you poems
you, like me,
an exile in the world
when the world is all exile
when the words are all aliens
and I loved when you said in an interview
that
had you known your poems would be translated
to so many European languages
you would have written them differently
with less symbolism and clearer
I loved you when you said that a poet has to
write his poems clear
I loved when you wrote about El Andalus
and making love in the afternoon.
May god be with you, Mahmoud,
my friend not my enemy
my fighter with words
stronger than weapons
may Allah be your healer
may you live many years to come
and may you rest when the time has come
in the gardens of Eden.

by Moshe ben Aroch

Please forgive me moon if I awaken your dreams

Upon a rocky lake , a dew drop rained , and the wicked reflected the sadness. He walked there , his legs dragging the earth that half man half laughter , yet for all his laughter he never looked upon the face of the deep. A puddle there a sea here , jumped that figure over salt and blood. Why do we dance on the dead , make love on the dead ? sing , jump hysterically on the dead and decaying and not yet dead but decaying. Hmm , the silvery moon just thinks we're silly and swims aways on its bed of silver , while lovers moan from the dust swirling into the air hugging the firnament with orgasmic nausea until the wave breaks , and the moon turns its back.

What a farce our mistakes are , our horrid terrible mistakes , like the wings of a fly.I love you , I love nothing outside you and beyond you and before you , in you time bursts with giggles and hearts beat to the moon , the slow quiet round moon. Jealous of the moon ? The moon is our bread, our sweat , our tea leaves soaked in flower water , the moon is one of your breasts, nay there are two moons!

Shout it on rooftops , in dark alleys , to every grain of sand and gleam of eye : There are two moons !

Don't cry my love , don't dry away in the middle of the sahara , or give your milk to the wolf ... let the half man half laughter suckle that milky light for although all grown up and proud an infant still are his hands , as soft as decay. Nurture hoplessness , nurture him who masturbates on words for what use are words for the terrible eyes of Pan.

And the lover turns away , covering her moons and planets and stars and suns in disgust , the lover turns blacker than sour milk , the lover dissolves his heart and freezes his lips , the lover unwinds the universe.

I will never forget her , will never forget her ashes , the ahses of her ashes , and when both my soul and your fragrance dance on a beam of moonlight in a silvery night on another world I suckle your milk still my love , till the death of eternity.