Picasso and Praxis
Notes
When the tunes were half alive and half dead
and the searching eyes looked beyond the circles,
The lines of the artist showed different meanings
my nervous rhapsody and mental calibrations
were still unheard between the senses as they tossed
and turned like broken chasms. In torn canvasses
I have seen how Picasso danced between my fingers
But you felt they were simply the notes of stringed silence.
********
Nodes
You’ve caught those nodes where dreams lie, where you began
and I ended. Reality kept hidden as unspoken words
is more real than what it seems. You are more than just
a recurrent thought, so let the dreams excavate
the darkness and the light, let the lines of love
touch truth and untruth until the borders break into unknowns.
Dawn and dusk have shown the colors of the sky only in different shades
we look at each other until the world is a stranger once again.
*****
Thursday, 23 September 2010
Nudes and Nemesis
Nudes and Nemesis
Wet sands (first published in Gloom Cupboard)
Stretched body wide , the armchair reclined and between the creases
Time passes like slumber. To the north when naked silhouette fed
Agonies and wetness reached a degree of imperfection.
Whispers that reached my ears could have been more than what was said
and the eyes have seen more than what could be seen. Clothed in
the sands, bodies have danced in the dark when fully clothed
yet I see them naked and vulnerable, hurt and torn, as meanings
derive from raw shapes and endlessness of primordial necessities.
***
A Sort of Vengeance
I have this love reapproved, readmitted and stamped
And these posts stuck on my mental wall, bright yellow tatters
looked like a sort of duty. These were jumbles I was plagued with
as I arranged them, form, shape and a playfield. The game was being
played again and again, the ball kicked between the beginning and the end
the fingerprints said more of the heart than the skin. That evening I was dressed
like a devil , healing you like the angel. It was a murder of sorts, that resurfaced
with my broken veins, mental realms raped, the sky was split open.
Wet sands (first published in Gloom Cupboard)
Stretched body wide , the armchair reclined and between the creases
Time passes like slumber. To the north when naked silhouette fed
Agonies and wetness reached a degree of imperfection.
Whispers that reached my ears could have been more than what was said
and the eyes have seen more than what could be seen. Clothed in
the sands, bodies have danced in the dark when fully clothed
yet I see them naked and vulnerable, hurt and torn, as meanings
derive from raw shapes and endlessness of primordial necessities.
***
A Sort of Vengeance
I have this love reapproved, readmitted and stamped
And these posts stuck on my mental wall, bright yellow tatters
looked like a sort of duty. These were jumbles I was plagued with
as I arranged them, form, shape and a playfield. The game was being
played again and again, the ball kicked between the beginning and the end
the fingerprints said more of the heart than the skin. That evening I was dressed
like a devil , healing you like the angel. It was a murder of sorts, that resurfaced
with my broken veins, mental realms raped, the sky was split open.
Saturday, 12 June 2010
Secrets and Symphonies
Transgressions - Published in Carcinogenic Poetry Magazine
You are a fatal flaw of the lines drawn
The love deep and riveting, sequential and subconscious
Expressions are wide open doors of codes
The dangers are still seething in the veins
Wild possessed, power within the tongues of love
Your heart in my fingers, tracking the bubbles of that
which plague your mind. Whispers. Bottom up sex
and licked fingers. Tear those threads and jump in the darkness.
Totalities
Taboos are chinned down to give the picture of rules
Lost, Jungian strings and collective dualities, boiling more than
just blood and flesh. I eat the cut of wounds, simmering
in the wholes of time. It’s the naked lover, the zipped up pouch
it’s the geometry and the cyclic patterns. Clocks turn and twist
around my ankles, hit the escape button and I sleep inside dreams.
The clouds are merging, the red eye dark as death, closing
space, time, matter, mind and me locked in a slow belly dance.
You are a fatal flaw of the lines drawn
The love deep and riveting, sequential and subconscious
Expressions are wide open doors of codes
The dangers are still seething in the veins
Wild possessed, power within the tongues of love
Your heart in my fingers, tracking the bubbles of that
which plague your mind. Whispers. Bottom up sex
and licked fingers. Tear those threads and jump in the darkness.
Totalities
Taboos are chinned down to give the picture of rules
Lost, Jungian strings and collective dualities, boiling more than
just blood and flesh. I eat the cut of wounds, simmering
in the wholes of time. It’s the naked lover, the zipped up pouch
it’s the geometry and the cyclic patterns. Clocks turn and twist
around my ankles, hit the escape button and I sleep inside dreams.
The clouds are merging, the red eye dark as death, closing
space, time, matter, mind and me locked in a slow belly dance.
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
Love and Lobotomy
Check this video
(if you can't see anything, just click the play button) Full screen version avilable on vimeo
(if you can't see anything, just click the play button) Full screen version avilable on vimeo
Tuesday, 18 May 2010
Distortions
Wakefulness
Intrepids don’t cry, between the angles of sin
Redundant are those tears that have oiled the candle wicks
A brightness, a storm and an empty moon
You have wondered how your purple wrapped dreams
Have made it through the shadows of the night
How on the other side of the street you waited with stretched eyes
Blossoming a thousand mirrors shattered with stones of tomorrow
Saberi Roy, 2010
Intrepids don’t cry, between the angles of sin
Redundant are those tears that have oiled the candle wicks
A brightness, a storm and an empty moon
You have wondered how your purple wrapped dreams
Have made it through the shadows of the night
How on the other side of the street you waited with stretched eyes
Blossoming a thousand mirrors shattered with stones of tomorrow
Saberi Roy, 2010
Semantics and Symbolism
Conjunctions
The Ink between the lines, suppressed in the interpretations
Yet revealed in the times of words, that change with the patterns
each inch of word sways across different paths
So they really belong to the journey in the thoughts
Dip across this ocean of endlessness and the drops are differently hued
Revealing more than the abscesses of imagination
You speak, you hear, you breathe, you doubt
The pus of your want makes a picture of swollen redness
Corners of Reason Published in Carcinogenic Poetry Magazine
Tetra and the square, do they fit into the circles?
forming the froth on which you lie half awake
the elongations of the soul, punctured in subjectivity
the rectangular art of imprisoned canvas, there are different ways
and you wonder how knowledge broke your innocence
so you wait through the paradox and the madness
crushing the symbols under your feet
your art of love captures the meaninglessness of dissected desire.
Saberi Roy, May 2010
The Ink between the lines, suppressed in the interpretations
Yet revealed in the times of words, that change with the patterns
each inch of word sways across different paths
So they really belong to the journey in the thoughts
Dip across this ocean of endlessness and the drops are differently hued
Revealing more than the abscesses of imagination
You speak, you hear, you breathe, you doubt
The pus of your want makes a picture of swollen redness
Corners of Reason Published in Carcinogenic Poetry Magazine
Tetra and the square, do they fit into the circles?
forming the froth on which you lie half awake
the elongations of the soul, punctured in subjectivity
the rectangular art of imprisoned canvas, there are different ways
and you wonder how knowledge broke your innocence
so you wait through the paradox and the madness
crushing the symbols under your feet
your art of love captures the meaninglessness of dissected desire.
Saberi Roy, May 2010
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