Two Poems

THE RIVER OF MESOPOTAMIA c. 2002

In the ancient valleys of Tigris,
in the days of still molt and rock,
a river sung the serenade
of the beginnings of life,
as it moved in crystalline fluidity,
to brim with sparkles and light,
and come across upon a rock reckoned in time,
it is a moment set forth as a matter of design.

And the river became two,
the great parting of waters
in the dawning of the Earth,
to thread two different roads
and two different eras—one found in the East,
another in the West—to spread further and further,
until the sound they hear were
merely of their own
and nothing more.

Rushing in vigor and strength
each alone in the wilderness,
among the great wars of the world,
through the ashes of kingdoms burnt,
the mischief of kings and emperors,
through scorched earth of conquests,
of kingdoms and empires
both the fortunate and the inopportune;
as they run feverishly,
one oblivious to the other,
welcoming merely the beatings
of their own hearts
and of no other,
and every other beating of the heart they hear
was of the enemy and the enemy merely.

Amidst the rage of their marathon,
seemingly unending and without destination,
and with a ferocity so great that
even rocks of great prominence
would crumble into dust—-
by the sheer strength of their pursuits,
or by the wave of their hands.

As another time was set forth,
where for once they looked heavenward
the journeys they threaded
finally found a single star,
to speak the truth in their own hearts
that in their own glorious runs,
no matter how magnificent and forceful,
still the Heavens are their own navigators,
upon the comets and constellations,
so that the rivers would find a path to travel,
a road set forth from the beginning of time
while they go nearer and nearer,
they begin to hear the same beat
that is not merely of their own separate hearts,
but of two hearts moving as one
running faster and faster,
like stallions in the hills of a desert
where in the beginning of time
there is only one river
that became two,
and then becoming one again.

AFRICA AND AMERICA c.1993

We traveled the difficult lanes
You with the china eyes,
Flowering like the sundews
Raining from the eastern sky.

The smell of your hair
Under my shoulder
Is like the coffee aroma that seethes
Into the recesses of my unrefined lie.

Halfway through,
You set into a philosophical investigation
Of this muddled soul;
As you decided my dear:
“an eye for an eye”.

While we reach the end
Of those turbulent lanes
Under this bleeding moon without a sky,
We parted these roads in many directions.

Like Africa and America.
We were once a continent.

From my collection of poems “The Wandering Soul”