A sign once told me  ”GOD IS HERE.”

It was in all white letters. All caps.

With a black background.

I was not sure what it was trying to tell me

I was more concerned with the rain

charting unknown territories along

the gray concrete and brown dust.

The invisible cartography of leaves

gently falling on lines connecting

people to a semblance of life on a tree.

The whispers I seem to hear in the morning

dew. The soundless screams of begging

children in the rain. We don’t have to go

that far to see the stars. Or its unknown

mysteries. That unknown universe next to

you while walking in the street. Those

black eyes with swimming light

raises more questions than you can answer.

The innocent touch of memory of an

outstretched hand to a person

filled with mistakes and scars.

It was only a measure of things we don’t

want to believe in words just get in the

way it resembles reality something we

can understand like a phone trying to say

‘I love you’ in the middle of the night.

Its a wonder to me

how a half-lit room

radiates a certain

luminosity.

A glow of half-truth

half-fiction of how light

walks a seeming contradiction

across a crease on the sofa

the scent of stolen kisses

or a phone call from

a long time friend.

The future whispers

written in a book

of love and other secrets

as the dust settles

lead by a wary light

upon a blank page.

Afraid of full light or darkness

of what it might conceal

or reveal.

Waiting to awaken the

memory in my hands

as we touch and how

our fingers fit perfectly.

Or just maybe a

trickle of dreams

on the same night.

Amazed at the

half-lit room

from a distance

waiting for that

brief encounter

bathed in light

where we were

meant to see

each other.

The night turns white

bathed in the light

of fireflies

under a tree of stars.

Illuminating an array

of green grass

and dancing moonlight.

The night sky falls

slowly

upon your embrace.

I catch a firefly

it is warm in my hand

its soft light

trickles on

the bridge

of your nose

your brown eyes

as they look into mine.

You reach out

your silky hand

the earth spins

slowly…

Your fingers

dance across

my palms.

The earth stops

as your fingers lay

on my palms

time waits to take a peek

then shudders

takes a deep breath.

The firefly is warm

between our hands.

You whisper in my ear,

“this is real.”

I swoop in for a kiss

but the day has come

to wash away dreams.

The warmth and light

of the firefly is all

that was left.

I close my palm

and close my eyes.

When I

think of you

I find it

easier

to believe

in things

I don’t

understand.

I feel

at home

in

your

hands.

I

A missed phone call, a wrong number

A whisper carried by the wind and waves.

A wayward kiss whisked away by the breeze

frozen in mid-air, waited for the right

moment to fall in your open hand.

An accident that was all it was.

II

It was not meant to happen.

We lived in different worlds.

I had mine and you had yours.

Our stars only aligned with a

“hi and goodbye…”

III

That stranger introduced by a friend

whose name you can’t remember.

Warm eyes, cool handshake

a face that seems familiar.

Like a picture with its own memory of time.

Oblivious of the intricate weave

of gold and silver upon the light of the moon.

IV

It seems you were always under that dim-red lamppost

waiting for something that fate might unfold.

V

Weightless as a feather

Rocking gently, falling slowly

Upon an open heart, an open palm

No expectations of the beauty

and tragedy that may come.

VI

“Excuse me, you look familiar.”

“It seems I’ve lost my phone.”

“…Someone must have stolen it.”

“Can I borrow yours?”

VII

What if I’ve never met you?

What if I’ve never known you?

An accident that was all it was.

I

Thirty minutes to a day.

A search for a life amidst the fray.

An embryo upon a spray of droplets.

II

One year in fresh water

to reach its full bloom.

One day to forge ahead to the moon!

III

An adult, a juvenile will fly across the lake.

Not a time to waste, not a time to wait.

To look for that soul mate.

IV

A mist of gold ascends the lake.

Hope that fish might not take its bait.

To weave its day long dance.

V

The one day fly

awakened from its coma.

Reminds me of how time may fly.

I

We knew God then.

She was a deaf-mute old lady

and a blind old man.

She washed clothes in our house

every Monday afternoon.

She ironed clothes on Tuesdays.

Rain or shine with a smile on her face.

He cut grass in our lawn any time of day.

From the sultry heat and torrid rain

to the ebb of night and the shadows of sunlight.

Although time was a stranger to him.

He was good with his hands,

the grass managed to bend

and break under his smooth fingers.

His green thumb bore sunflowers and tulips.

As dusk unfolds on their weary shoulders

they bask in the day’s sweet caress.

The touch of music on the skin,

like leaves slowly falling on a summer breeze.

Entranced in a dream of stars and light.

II

She taught me music.

The sweet language of the piano.

A melody embraced by the birds

that swayed the trees side-to-side.

The soft secrets of Beethoven

swept away by the wind into her fingers.

He taught me the poetry of painting.

With the sleight of his hand

a tide of blue splashes on the sea of canvas.

A red of sun dances on the horizon of the paintbrush.

The perspective of shadows upon an ecstatic visage.

The hands of Esref Armagan’s vision.

Amble memoirs of a pair of scissors and a basin.

It was the end of summer.

A time for umbrellas and raincoats.

Of dimming lampposts. Of graying skies.

Shadows left standing on the trail of the sun,

hanging on to what’s left of the light.

Like moist blown on a glass saying,

“I miss you, when are you coming home?”

A constant struggle to stay alive

on that glass of dew. Holding

on to the cold breath of rain. Dreading

the sun’s kiss on its tender lips.

A time to escape forgotten dreams

and reminiscent sepia photographs.

Of old songs on a phonograph

in the wings of the night.

Lost secrets in the burr of the wind.

Water trickling from the face of clouds

expressing their anguish down to the sand.

In spurts to tickle the soft tissue of earth.

Children prancing, thrashing in mirth.

A bath for the first time. Mimicking

the rain, as they throw cold drops

on their friends’ backs. Splash tidal

waves of blue in jovial laughter.

Cleanse the skin. Drench the thirst.

In bursts to wash away the soot and the dust.

Whittled phone calls in the echoes of thunder,

unheard whispers of, “I want to see you again…”

Forever abstruse under the din of nimbus clouds.

Of wayward voices catching a cold

and fade into the night.

Of drowned laughter. Of lost dreams.

“It rains on the just and the unjust alike.”

To separate black and white to shades of gray.

Prepare the ground for a new day.

A rose. A tree. A child.

It was the first of summer.

It was the first day

a day like no other

the first of many lasts.

The rain sang its usual song.

The wind danced its usual beat.

The same faces in different places.

I didn’t even know your name,

you just sat there unawares.

With your short skirt

and tight shirt.

Your hazel shaped eyes

and your translucent skin.

I kept looking and thinking

who was this person

lingering in my head?

I sat and wondered

who you were.

Not a day goes by

without amble memory.

It was the first day

a day like no other

the first of many lasts.

The rain sang its usual song.

The wind danced its usual beat.

The same faces in different places.

I knew your face and

saw your name.

Something tangible.

Something beautiful.

A name to a face.

The way you part your hair

to the way you bite your nails.

Something tangible.

Something beautiful.

The wrinkle in your nose

when you laugh.

The warm smile in your eyes.

The sweet demeanor in your whim.

Something tangible.

Something beautiful.

A name to a face.

I

It was a rainy September breeze. The

spatter of rain embraces the red mildew

of sunlight across the green mirror of

concrete. It was a day like every other day,

the moon sang its languorous laughter.

The moonshine moved about in its insouciant saunter

through the glowing halls of the amber of memory.

Like a frozen song in a glass of wine,

each note, each lyric, laughter

Sublime.

“I love you just the way you look tonight,”

Ol’ blue eyes said.

The mnemonic memoirs

fade into the reticent whispers of dust.

Each with its tune of beautiful serenity.

II

It was a rainy September breeze. The

spatter of rain embraces the red mildew

of sunlight across the green mirror of

concrete. It was a day like every other day,

the sun danced upon the soot left by the night.

Like stories of love lost and death foretold.

Of an endless cadence that sings with the trees.

The ray of light parts the world

into black and white.

Each with its melody,

each with its memory.

The tranquil panorama of dreams,

ice-cold in hand and warm on the lips.

Forgotten and awoken

on a blank white page.

The music never fades.

White hair.

Grizzled beard.

Broken bones.

Dimmed eyes.

Narrow path.

Dark future.

Different faces.

Different names.

Same old stories.

Same old world.

Nothing to see.

Nothing to hear.

Nothing to feel.

Just the naked gun

and pale bullets.

Click.

All goes white.

Brown eyes,

youthful face,

passes in an instant.

The gun drops.

Falling bullets.

The door was open.

As footsteps trudge

along an unknown path.

I look up at the stars illuminating your face

as clear as the sunset’s glaze

but as dark as the moon’s shadow.

I touched your hand through an air of whispers

Your airy fingertips caressed my skin.

The illusion of words danced across my mind

like a dream of heaven and hell.

The vesper of your thoughts

merge with mine.

Tracing every line of your face

its innate elegance and hidden crudeness.

The sough of your voice

an angel’s murmur

the devil’s laugh.

Something familiar.

Something beautiful.

Something to hold onto.

Something to let go.

I will always have you but I never will.

The pink clouds explode in a stained looking glass

overseeing the white skies across the barrier.

The white straight jacket holds together

the grandiloquent thoughts wanting to break free.

The bars that surround the white effigy

symbolize a concocted vision of gray.

Time sits still when one is dreaming.

The deep brown eyes look on as time drifts by

through a seamless milk of river.

No past silhouette emblazoned on the shadows.

The endless dance of light lingers

on the scent of an angel’s whisper.

The drizzling of the amorphous sunset

slips through the hazy hands.

Wanting, longing

to touch reality before

the dream siphons into the mist.

As free as a bird flying across

the endless blue of sky.

“She told me she loved me”

I thought she was crazy.

What is there to love?

I was an alcoholic

a chain smoker

a womanizer.

She was never impressed with what I’ve done

or what I’ve accomplished.

She just looked at me with her brown eyes

and her ardent smile.

Piercing through the sentinels of shade.

I was exposed.

I was naked.

I stayed away from the gaze.

Running through the hazy halls

of meandering thoughts.

I tried to push her away

into the crevasse of my dreams.

But she was still there

she always was…

As I open my eyes to the light of day.

I indulged in nightly trips

from body to body, coming and going.

I return home to the same brown eyes

and whitewashed smile.

“She told me she loved me”

I thought she was crazy.

She told me she believed in God.

I was always skeptical even though

my parents were staunch believers.

They thought they could save the world.

They dubbed themselves superman and wonder woman

to an imaginary world of light.

They always had to look good

didn’t want to get their hands dirty.

They kept on trying to change me

to suit their mold.

She was different.

She was very simple.

She took things as they were

the pink in the sun,

a cat’s whisper through a looking glass.

The death of memory etched on a gray moon.

She took me as I was.

From the strange way I tie my shoes

to the nights of endless folly.

“She told me she loved me”

I thought she was crazy.

A phone call from a friend

told me about her condition.

“It runs in the family ,” she says.

“She’s been that way since she was a child.”

The news of a death foretold

trickled down the night.

I told her about the news from a friend.

She held my hand and gave me a warm smile

with her brown eyes she told me everything.

We rode the car to the white house of thoughts

bringing our five year-old son.

The road is slowly eaten away

as the pale gates draw near.

“We’ve been expecting you,” said the doctor.

She walks through the door

her image sheathed in an amber of air.

I looked out the window and saw

the hues of the rainbow

dancing on the clear blue sky.

I walked out the door and into the car.

The clear brown eyes of the boy

reflected at me the way her mother does.

As we drove away in the black sedan

I looked out the window

the pale gates and the white

hospital building stared back

under a somber breath and dark eyes.

“I just might be the crazy one,” he whispered.

Looking at you through the banner of stars in the night.

Thinking of a dream of you in the twilight.

The reflection of your shadow in the blue skies of my mind.

The ephemeral shape of a distant image

dancing in the golden brick road of imagination.

The familiar movements of a languid assonance.

The daydreams of childhood.

The nightmares of mildew.

The concordant radiance mirrored in your eyes.

The reflection of me that I failed to see.

I want you to be my hamburger.

Watching you cook to a golden brown.

Slowly and tenderly feel you before I taste you.

Your mouthwatering aroma of lettuce and tomato.

The juicy beef filled with bits and pieces

of morsel that arouses a tingling sensation.

I’ll eat you round and round

until I get to the center.

Savoring your flavor.

The aftertaste will remain in me for a few hours.

While your cholesterol stays with me forever.

I feel your existence well up within me.

Wait, that was just a heartburn.

Burp! Yummy! Mmmm.

I can’t wait to get another one.

I wait in line to taste you once again.

Going through all the trouble just to get to you.

Saving all my money, driving through traffic,

and waiting for my turn.

Until I get my hamburger once again.

Hello there ceiling?

How’s it going?

I’m fine thank you.

How about you?

Just as great as always

I wonder,

with your luminescent white paint

you stare down at me through the infinite blue of the skies.

All knowing and all powerful

always above me

silent.

Grotesque.

Beautiful.

What’s going on in your head?

Mysterious and cosmic.

Still.

What am I to do?

I don’t know where I’m going.

Do I do this or do I do that?

It seems to me you know everything,

don’t you?

You’ve been there since I was born.

My first steps.

You’ve seen me fall down and rise up.

Lie, cheat and what not.

Yet you say nothing.

You’ve seen my parents argue.

Throw fists at my kin.

Seen robbers walk away with computers.

And yet you say nothing.

Silent.

Unmoving.

Are you there mocking me?

Looking down blankly.

The silence rings in my ears.

I hear my own voice.

You wrap it in your silence.

It echoes in the darkness.

A glimmer of light pierces through the shadows.

I move forward and open the door.

The ceiling stares down upon an empty house.