Thursday, 29 July 2010


Lips open, two paradoxes.
Your rages swallowed
Between two half-moons.
Your eyes like two dead stars.

Two nations run in torrents
Across your angry bones
Two religions, two tribes
Nomadic in your blood.

Hands brimming with sound,
Bird-like, balletic,
Graceful, misplaced,
Outsmarting your wounds.

Your voice – a battered light,
Gorgeous but stubborn.
Orchestral, a confusion
Of logic and attack.

Your eyes – hot, metallic.
Your skin burns like daybreak
Wrapped imperious,
Around a damaged sun.

Two black rivers – lethal.
One gushes with love, one ambition.
At the delta lies your talent,
Where the branches of your genius clash.

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