somewhere i have travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will enclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriousl) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i an
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its counrtries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

e.e. cummings (1894-1962)

EMPTY VESSELS


At times the people that are closest to you
are the furthest away.
So your soul seeks to be nurished,
and on spiritless entities your rely,
No contact, No connection and you're left to ask why?

As a refugee you seek shelter in houses without doors
just openings to get in
alone left to endure.
Stranded and abandoned feeling empty and unsure.

Does anyone care?
Pain consumes you, your soul cries,
Whe you seek the strength from someone else
in you the power lies.

When you seek the strength from someone else
in you the power lies.

CARLOS MUHAMMED C 1998