Eire

I am not Irish, but the fair island calls me back:

distant, furry, moving white dots on the sloping bed of green.
small empty roads luring me onward, inwards, towards
playful dogs hiding, pouncing and giving chase;

Mrs. Kennedy’s motherly tone,
forcing more eggs on me in the morning;

Sharing lamb stew with a proud octogenarian for lunch
who, in emphatic Irish, was passionately explaining hurling;

the sweet wailing of the violin, in the smoky pub at night,
where half-pint of Guiness was an order worthy of hearty ribbing,
and an enchanting red-head, with her lingering eyes
easily stole my heart;

the tangible sense of a soulful presence,
of the foreboding castle-ruin
watching me from a distance,
amidst the scented mist and the deep forest;

the strange realization,
that small fairytale creatures do actually exist
around the bend and in the shrubs, watching me

Napping atop a hill, underneath a handsome tree
near the furry, moving white dots on the sloping bed of green.


I am not Irish, but I hear her calling.

Blue worlds

A Mermaid
meets me in my dream
She gracefully swims closer
as I slowly drift; downward, aimlessly
in a big blue world,
within which she thrives

Gazing past the threshold that separates our worlds,
She mischievously smiles, and gingerly whispers
whispers of her dreams
Of taking flight with me,
up in the big blue world,
in which I've survived

with my dreams and hers

Sinful

Her nose is perfect, her fingers long and slender.
Her delicate ear is pierced, twice.
Her eyebrows sophisticatedly curve, without being plucked into shape.

Her elegance is accentuated only by simplicity.
Her beauty pours out of her intense, and intensely blue, eyes.
The eyes that pierce through me with each glance.

She is delicate, agile, athletic, and feminine; passionate, humorous, mischievous, and kind .
She attracts from the solar plexus, a quiet, relentless undertow of an ocean,
With her smile that I feel in my chest.

Her voice that resonates long afterwards,
her touch is inadvertent and inadvertently yearned.
Her presence in my realm is complete, and beyond my control.

She is perfect
And perfectly forbidden.
That she is married, may be the reason for both.

Thou shalt not covet a stranger's wife.

Platform #3

For your eyes,
I scour the faces on the passing train
on platform number 3.

There are fleeting, momentary peeks at you,
peeking through strangers' eyes.

Glimplses of your soul, vanishing as quickly
as the blurring faces whisking past my eyes.

The train passes, and the faces vanish, leaving me all alone
to wonder which train to ride on
that takes me to you.