Grey Pearls - by Ekua Bayunu and Tuheen Huda

Grey sky in the morning,

Grey sky is the mourning,

How can my spirit waken.

when all the light is taken?

Grey skies of mourning,

scored of sad rain,

ruled at first by

separation's pain,

till the clouds crack thunder

and begin to exhale,

and your long lost sun,

appears from behind the veil.

The veil dropped in a glance,

Long

Long

before it had a chance to dance

into my heart.

Midday came and went,

the greyness was unspent.

Hopeless I rise,

linger a little,

waiting for the coffee to batter

some strength into my matter

I should dance in the rain

laugh at the pain

call up the sun

and live

live

live

What difference is there between rain and sweat

but the salt of the earth and the Passion we beget.

A House of Commoners

Strokes of smoke dance swifter than loyalty,

turning within a disordered sphere.

Soothsayers mutter, then utter, then jeer,

mocking empirical stains of royalty.

A concubine's hand now rattles a tail,

while Speech-spinners wipe away sweat from their visions,

of degenerate legs walking capitalist missions,

this concubine, baited, waits to exhale.

His mesmeric lips wear different coats each season.

Imams lust after apathetic inclusion.

Musk of muskets permeate daily illusion.

This concubine opens his door without reason.

In crossing this door man commits his treason.

Venom replace his water for ablution.

Inside Me

Harajuku girl,

made of the most minuscule,

held by harlot scars.

Angel stood silent

whilst his band of thieves stole hearts,

and captured lust beats.

Slow sweat slid off skin.

Heat became the sweet, moist air

and unbalanced him.

Need fathered aching

as he watched himself unfurl

beyond Heaven's gates.

Snapshots in his mind

left him reels of negatives

that would develop

With each fall of breath,

their life dripped from lips to chin.

Such perfect distance.

She waited to speak,

surface poised in mercury-

like tension, waited.

His wings cocooned her,

as he searched for her in her.

She spoke of nothing.

Eyes could not see her.

She was lost to what she did.

She's under his skin.

Angel flew away.

With each breath he had fallen.

Now he flies alone.

Leaving him a gift

inside, her body soon changed.

They meet in clinic.

She remembers him,

but mentions not of longing,

when she takes her pills.

Corporeal waste

never becomes general

if it remains loved.

A Room for Alexander Pope

A rose is still a rose

As it loses fragrance.

Some will look upon it

Pluck it, sniff it,

and discard it to the ground.

"It has lost its purpose to me"

They justify their actions,

for they are human.

The rose smiles as it decays

To be part of the worm

And the bird that eats it.

To be part of the soil

that blankets our seeds.

To be part of the strength

Beneath our feet.

The rose forgives

For it knows

What vanity does not.

Navin Alaff

Like the fatalist,

kamikaze in nature,

open arms deceive.

Jackdev

This mouth-cage is a bed, 

not a grave.

You drank on noxious notes,

While other men fainted

With amnesia of affectation.


Why do you even ask to live?

Can skin, temptingly taut

against delicious bone

tear you from study of this world?

Or have you realised 

where you misplaced your attention?

Reflect on the purpose of creation.


When one heart bleeds into another,

Saturations mix, and those who have breathed much

Give life to those that forget for themselves.

Take heart, Lover, your Beloved makes loopholes of blowholes!!!


This Orca rises to gasp for me again

Watch the glimmer of wings sprout from his back,

That they may carry us home.

Sailing Lands

He journeys each day

Exploring lands

These waters extend to.

Fertile soil newly sown

with seeds of purpose and dignity,

after poisons of profit

were baptised in a monsoon

of bloodshot clarity.

He glides to a horizon

between fantasy and truth.

Like an anchor sinking into me,

He slows down, morphing his bow

from fingernails to fingertips,

Translating my body into deja-vu.

My surface ripples and exhales

in sated recognition.

Delicate waves decorated with surf

Close themselves around port and starboard each night.

The sky becomes canvas to this,

Contoured with stars

and the stares of mystics.

Osmotic breaths appear

beneath every skin, every mask.

This touch, ethereal and sacrosanct,

now a universe made.

I am the ocean he has always sailed upon.

Thanks for being a friend

I am sitting here

Calmly and quietly listening

As you tell me of how he left

How he sought your cold, armoured heart

And stripped away years of protective art

To reveal some vulnerable, luminous part

And scrub his sins clean with your sanguineous scars

But as you tell me

Of how he dissected that heart

I watch teardrops fall from your cheek like stars

And once again you are left alone in the dark

But the question i have is Why?

Why is my pussy feeling like this?

Why when you are bearing your soul

Is this pounding, drowning all that you’ve told

This throbbing, warm predatory pulse,

This beating, cheating, lack of repulse

To the 80 year old man with a twinkle in his eye

Or the biker who spits and then shits in your eye

Why?

Why is my pussy so, so hungry?

Gnawing it’s way onto the table between us

Dancing and singing, wishing you would just leave us

So that the guy, directly behind you

Flashing smiles at pussy and I to tease us

Can come to the beat of my drum

With his perfectly shaped penis!

Why?

Why is my pussy talking at all?

Since when did I become that Neanderthal?

Since when did I grow a beard

And stop thinking with my dick

And start thinking with the ring through which I

SHHHHH!

Slow, Steady

Are you sure she is ready?

Those months she wept

In cramps and stress

Then bled on the bed

And woke up in her own mess

Surely these labours allow outright claim

To this worldwide organ of cavernous fame

This treasure trove heralding G-spots to tame

And the infamous “find the clitoris” game

Can you imagine what she’d say

If you told her of that day

When you found out that without

All the bleeding and pain

YOUR PUSSY WAS REAL!!!!!

After months of feeling nothing

Thinking it was as useful as guttering

Waiting for the impending spluttering

Thinking I should be screaming, not muttering

One day

OH

One day

He fucked me and I saw my soul

I had an out of body experience through my arsehole

It was as if the world’s colours collided

Sweat caressed my neck

And dripped soft like dew

Turning my body, justly,

Into a sunrise view

The waves of my chest electrified

Attachment to the world was pushed aside

And i felt peace inside

And as I slowly became aware of his zephyr on my neck

And as sensation slowly returned to trembling legs

I slowly began to realise

MY PUSSY WAS ALIVE!!!

But I sit here still,

Calmly and quietly

Trying desperately to hide

This pulsating anxiety.

So I pass you a tissue,

Tell you he is a bastard

Devise cunning ways to make his passion call you master.

And as tears find my shoulder

And each year I get older

I forget a little more of my passion

Until both our hearts are colder

And I forget what cupid told ya

And I just dry up, through lack of action.

Grinnin in yo face

Percussion of liquids stroking glass,

That whisper with melodies of knowing stares.

Those memories,

Like incense in a disused temple.

Become his church.

A peninsula state of play,

Resulted in insular words

that could only be heard

in the sliding of sand between toes.

Though he and his mind

Were a thousand miles away

From this, here, enforced holiday.

He tried to ignore the shadows of persons

Extending their touch from

Lipstick on a wine glass,

Cigarette buts still breathing,

Couches stretching to their welcoming state.

His reflection in their dark surfaces

Transformed

The burn of whisky to warmth.

His lips began to quiver.

As if pulling back his tongue

For some short time

would create enough tension,

To let spartan words fly like arrows.

But instead, he smiled.

Words were what brought him here.

He was not about to let them leave him alone.

Eyelids began to close

As silence drowned out

The chorus of shadows

That sang in perfect harmony

With whisky and wine.

This man was now an island,

With no flare left for anyone but himself.

Howling Woolf

Twisting skylight,

Burn my pupils

That are student to this sight.

Let air in

That I might exhale, slowly.

Through lips that trap tears,

Pursing themselves

To stitch hallowed tension

Within anxiety.

You, sleep.

And I miss

The way you used to snore.

Paler still,

With firey hair,

Vibrant against your ears

And blue eyes,

That no longer mimic

Windows to gaze through,

Nor oceans to swim in,

Nor skies that watch me soar.

Let them dance as they used to.

Smile as you once did.

Flicker as only you could.

So that while I hold your hand,

Your tendons creak a melody,

And drown the consolations

Of unanswerable truths.

Twisting skylight,

Twist no more

Beckon Nothing

and desist.

Time's gauntlet

Thrown, to become

A final bed for expectation.

I am letting go

Of your hand,

But I cannot

Watch you leave.

Post-feminism is not all about sex.

I fell in love with what I saw
Behind your eyes.
Whether mirage or madness
This was our truth
I fell in love with your love.

Male, female, infant and ghost
you became all for me
A daily myriad of guises
To accompany my fickle taste
In human favour
But never did that distract
From your authentic flavour

Your face of harsh strokes and blush
Expressed beauty in lashes
and boldness of cheek
Evoking sanctity from parlour tricks
Like soil from a prostitute's door.
Your image demonstrated

This flawless deception
And I found use in illusion

Settling behind shadows of sin
I chose to weave myself within
Fractures of your autonomy and mine
Fitting no other form
than the reflection of your skin
Only to find that the woman within
Had a Magdalenous heart.

Gladly I fastened locks and chains
Around my wrists and loins
Throat and feet
I seduced your talons
Deep into flesh
Too tough to be made tender
Possessed is closer than gripped,
Closer than held
By sex too rough to render.

I had surrendered to love
A love that never called us to be captives
Yet I was locked within sated apathy.
So what was seen now as
Flaccid paralysis of purpose
Was merely exhaustion after
A lifetime of building walls to keep love out
and me in.

I created a door within these walls
You found it and blew it open
With each pull of a post coital cigarette
And what was seen now as
Flaccid paralysis of purpose
Was merely exhaustion after
A lifetime of building walls to keep love out

and me in.

With each display of dissatisfaction
at how i had become something other than man
I saw less of myself in this world and
more of an actor in the wings
waiting for his last call.

It was this change in vision
That released my spirit from slumber.
The poisoned apple in my throat
being removed,
I watched myself of an instance
both sleeping beauty and Prince.

Every hit to my solar plexus
from your misunderstandings of my person
Became Heimlich for every poison
you asked me to swallow.
I never learnt to say no
To either your pleasure or your pain
And with this I floated in static harmony
Until I turned my head
To see you frown in your sleep
And I realised you were waiting
for a prophecy with love at its core
But in truth, love is only in the present
That is a gift, nothing else.

You walked away
With a fortress in your chest
Laden with the same chains
I used to parade for you.
You've found yourself
and fallen in love
with you.

Continue to love you
For as long as you can swallow.
Until that day comes
when you ask of your vanity
Something larger than your self.
In that moment
Choose to surrender
to that which loves you the most.
Surrender to its actions
its demands
with no negotiation

I did this for your love
and at that time, I submitted.

I released myself from wanting

you, our beings never fitted.

Now I search no more for love
Even with you, I admit it.

From that time on, instead
my dearest siren, I simply LIVE IT.