Beard eye

Captain Beard eye is not like any regular pirate you’ve heard about before

He’s not a scruffy vulgar scallywag like the other sea robbers in the high ocean. He didn’t steal treasures or have an eye patch. He didn’t even have a seagull that gawked on his shoulder from sun up to sundown .

He didn’t squander his nights on laudanum and flute.

No beard eye is not like any pirate you’ve ever seen

His sailing ship was the whole earth. He’d would sail the earth through stormy waters. If sailors fell overboard, he’d send a rescue boat . With intentions purer than the fresh water he sailed. Sometimes the sea was foggy because the sailors disobeyed his commands, but that didn’t distract beard eye from his goal to teach them to love each other and him.

A night came during his adventure in the North ocean, A whirlwind struck the water into a violent storm, threatening to drown his crewmen. The sailors cried and whimpered and wailed. “Gather your courage men, the Lord our God will save our lives” Beard eye commanded. Some of his cabin boys hid under the rescue boats, while others contemplated drinking mercury.

But Beard eye held the wheel firm in his hands, and his tobacco pipe firm between his teeth. He sailed the boat as fast as his could, even though it had begun to sink. The crew had lost all confident in him. But soon, the ship was gliding from wave to wave because of the speed. Beard eye neither slowed down or wavered. And just like that the sails could touch the clouds. The sailors couldn’t believe their eyes. Perhaps we are dead, they mummered amongst themselves. But Indeed, the ship was flying over Africa. It landed somewhere in the Indian Ocean.

Hence, Beard eye became not only the most famous pirate in the heavens and the earth, but will be the most respected name for generations to come.

A Thousand Desires

A thousand days hold a thousand desires

folded deep in the solace of their palms

the longer I live, the more I yearn

to melt the ice that stores my desires

Humanity has taken away my compassion

replaced it fragile threads of apathy

I rented out my praiseful soul

to be a prisoner to karma’s undoings

My lust for power

has everything to do with life seductions

I blink so the viel that clouds my vision

may fall into the a furnace of enlightenment

Everyday I contemplate these Alexandrian dreams

unbidden treasures that pierce the clouds

Naked are the desires that caress my eyes

separating me from my soul’s deepest connections

Nya ébok rà

Control isn’t just a word to rhyme in poetry class. It’s the pattern that pragmates the cervixes of life. I knew how to breath, eat by listening to the voices that scream the loudest when my soul is reeling in unfathomable silence;

“Nya ébok rà this is what you should do”

I’m not used to the uncertainty that taints my own voice, or the scent of naivety that trails my skin. I’ve been told I’m too wayward, addicted to carelessness like it was heroine. Control is the word associated with power, they said,

Nya ébok rà, control will keep you strong, even if it’s just a bubble of illusion that distorts perception.

There are daddy issues interwoven in mummy issues interwoven in life issues. It’s not like me to leave things alone and freedom is like the stars I sleep under every fortnight so I could dream in bright white light. When the last piece of me broke away, I ran up the a mountain, pointed my forefinger to the air and screamed,

Nya ébok rà I hope I’ll swim back whole some day.

Nya ébok rà

Presence

Breath in. 5…4…3…2…one I saw a nix sitting on a branch of a fig tree, dipping her toes into the stream of water below her. creating ripples that waned and faded. She looked sad on this beautiful Armenian night, perhaps it was the shadow she carried that whispered chaos in her mind.

Breath out. 1…2..3.4 five, every living creature has a mind, and is therefore equally important. The Owl on the spitz of the old fig was not more relevant than the Nix, and my life is worth the same as hers. I wondered if she could have been sad because the presence of the moon on this night was divine and she wished she could bottle up the milky way and the falling stars, or she wasn’t mindful enough to realise she was more than the feelings she allowed to overwhelm her thoughts;

the state if mind where she wanted the night to schatter into broken shards, prick her skin so she could feel her life force… or anything really. swallow her whole and drop her off the face of the earth.

She couldn’t speak stillness to the old fig, or reach out to touch the elusive moon. The lines between her reality and her reflection were blurred by a spurring internal conflict that could be solved by a drop of presence.

On this beautiful Armenian night I crouched next to her and told her to live in the moment, exactly how it was, listening to her heart beat, not wanting more or expecting less. Every day nature weaves a balance of subtle miracles before our ever dreaming eyes. If we’re lucky, our hearts can capture every butterfly smile our irises have yet to see.

A Sinner’s Prayer

Forgive me o’ Lord for I have sinned

You’ve heard this a million times

it could be tattooed to my lips

I head right at every possible turn

even when I know volcanic rubbles lie awaits

I’ve condemned my self all my life

better me than you I always say

better to start walking the grave than hope for life

for what has hope ever brought to the hopeless

what has life brought to a begger

I am a refugee at best with sticky hands

I know how to stop but I don’t know when

I think today is the last time but it never is

what has hope ever brought to a sinner?

I head right at every crossroad I come

Past the forest, deep into the woods

running up the hill that snakes at every turn

Forgive me o’ Lord for I have sinned

unfortunately it won’t be my last confession either

I’ve heaved and whined and rolled in mud

I say “it is well”, we both know I don’t mean it

I’m thankful for every chance of redemption you offer

and condemn myself every time I fail

better me than you I always say

what hope in life is there for a person who may know left?

Earth’s art

It is impossible to read a book

whose pages have never been opened

some of mine has got sands between the pages

and shaggy dogged ears

because I scribbled words I couldn’t speak

and watered-down thoughts I couldn’t share

The song of my dreams is but a cacophony,

a mixture of voices that drowns purpose

sometimes a ghost serenades me with karaoke

other times I’m enchanted by a siren’s hymn.

I scribbled dried blood on my sleeves

you’ll need a kaleidoscope to view my art

It is elusive even in umbra lighting

But it is enough the way it is

because I was made in Earth’s treasure chest

where no two narratives are the same

Keeper of Peace

I’m like a daisy in a pond

nourished on all sides by an ever-flowing waterfall

feet rooted between the vegetation

unmoved neither by smallest algae nor the largest predatory

Troubled water silenced by peace, piece by piece

the air is densely saturated with the truth

the pollens on my skin are like an armor of righteousness

and faith is the music I swim to

I am like a plush bear on a playground

with one button eye, the other digesting inside a kid’s belly somewhere

still the smile on my face is in-erasable

when I think of the shield of the holy spirit i yield

you see this world outside is harsher still

like med school, it’s never easy

but we’re still fighting

because of a father who polishes my replaced button

and it is so, we’re still and waiting

praying for grace and strength with each waking breath

The prints we made yesterday guides into tomorrow

enlightening our journey into sanctuary of the keeper of peace