goliath’s eyes on me

We stop speaking, Our silence like
prayers on the wind swings through
the willows hanging over the trough
You know despite my silence that
the leaves are going to fall, and you
know despite my silence that I
belong to you although I’ve never
said the words, doves and twilight
your hand a Sun reaching out to
me, your Goliath’s eyes on me
mute my fear and tonight is
the night when everything
is left to prayer


IRINA VITALIEVNA KARKABI Tenderness Hand Signed Ltd Edition Art Giclee on  Canvas | eBay


Guardians of our race inner
shadows watching as around
moving within ourselves
searching the night that
returns to us holding hands,
entering the mirrors of our lands

looking for what is lost those
ancient treasures we were meant
to inherit, stolen – facing
aching eternity absent those
stairs and the halls leading
to our glorious reigning heaven

Holding hands we break bread
before eternity, seeking the
stars of our destiny, we were
born like this and hated for
our beauty, living now lost
at the height of clouds so
serene among the shadows
between heaven and hell
and we know that only our
Love exists here where
Heritage keeps us wandering

looking for treasures squandered
the treasures stolen, the memories
lost, the Light of our world;

Our ancient guardians sign
custody papers using the seven
names of God; knowing they will
soon come to claim us, we are
on the move and arriving for
having come so far; we will leave
with those who are leaving, while
chasing away those who chase us
Guardians of our race, extend
your blessings and grace over us
as we birth a new race, a new world
a new home..


…everyday life in the future

Deliverance is music and splendor
We go beyond the chaos
We open up to other innocences

Our desires live inside
inaccesible gardens where the trees
have no root, where the plants
sing of freedom and infinity fringes
the latticed flowers on the gate,
open to all pollen, bittersweet with
the flavors of distant fruits

we’ve circled one another for so long
hesitant, reticent, waiting for all
defenses to fall, the hunger in us
grows through tomorrow like a vine
strangling fear; we are for each other
no strangers to ritual; our candles
and memories are omens, our longing
becoming prayer…

we barely speak this language of love;
that improbable existence of luminous
joy is not for him, the philosopher, nor
for me, his poet, we offer to others what
we deny ourselves while dreaming
for too long, defenses one by one burning
from the center of Self reaching
for the horizon, our hearts embracing
before the suffering Light,
our hearts bathed and washed in
waters of love’s benediction; placed
along shores where the fires ravage
our fierce dreams, inaugerating that
which is not yet in us



It’s not in smoking volcanoes
Nor in the boiling blue foams
rising from the oceans
Yet in these regions is where
you and I live, here we name
the secret streets and make
elegant histories to describe
this, our indecipherable colony
of love, here we live through
nights and days under the wide
open gaze of the sun and the
moon, looking for augurs in
in the skies, searching for the
dazzling eclipse, a white crack
the thundering gash of God His
holy hologram Eye all seeing
emerging through the hollow walls
of our planet, He offers us incense
and fire with which to light up the
the scattered syllables of the
lost codes written on these stones
which I carry, each in its own
upturned palm, as I seek him who
will read these invisible stones
which are my burden; yet

despite my patience, no fiery
winged Pentecost descends
around me, just these snatches
of darkness, as I put on my
lead mask, turning my face up
to the sky; innominate meteors
fall down, robbing me of
my vision that fails just as he
locks the doors behind us.


Why We Love to Fly In Our Dreams - Atlas Obscura