I am your winter man

I am your man for all seasons,
but on the coldest nights,
I will arrive at your doorstep
as your winter man.
 

To have your head rest on my lap,
and to tell you a million tales by the crackling fire.
Stories of how a six-winged dragon
from the land of thornbushes and termite hills
swallowed the sun whole
and spat fire into the oceans.
Stories of how a star-crossed lover
from one of Rumi’s timeless poems
found solace in the turbulent waters.
Stories of how the stars from the vermilion sky
melted into the warm sands  
that slipped through your slender fingers.

Stories of how I thirsted for a glimpse
of the pale brown mole
below your right breast.
Stories of how your warm, dripping blood
tore every fabric of my heart,
and how the touch of your healing wounds
awakened every atom of my existence.
Stories of the urns of time.
Stories of us,
through rain, shine, and wine.
Stories of how I consumed you
and how you devoured me.

LIFE

In the early days of the theatre,
the falling rains of fire,
the flowing rivers of the magical elements,
the shooting stars, the blazing asteroids,
the retreating galaxies,
the trials & errors,
and the mute consciousness
reflecting from the universe,  
spun wizardry
with the specks of dust
and the grains of time.

The planet

experienced
something profound
in its depths:
a flutter
it couldn’t comprehend,
blinking like a will o' the wisp
or a flashing light Morse from a ship. 

After billions of years,
the magic happened again
on a larger stage,
when consciousness
married itself
into the complexity of life:
the whispers, the murmurs,
the hums, the chirps,
the wails, the bellows,
the scuttles, the plods,
and finally, the peering gazes,
and the tireless marches
that took over the planet,
or so they thought!

The planet

still can’t comprehend the purpose
and the grand scheme of things.    
As it spins around itself,
it reflects on the starry canvas,
the morose moon,
the bat-infested caves,
the doped hookers around street corners,  
kept promises, broken promises,
the pointlessness of it all,
and its own midlife crisis.