In the valley of the leopard

The dawn had just begun gaining on the night, when the leopard spotted the hermit trudging through the thick wet soil.

Slow rays and opaque shadows began to form around them. The leopard shifted on the tree truck with only his eyes staying where they were. The dew on the leaves glittered before crashing down in a shudder.

The rays were pale in this morning, no colours tinged the east, no flush warmed the dawn. The coldness left everything in a semi-translucent glow. The morning came as slowly as a heavy treasure box being opened. But the light was weak, like the monsoon had almost won, extinguishing the Sun.

Ragged winds wheezed, stirring the night clouds. They fluttered but did not stray like an over-confident flock of birds. The hermit looked up with a sudden jerk that surprised him, an unexpected spasm had jumped up on his back.

The sunlight filled slowly leaving a colourless silver gleaming grasp around the horizon. Under these delicate vapours the earth was sodden, puddles exploding over drowning grass, the earth giving way and moving with ease. It clung to paws and feet, gathering distressingly over the tips of claws and toes.

The night birds were still alight, rushing under the wings of the biggest trees that still had clumps of darkness lingering within them. The sun was then risen, a white clear disk, tintless, almost chilling to look at. It remained half hidden behind the dark crest of a hill, looking down solemnly down the whole length of the narrow dale. A dirty trail followed the hermits laboured steps growing ragged and uneven as it came closer to him.

A small grass plot surrounded by scanty brown stalks, flowerless let itself be glimpsed briefly. Behind it was a whitewashed mud wall, bare and stained by water logging. Around it were trees gracefully gathered and rising around the cottage. All alone in the dale they looked imposing. It held an air of seclusion and dipped out of sight.

The hermit only saw himself cast down, his muddy hands over the little flowers of weeds, and thorns pressing into his hands, the dew gathered on them began to mix with blood that at once rushed all around him as he lost all sense around his neck feeling a heavyness on his back, firm nails begin driven deep inside him.


Narcoleptic truck drivers running down the same road everywhere they go. It never changes, the same colour, the same stops and the same hours.

It’s a mean joke by the authors, you’d think men would have better things to pray for, but the prayers heard are in praise of and in want for a crueler mistress- insomnia. Eyes betraying a dangerous tendency and in toil also comes enough comfort for the stealthy thief to lay a man down at the wheel.

Streetlights go on and off, the roads cut by farmland and crawl through cities, warm dusty haze layering progress. Hold up your shoulders because they want to melt into the seat, your head lolling in a cabin crib.

The roads wouldn’t dare change, turning in the rythm of lullabies incidiously rocking back and forth in calling back bygone memories. A soft dream threatens in its slow grash pulling the hands away from the wheel and letting the axels and turns see to your fate.


I am the vision of the oracle
Whereupon lies the sumit
The temple house of Inana
The mountain peak of the Ziggarut
Where is the flame reciving
There in turn giveth
Sacrifices burnt or prayers heard
The adjudicator priestly
Where was seen the riches and deliverance
There arrives the invocation of the goddess
Eyes of crimson, idol of ivory artisan
Golden horned, known of afar
Eight pointed star, celestial anointed
With the seven sacred powers

I was looking into Mesopotamia and felt a bit inspired by the world’s earliest recorded poet and her goddess. I’ve included both the architecture and motifs that came to be associated with the cult of Ishtar

Orphic rites

Master on the deft strings
Melodic breath, shrill then piercing
The tender song of thy return
More human than human voice
Unattainable, acknowledged king of all
Tears quivering beneath the eyes
We are disassembled, unnatural coughs
Cosmic vision closing, eyes still folding
The songs end in thundering floods
Of scalding light, wonder and delight

12 days of prayer

Nectar beneath the dunes
the winding silk road
Idols of a man loving goddess
Demon in mirrors
the shape of steam
for a while
Quenching the thirst of the deserted
Prayers answered with dark clouds
and joyous icy breeze

Night river crossing

The pebble stones glittering
Weathercocks swooning
Quickly it rises behind them
Amidst the mango leaves
Like a tattered curtain screening
Brighting all the empty sky
Drifting easy, silveriness coiling
A serpent with luminous scales
The moonlight and river meeting
Diamond droplets melting down
Tender reverie, immense, cool
River breeze, two hands glancing