Shesha

Posted in We Are the Underground with tags , , , on March 30, 2014 by Israfel Sivad

Detached and meaningless

from the rest of this world.

 

Like a word with no context,

no sentence to make any sense:

a sound devoid of hearing.

 

I twirl this pen between my fingers,

enamored by the shadows it makes,

these scratches on a piece of paper –

from my darkness to your light.

 

From my darkness to your light…

my eye tries capturing the dragon

I see in these caverns.  It’s your light

coiling upon itself in my mind’s eye.

 

Can you see through these cataracts?

A lotus floating, open, upon the stream,

a source for life, for light, detached

and meaningless from the rest of this world.

 

Like a poem with no context,

no structure that makes any sense:

a tree falling silent in the woods.

 

Attached and meaningful

to nothing other than itself.

The Orgasmatron

Posted in We Are the Underground with tags , , , on February 8, 2014 by Israfel Sivad

You are the first… visible

until the end of time: a

new beginning for the

Fool’s anniversary.  Six

hours later every year,

you sound the trumpets

of War – the origin of life

itself.  You are the cardinal

fire, scapegoat, perpetual

enemy of Venus.  Exalting

the sun, you fell from

the house of the gods.

 

With your fleece of gold,

you water the earth: twin

inspector for oceanic life.

Galaxies interact within you.

Meteors shower from your

reign, encompassing every-

thing around you.  You are

the Pharaoh, first – fertility,

creativity… The storyteller I

met once upon a time.  When

you indicated my rebirth, our

priests dedicated this to you.

 

Not to be confused

with the “southern” fly,

you’ve been seen every-

where.  Looking behind your-

self, running – you are the

polygon of twelve segments

who saved the regent’s children

by bucking Hell from your back –

You crouched, head downturned…

Unformed and void, you rule

my mind, and now is your time.

(I met you, once, as a child.)

Sketch for a Future Poet

Posted in We Are the Underground with tags , , on January 20, 2014 by Israfel Sivad

This poem is a sketch of me

trying to liberate myself again.

 

To write as if I’d never heard language before…

To love as if I’d never seen a body before…

To live as if I’d never experienced this world before.

 

I believe…

 

Someday, nobody will believe

that, once upon a time, somebody

could have been so vibrant and alive.

 

Someday, nobody’s eyes will gaze

upon the dark scratches that

sketched out these words you read.

 

Someday, nobody will know,

any longer, the veins on the hand

who wrote this poem.

 

Someday, nobody will caress,

any longer, the fingers that

held a pen to write these lines.

 

Someday, nobody’s face will

be cupped by this palm

completed by these words it untangled.

 

Someday, nobody will believe

that, once upon a time, somebody

could have been so vibrant and alive.

 

Do you believe?

 

Will you live as if you’d never experienced this world before?

Will you love as if you’d never seen a body before?

Will you write as if you’d never heard language before?

 

This poem is a sketch of you

trying to liberate yourself again.

888

Posted in We Are the Underground with tags , , , , on January 19, 2014 by Israfel Sivad

You are Enki’s child

who carved the Sun Stone

with a goat’s horn…

 

A mysterious warrior

bearing the people’s sorrow

amid Lord Shiva’s embrace.

 

On the third month’s

third day, you strangled

the serpent creating our universe.

 

Your mind is a pyramid.

Your tale’s the ocean.  Infinity

rests between your steps,

 

nestles into your many sets.

My positive approaches your negative

and adds up to the counter-intuitive.

 

You are the celestial ox

watering the earth:

a pure woman of emptiness.

 

The warring states are crying

upon your ramparts –

a trinity for nonbelievers.

 

While you sail across the heavens,

attack, withdraw, and reserve

yourself until my birth.

Epiphany

Posted in We Are the Underground with tags , , , on January 9, 2014 by Israfel Sivad

She keeps telling me my words

as if they were her own,

which they are.

 

Because she’s invigorated me.

 

She pulls poetry from my body

as if it were love itself,

which it is.

 

Because she’s liberated me.

 

Let me let you into our world…

Where dragons rule the break of dawn

and robots cradle our minds in sleep.

In between — a whole universe exists.

Algae grows across our lungs…

Plants fulfill our bloodstreams.

Our hair is made of dandelion sprouts:

And all the animals roam free.

 

Your liberation is my dream…

Reptilian — stoic as a plank…

You awaken, downwards like a dog

to curl up as a child in pose.

Your dream is my liberation…

From the tyranny of myself…

From the apocalypse I inhabit

filled with childhood fears.

 

Kundalini unraveled, intertwined us both

in a providential web we created

where the beacon burned atop a hill,

leading me to you.  Together, we left…

Ran away down 95 South,

got lost in New York City,

but we’ll cross the ocean together,

traverse this entire undiscovered country.

 

You string poetry through me

like the end and beginning,

which you are.

 

Because you’ve invigorated me.

 

You create the words on my tongue

like a muse

named Epiphany.

 

Because you’ve liberated me.

Review of Israfel Sivad’s Novel “Crossroads Blues” on Penn Review

Posted in Uncategorized on November 6, 2013 by Israfel Sivad

Crossroads Blues

As far as a love story goes—this one is comparable to Swan Lake—it’s dark, beautiful, and torturous.” – from Penn Review’s review of “Crossroads Blues”, Israfel Sivad’s first novel.  Click the link to read the full review: http://pennreviews.com/2013/09/30/crossroads-blues/

Clarion Call

Posted in We Are the Underground with tags , , on September 25, 2013 by Israfel Sivad

My lips are 15,000 years old;

my tongue is made of tempered steel.

I am the Angel of the Apocalypse

sent to force the devil himself to kneel.

 

I am the Angel of the Apocalypse,

the star that burns as bright as mourning.

I am the sun setting with evening’s tide;

the light that keeps the dark from forming.

 

I am the sun setting with evening’s tide,

a reflection cast by the full moon’s glow.

I am the shadow always at your left-hand side,

the dream you sleep but never know.

 

I am the shadow always at your left-hand side,

a reflection cast by the full moon’s glow.

I am the sun setting with evening’s tide,

the star that burns as bright as mourning.

I am the Angel of the Apocalypse;

my tongue is made of tempered steel…

 

And I have come here for You.

 

My lips are 15,000 years old.

Sent to force the devil himself to kneel,

I am the Angel of the Apocalypse,

the light that keeps the dark from forming.

I am the sun setting with evening’s tide:

the dream you sleep but never know.

 

The dream you sleep but never know

are the holes I bore in the eyes of God,

a reflection cast by the full moon’s glow,

the meridian sun burning noon’s day heat…

 

The light that keeps the dark from forming

is the source that glows inside my soul,

the star that burns as bright as mourning –

Lucifer: knowledge in its unbounded form

 

sent to force the devil himself to kneel.

I was forged in the flames of the dawn of time;

my tongue is made of tempered steel,

and midnight’s temple is Set to rise.

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