Mythology – A.R. MINHAS

The Magician

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By: A.R. Minhas

She places the tools on the table

Unsheathe the rose petals

It’s time to use them

Droplets of wine that spill from the cup

Your thought pierces me

The Divine spirit soaring like a drone

The mystical explosion will destroy you in the vicinity

A guide that taps her cigarette

Three times and howl is heard

A burn mark shaped like a pentagram

The hands that show the path

As it was above

So it will be

If you find love, kiss me hard

With the tongue involved

A spiritual virus

Recreate me

Eternally

Your red robes have been thrown in the forest

Be sure your nudity is seen by everyone

And the sigil is magnified

Voice

Calls

From

Below

The chaos

Is interested in you.

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Love Bird

You flutter away from my hands

Our disentanglement is what follows

Your Ovum smells especially fertile today

An ancient jug in an opportunistic thrift store

The old wood varnish

And cosmic webs

It’s summer

The blue of a past life

And I’m waiting to be flooded with outrageous fortune

You wear my cum better than a tank top

And I’m searching for that perfect spot between your blatant thighs

To land perfectly

With orgasmic precision

An orange peel wasted

A combination of words that describe the feeling:

“I’m experiencing an Inconvenient Catalytic Exteriorization Phenomenon”

If I could rub your lips I can hear your pain

You tumble down the stairs

And I’ve lost faith in my unconsciousness

And that small, pink bird with green breast flies away

Always elusive to my charms.

July 17, 2018July 17, 2018 by A.R. Minhas

Become a Simurgh

I feel distant again

It started when I desired to be desired

And no one has time to waste

I became a Simurgh

Soaring on top of a digital wasteland

You can keep your trypophobic flowers

I only smell the sweet pheromones of death

Did you hear the outrageous music?

It was bright red, like a Sun that gives everything but receives nothing

I became a Simurgh again

Because they never rest on the ground

They are here only to bring messages

They have no time for your stories

Eyes instead of feathers to observe

Not to live

There is no living here

Only beginnings and Ends

The middle is soft and silly

Become a Simurgh

And leap over the earthly spikes

And escape your desire to be loved

These are trivial things

Become a Simurgh

So becoming something doesn’t matter anymore.

June 25, 2018June 25, 2018 by A.R. Minhas

Blackholes

I’m sailing a ship in space,

Because I want to be left alone.

Everyone told me I will drown in the moon.

And I’m ok with that.

As long as I can have my smoke on that secret porch,

As long as I can feel the sweet comfort of a dark chocolate cake that was left over,

I sometimes imagine your blood is its icing.

I’m colonizing the stars,

Repopulating them with your memories.

At the bottom of the ocean

Pressure conforms—cracking skulls

The sound of opening a can of coke

“Come share with me,”

I’m spilling purple flowers everywhere

Can you imagine a gesture of love drifting alone in space?

So peaceful.

At the bottom of the ocean.

Living in Atlantis.

Imaginary like heaven,

All the pain disappears.

Like a memory of that light that was there once,

Like a memory of oxygen…

Everything fades to zero-calories of nothingness.

My lungs grow heavy with sulfates

Why don’t you just die here?

“This is a good spot,”

The black hole is right above my head.

May 5, 2018 by A.R. Minhas

Stagnant

Someone said I can have the whole world

I’m stagnant now

Held into place by my inaction

And I spill a pint glass

My emotions are swaying everywhere

And I continue to overshare my insecurities

I’m not too drunk to notice you flinch

And make your faces

I’m surrounded by people who don’t realize my greatness

Just because I’m puking in the vase

You don’t know my greatness

I sail on the smoke of an early morning

Cigarette craving

This is my regret

And thank you for your indifference

I almost stabbed you with my pen.

April 24, 2018 by A.R. Minhas

She Offers Flowers

She offers us flowers

And I wonder about the milk that was never served

She Offers us Flowers

And all I can think about are your eyes

How I would like to separate the light

The chemicals that split apart

I fed your love to the children of the street

She offers us flowers

And her petals lubricate the darkness

I have served my loneliness well

Indifference is the thing that kills

And you served me flowers

Hungry still

I devour your Nectar

Blood on my gums

My Tongue swirls in the ozone layer

I served your breast on a plate

By the fireside

The ash is your Flowers

Sprinkled in that afternoon

Fucking Blue

To keep my fingers

From the third eye to the other one

She offers us flowers

And I can only serve you cold meat

If you are my truth,

Then you are my hurt

I let it bleed

A scab that is worn like a battle wound

Mottled entanglement

The flowers are raw

And I am burnt

If you serve them again

I have to refuse again

Indifference is the thing.

April 10, 2018 by A.R. Minhas

Deeper Than Dreaming

The waters re-appear

Drowning imagination in salty froth

As the world strangles his neck, he felt his teeth fall,

Below the abyss of the waking world— like notes from the past

Images left on the canvas

“Don’t paint them again!”

I wander now on the boat made of rubber tires

Using broken hands to steer

The stiffness points north

“I have no intentions of going on journeys anymore.

Let’s dream to wander aimlessly.”

Inner eyes seeing through the body

But there are no landmarks or memories to possess

Everything I was once

Gone

Left only with the finding of himself

With fluidity, he soothes his urges,

But now the tempest has risen again

Nostrils contracting with the heavy scent of turpentine

Knowing the power over him is held by the blueness of the past

But the crippled sailors’ journey is meaningless

At the same time, the boat is only directed by an easterly breeze;

Reflected by Narcissus

Lip-syncing Queen of wands I found in that forgotten deck

I don’t fear the tides

Like towers crashing down

But even at the edge of this precipice, I can’t escape my body

Frozen by guilt and sheltered by the warmth of regrets

I am the only thing that survived the end of the world

Now the sea-serpent emerges from within

He rises Spiraling like minarets

It was the snake that eats itself eternally

It hissed so he could bow his head

It proceeded to cannibalize itself

As the sailor continued on

There was still no sign of land

But the air had eroded a smile on his face.

March 4, 2018 by A.R. Minhas

If Loneliness Was A Cure

Raw silk

Pure power

You stand there edifying

A statue of my inadequacies

“My loneliness is better than yours”

Overheard.

Disjointed.

There is a word for that

Or there should be a word for:

When-you’re-surrounded-by-narcissistic-people-while-all-you-want–to- do-is-get-drunk as-shit-and-have-a-good-time

There is no respite from the world

You can only travel so far in the euphoria

Before they bring you back to life

People who would inflict cruelties

But scoff at murder

Murder is where you draw the line

“Here, I’ll draw the line for you.”

This is me.

There is everyone else.

I’m standing outside in white darkness.

A tap on the window.

I judge a place by their cheeseburgers,

And the beef is overcooked.

January 20, 2018 by A.R. Minhas

Our Bodies Betray Us

I’m drinking again

And all I can think of, is her.

It’s cold outside

And the warm melted cheese of my quesadilla

Embraces the foamy amber.

I keep talking about the time I fell in love

And even though I know my friend is tired of me talking about her

Fuck him

I don’t care

I get poetical when I’m drunk,

And I dream of my waitress giving me blowjobs

In that perfect way, she used to

The way she would roll her tongue and sometimes use the sharpness of her teeth…

Nothing like the threat of castration

To get harder

She pulled me closer, and I told her my chemicals were for her.

Only her.

And her skin was meant for me to puncture

And draw monuments to

The way I used the red pen

No one else will know

I remember the swelling of breasts,

Swelling in my mouth.

My mother told me that she never breastfed me,

Maybe that’s why I’m so needy,

So insecure

I excuse myself for a cigarette outside.

I want to be alone.

And if there’s a god, he’s given me the gift of wanting-to-be-alone.

And I exhale smoke in triangular propulsion

Each howl of wind wakes me from sleepiness

And my thoughts race

To the pinkness of her thighs,

Softness of her hair,

Even the slight coarseness of her armpits.

I’m still thinking about her.

The perfect form.

And I’m thinking about her betrayal,

And I’m thinking about forgiving her,

Because

Eventually

Our Bodies betray us

But she will always be perfect in my mind.

December 10, 2017February 1, 2018 by A.R. Minhas

My Way

I have realized now what my problem is

I thought I could swallow this world

I thought I could listen to the thud

The bang

Noise of the world

And I can finally think for myself

A sea of difference

I can’t survive without being aggressive

To be violent

Hypocritical

See those red in the eyes

And get what I want

Free from the burden of proof

Do it my way somehow

‘My Way’ was written by someone else

On my way to a taxi ride

I made up a story

People who make up stories are deeply disturbed

Proof of existence because I create the winds

Ley-lines, Flexion creases, Chemtrails

Cigarette butts

Stars

All point me to you

Paul Anka wrote ‘My Way’

And I want to be Frank Sinatra.

November 30, 2017 by A.R. Minhas

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