Mt.IsyLLiS | Mother of Mountains


Mt. IsyLLiS (Graphite on paper)

I have endlessly wallowed
in strange rivers of pain
that’ll run dry when I want it to.
And today is that day,
for I hear a new song
that birds sing for me.
The sun is out after incessant rains
and birds are sun-bathing,
and they’re all singing the same song.
I am digging a deep hole in the earth,
sowing this seed of suffering and pain.
I’ll water it with my tears.
And what will grow will be
a tree of eternal love and hope.
Birds will build their nests in it,
and they will sing the same song
to their fledglings – of love and hope.
I have become
that very mother of mountains
through which were carved
caves that became homes to creatures of love,
through which flow rivers of hope
that greened all that it touched.
I am that very mother of mountains
and my name is Mt.IsyLLiS.

Skies full of faithful promises

Clutter of thoughts
Artwork by IsyLLiS

I run my fingers
through a clutter of thoughts.
Taste potions of my pain
own it, and breathe a new-found freedom.
We spoke in languages
we did not understand.
Must I write of lost love, and departed lovers
their memories and lingering love
that has floated away
on a lonesome cloud?
Or turn in another direction,
where the Sun is beginning to rise
and the skies are full of faithful promises.

Love, warmth, peace and a happy new year to you all. 

Wild Woman


She placed the blazing Sun in the middle of her forehead
and the Moon in the pearl of her earrings.

She swathed her body in the rising red desert
and adorned her hair with the flower of Hibiscus.

The days were long
but there were fortresses she needed to build.

The oceans were calm
but she had to harness to safety, those in rocking boats.

In her heart lotuses bloomed, and stars in her womb
and she birthed a new safe world
for those hurt, wounded and seeking love.
(artwork by IsyLLiS)

A poem hidden inside a Hemingway book


You sat across the table
in an over-packed cafe
your eyes fixated on my face
just like a lonely wayfarer’s
on a full luminescent moon.
The cafe din was music to our ears,
a background score to our hearts
singing to each other.
You said I hadn’t changed at all,
but you noticed the greying hair
and I noticed, crow’s feet
that looked kind of perfect on your face.
You talked to me for endless hours
like bees do to flowers,
and breeze to freshly warm clothes on clothesline.
Was I high on weed, or high on new love?
You hid a poem for me inside a Hemingway book,
we searched and never found your poem.
I pray that your poem found
a lovelorn, lovesick or a child.
I wish I had found it though
and kept it safe in my heart.
Maybe, not finding that note
was always a sign
of not finding you in the end.
And now I have stopped looking for you.
But I promise to keep your poem
safe with me –

‘You’re a moth that
flew as far as my nose could see;
the light beseeches
you like a winter
would a cherry tree.’
11 May, 2013