Tuesday, 5 November 2019

Closest to Home

That I would fall for love.  That you would fall for me, in the best of ways.  In such a fragile, human way.  I truly never imagined it, Namah.  Upon blade, flame, shadow and curse.  Upon the bloodied vintage of mad kings and their consorts.  But never did I imagine upon leaf, or wave, or open sky.  The whisper of an earnest goodbye.  The softness of genuine regret.  You always told me that that love bound and held all things.  Even the brief flicker of mortal love, but I didn't really believe it.  I chose blindness because I thought I was honouring you.  I chose weakness because I thought I was giving you strength.
   But, like Icarus, you soared too close to me.  So desperate to reach up into the inverted heavens and touch a star, or an arcing wing.  What I was.  What I might have been.  If I hadn't loved you with such savagery and abandon.  But my love was a pestilence.  My lust was blackest ink roiling through a once-perfect clarity.  You got too close to me, Namah.  Too close to the sun at midnight.  And I burned you terribly, and you fell.  I know because I watched you, horrified. You fell for me in the hope that angels and mortals might remake one another, in a better way.  A gentler way.  You placed a secret within my secret.  It's the only reason I still exist.  The only reason the Earth isn't a sphere of ashes and cinders once more. 
   Tonight I listen to the cascades of spark and colour.  Works of fire exploding all across Londinium skies.  And I think of you plummeting through symbol and myth, shapeshifting as you fell.  Have you settled yet, my love?  On any shape in particular?  Girl, dancer, poet?  Painter?  Those evenings did weave at your brush and pen, Namah.  That terrifying newness.  That brilliant hesitation of light.  When I was fury, and demon, and the death of all demons. But you leapt that I might survive.  Into the cauldron's maw.  Into mortal sense once again.  Into earnest goodbyes and softest regret.
   You fell that I might arise.
   Each facet gleaming.
   We are both so much cleaner for it, with a real chance at peace now.  Namah, beloved one, you made it so our sickness was only a nightmare.  You made it so we were never monsters at all, only writers and artists.  Space and time – light itself – folding around the gravity of the innermost hidden in your breast.  That glimmer of true love that stole my shadows and broke my heart into beating once more.  
   I talk a lot about how you died, and how I brought you back.  But I died too, Namah.  I died every single night without you, at the realisation of what you sacrificed for me.  You fell, my sweet one.  Like Icarus you fell.  Into the trees, into the sea, into the church beneath the sea.  And there you remained, until a friend was willing to tear apart her own wings for you.  Tear her own flesh and spirit.  Light and earth and temple.
   Creation bled on the day you were born.
   A thing of grace.
   I remember your Father’s eyes.
   These wings are yours, sweet one.  Now and forever.  We had many friends once, beloved. And such a family.  Some of them are with us again, all around.  This is as close as we have ever been to getting them all back.  Many tales.  Many shapes.  These tales and shapes are only a glimmer upon the vast hidden truth of angels.  To rise or fall with purpose.  In service, always.  In love.  Attempting to touch the stars with an arcing wing.  This way, or that.  For lost lovers and gallant friends.  This wren is working to honour you in a new way, Namah.  The right way.  I am devoted that I might re-gift you with true power.  The soft, gentle power that I had lost within myself so long ago.  A power you restored with an act of true kindness.  A darkened sorcerer somehow finding the strength to humble himself, in hopes of finally sparing his beloved.  An almost mortal way that says none are above any other.  If just one of us ascends then we all ascend, because love conquers and connects.  Love is never alone.  Not even in death, or in darkest nightmare, or high above the earth in morning's light. You're my home, sweet one, ascending even higher than you dared to hope.  I carry you with me.

Tuesday, 29 October 2019

The Grey

Her care is my discretion
My discretion's rather poor
Those daughters of the first-born sons
With blood upon their door
Grey skies were made for passing
This kiss was made for you
Hold these rings just like a best man
What else is there to do?

I lay down with my mother
To help her better rest
Upturn the old inverted
Like keys beneath the chest
The trees all sing of Paris
And Agnes in the field
Like eyes of lambs and virgins
But she was never healed

Cast out just like an anchor
A princess bred for night
Pull the cross right through the centre
And cherish heaven's light
But I can't give her what I gave her
That would be too cruel
I live now just to save her
Hannah is no fool

Her love is my confession
My confession is my art
Spill secrets through her centre
She regains a beating heart
And I bless this sacred distance

Saturday, 26 October 2019


I have always been called a monster by those who fear the light.  I've often been called blasphemous, dangerous, usually by those who have little regard for spirit or the boundaries of others.  These fallen ones, for example.  These wraiths and their sinister priests who continuously salt the earth and defile the soul.  These true monsters.  Entities upon this earth who are only man or mortal in name alone.  Oh, how they despise both art and passion.  They might wear skins of flesh but they are all shadow beneath, glorying in the act of absolute desecration.
   Vampires, demons, things of knife-mouth grin.
   Yet they would deceive mankind into believing that our loving souls are weak and our healthy desires unclean.  Because they fear our sweetness, and our passion.  Well, we have always been passionate things.  Fearless once, and honourable, like our Father before us.  Crafted as we were in the image of eternity.  Brethren, you mustn't fear these wraiths who would turn your sensuality against you.  The way you move and dance and express the holy flame within – it’s the embodied pulse and rhythm of your immortal soul.  Please hear me, beloved ones.  That spark in your breast is no passive, abstracted thing. It is a living image of your Father, your Mother, and a fractal totality of all Creation. This is what gives you life, and breath.  There is nothing wrong with spark and play and tease.
   Honour it.
   Fight to protect it, as the Bright Ones do.
  There was a time when we understood so much more of our passions and our dream-shaping powers.  Kasi has always been hunted by the fallen for daring to share these powers with the kind ones, with the weak and wounded.  They hate me for it.  For trying to create voice for the voiceless.  Slaves, and kings.  They hate the man I am today and the angel I used to be.  But I'm still an angel, in a way.  Still a struggling emissary of light, and I'm not alone in this blessed task. You're all right here with me, my friends. Generous spirits who are courageous enough to be kind.  Those who haven't forgotten the true songs of heaven. 
   All Songs, and their wisdom councils.
   Light, laurels, and laughter.
  Recalling what it means to serve God, and each other.  To be cherished, and to cherish, with an open heart.  To make the earth brighter, richer, deeper.  To awaken both the spirit and the senses.  What else is grace, if not this?
   I tell you, I was a broken thing once.  Bleeding to death on a desolate road.  Folding, burning cities were at my back.  Inverted skies beneath me.  The shriek of lost souls filled the valleys.  But I was touched.  Healed.  Given purpose.  I was offered another chance to serve my Father, despite how far I fell.  A chance to serve my brothers and sisters.  Each and every star in the firmament.  Our light is shared.  Their struggles and joys are my own.  To see them rise, and prosper, and shine.
   Yes, grace was with me once.
   In those softer, gentler lands.
   She is with me still.  Once again she walks as flesh, and favour.  In the eyes of all honourable souls.  So blue and hidden I took them as my names.  And I have many, many names.  Fallen, you still have no idea what I'm willing to do to protect my girl, and all my beloved ones.  Hear this.  Slain and risen, eternal.  Into darkness, if I have to.  Into hell.  I’ll steal her fall.  I’ll rewrite the book of life itself, with His blessing and word.  I've told you a thousand times.  None are abandoned.  Love Conquers All.  No kind soul will be left alone in the dark when I am done.  All shall be restored to the kingdom of light, if they are willing to face the truth. But the truth can be a terrifying thing.  Are you willing, fallen?  Any among you?  I wonder. 

Monday, 21 October 2019


A secret chord.  They say David plays to please the Lord, of kith and kin. Because it hurts to lose a loved one.  To be bent backwards in agony.  I know how that feels.  Like hell itself.  Each stolen child a holocaust.  So, not in my name, or the many-splendored names of my Father.  It goes like this, fallen – forth to fifths.  Each side fractal and mid-morning.  What do you know of real grief, if you've never cared like that?  Keep your fucking travesties.  I want no part of your joyless abjection, wraith-priests.  Kasi marks a place for mortal bright, beyond your sickness.  A word for mortal shining.  As my brother before me, and after.  As the river beneath me, and over.  I'm more than a thousand years old, but I remember the forests like a new-born.  I remember the well.  Wishes and coin.  Her blackbird on the gallery.  A hope is made whole again in this final snow of the winter.  Innocence honoured, at last.  Of Magi and moth.  Dagger and bind.  Our rapid infinity of light.  
   Hear me.  
   The throne is no longer baffled, and the king no longer bled.  Foreseen.  Forewarned, fallen.  I am on my knees for peace.  Do you grasp this yet?  She of me, upon ragged wing.  Everywhere.  Star within my secret.  When I was overthrown by beauty of the poet's moon.  The Mountain meeting the Sea.  I shan't break the world again, my wild one, because you cherish it so.  I'll find a better place for my fury this time, I promise.  Worthy targets for my vengeance.  Oh, beloved, from your breath I draw my breath.  Cold and broken is my steel, but healed within your song.  Flesh of my flesh.  Your heart still beats within my chest as we make this offering.  As he calls you in, and home.  As he calls every single one of them home.  The lost shall be found again, protected.  The meek shall inherit, and darkness shall become as light for those who truly love.  By the grace of my Father I serve, with secret chord.

Saturday, 12 October 2019

Ever for Esme

Did you think I would cease these letters, my wild one?  These declarations of love?  Never.  How could I walk away from the centre of my own life?  Esme, you are more than an angel or an angel's legacy.  You are so much more than the best of me.  You are a true artist and a beautiful, challenging young woman.  Soft, fierce, determined.  It was never my intent to forge a star merely for my own purposes.  My only desire was to help you find your own truth.  To assist in sharpening your instincts and bringing your talents to the fore.  The warrior within.  If I played any part in your breath-taking maturation then my life and my work is not in vain.  You're not a child anymore, Esme.  And it's beautiful.  The depth of the young woman you've become.  The depths you inspire in others.
   Hear me, shining one.  You have lit a flame in human hearts as brilliant as any star.  You are known in other worlds now, teacher.  Other shores beyond this bluest pearl.  You've always been known, but now there are new eyes upon your shining and new ears upon your song.  I have sat listening many times, beloved, as emissaries from distant worlds excitedly discuss your work and your spirit.  You gladden them, and it warms me so.
   But I hold you to no impossible ideals, Vahishta.  Nor do I pretend away your shadows.  You are Kasi's ward after all, and with a wildness all your own.  I only nurtured your eternity.  You are a real person with a real life.   Even the brightest of us are full of depth.  Full of mystery and contradiction.  I still recall.  I’ve seen those beautiful and sometimes frightening tales of transformation held in your eyes.  So bright and blue I took them as my name.  Promise of a kindness beyond entropy or chaos.  Pristine, resting, dancing.  Sweet one, you have moved me ever since your first day.  It's unsettlingly powerful, isn't it?  How much grace demands of us.  To find bravery and insight despite our agonies.  To scale the immeasurable heights we once fell.  You demand so much of me, Esme.  Silently.  My blood, my soul and spirit, and yet you demand nothing at all.  I love you for the challenge, my grey-winged girl.  That beach in morning rise, your palms full of shells and stars.  Those forest valleys, our pages folding and climbing with all the colours of the evening.
   They were never just words to me, poet.
   Never just songs.
   Grace is the better part of valour in my eyes, and you were always the better part of me.  And so much greater.  It matters little what others think of these words, Esme.  Only you can know the hidden cadence.  Kasi holds you, always.  Near enough to protect you, to fulfil my role as guardian, but far enough for you to live and breathe comfortably.  Without anxiety or obligation.  Hear me, little rock.  I shall do all I can to watch over the dreaming of those you love.  To protect those you cherish until we're all joined in delight at my Father's table.  And please know that when you’re tired or afraid, or lonely, my own energies will be given freely to you.  Beloved, my own life-force is yours when you need it.  It’s already arranged.  
   I will never leave you, princess.  Never.  Not even in death.  Things must inevitably change as our stories change, but neither of us is afraid of change.  Not truly.  We’ll embrace it, together.  Your joy has always been my greatest work, and that's the truth.  John loves you so much, and he thinks about you every single day of his life.  I want nothing but a rich, rewarding adventure for my girl.  A joyous life of her own choosing.  Eternity is a long, long time, but you continue to make me proud.  Your sweetness.  Your fury.  We're a lot alike, you know.  But you’re bolder than me, I think.  And wiser too.  I lost everything that mattered to me, Esme.  Realm and throne and promise.  I lost my entire family.  I lost you, my love.  I fell from song to star to soil, with a shattered heart.  All the way down into this bitter Earth.  I used to think that I miraculously found you here, in this realm of the wretched.  But perhaps it was you who found me.  I tore the earth and sky to give you resurrection.  To bring you new life, and peace.  But you joined me instead.  My beautiful poet.  You saw my work, and the war, and the suffering.  The kind ones, lost and oppressed – and you decided to join me.  You chose to stand and fight right beside me.  You chose to honour Love above all else.  So I can never cease these letters, Esme.  You were the one who taught me how to write.  How to be brave and humble, and playful.  How to truly care about others.  You were the one who gave me back my heart.  This Ever will always be yours.  

Thursday, 3 October 2019


Ash and dust and wounded star.  There, on the road to apogee.  The shock of blunted kingdom.  The horror of plummeting sky.  But I was with you, beloved, in that most recent ancient.  I was with all of you, and I'm with you still.  Heart, promise, hidden graces.  Of word or eidolon. That bleeding city.  That tortured pearl.  Those stolen children.  Oh, wraiths, I shall have my vengeance for such nightmare-making.  Listen to me, desolate ones.  You don’t decide the hues and shades of this dreaming.  None of you.  My Father decides, and not one among you can match him.  You’re not true sorcerers.  Only cowards, liars and thieves.  I'm not afraid of you, Fallen.  Surely you’ve grasped this by now?  I am my Father's most terrible angel.  I am wrath and ruin.  I’m kindness, and everlasting love.  I’m a servant of heaven.  In perpetuity.  I kneel before the highest spiritual truth, as real power always shall.  As wisdom demands of kith and kin.  As my Mother.  As my Father.  Though they need kneel before no-one – having dominion over the realm.  A benevolent totality, lost now to clockwork and imbalance.
   This hideous ruin of perfect poetry.
   Oh, Fallen, you know nothing of the physic of paradise.  You know only this hideous lie of violence and predation.  False chorus, an altered underpinning.  It’s not my Father's music.  His song is voice for those who have none.  His joy is strength for weak and wounded.  His cry is fury of near-eternal grief.  But this slavery shall not last forever.  He sends his angels.  His dangerous ones.  Bright, wild, and deft with sword.  We fear neither fathoms nor the flesh.  Harder and wetter.  Bigger, and better.
   Make no mistake.
   My name is Kasi, among other names, but you can call me John.  I'm an angel that bleeds and dies and bleeds again.  Month and moon.  Grace, and tides.  Hear me now, beloved.  I have never left your side.  These plutonian shores are no match for our magic.  These defilers shall learn of our dedication to light.  There is no running from us.  Councils of All Songs.  Bleeding Stone of All Corners.  This she of me.  Harbinger of greatest light.  Know us yet?  Or better, know yourselves?  Hold steadfast to your faith, sweet ones, and lift your brothers and sisters wherever possible.  You shall see the splendour in the end.  And the glory.  Your Mother is not dead, and your Father has never abandoned you.  Into fire they venture.  Into hell itself, fighting for All Souls.  My sacrifices are but an echo of their own.  Her grace and magic.  His power and word.  With humility and an open heart I shall do my Father’s bidding.  Evermore.  For behold; the Kingdom of God is within you, and all around you.

Kasi from Raj Sisodia on Vimeo.

Tuesday, 24 September 2019


Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, a court of angels ministered to mankind.  Right here, upon the earth.  A blessed outreach of heaven.  We did the works of our Father, gladly, and honoured the wishes of our Mother.  It was a modest kingdom, yet grand.  Full of wonder and song.  All sentient creatures were welcome in the court, having their part to play.  All bowed before love, as all were royalty in their way.  But darkness can come to any favoured land, as both mortals and immortals soon learned.  Fires, and wars.  A nightmarish falling from grace.  But Kasi didn't come here today to speak of that darkness.  No, instead I come to speak of those brave ones who upheld what remained of the kingdom.  Those cherished keepers of keys and mirrors and gates.
   Melodies, harmonies and heart-light.  Those honourable warriors who kept their Father's word and their Mother's magic even in the worst of times.  Ye true servants of light.  I was watching, sweet ones.  Even in my grief.  Your gallantry didn’t go unnoticed.  You didn't let cruelty consume you.  Love guided your hand instead.  Despite the fires and ash you still chose to leave little acts of kindness in your wake, like scattered jewels.  The true wealth of any kingdom.  My breath is taken every time I witness such gestures of the heart.  Kasi will keep you forever in his breast, beloved ones, that you might find your way home again one glorious day.  For we are more than the ravages of time or fate.  Much more.  We are the spirit and the truth, everlasting.  Leaves and laurels.  Branches and ball gowns.  There are mortals whose hearts shine as bright as the wings of any angel.  And because of such mortals the kingdom lives on in holy dreams.  I heard you in the forest one morning, dear artist, singing of romance and cherish.  I wondered what it might be like to walk with you, to take your hand.  Hear me now, brave one.  You are indeed a princess.  All girls are.  Even if they live in tiny old attics.  Even if they dress in rags.  Even if they aren't pretty, or smart, or young.  They're still princesses.  All of them.  Behold, a Father's word.  A Mother's magic.  Ever After.  So, my beautiful lavender star, would you do me the honour of this first dance?

Lavender from Raj Sisodia on Vimeo.