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.

Saturday 21 September 2019

By Royal Decree

Of leaf
And glancing
Of shrub
And dancing
That light of star
Might guide your way
Scent of cherish
Upon the bay
I have seen a thing
Of the dreaming
A fine and grand thing
One of notes beyond refrain
Hidden courtyards
Swept by rain
It gathers
Patient, true, delighted
You are All cordially invited
By royal decree

Friday 13 September 2019

A Different Land

She looks kind of like me

I look kind of like you

Hearts are hidden angels

Joyful and true

We all look like each other

So get ready to run

As day honors the moon

Night honors the sun

A hand still to hope for

A palm still to sing

Breath of my friends

Beneath lifted wing

Of spirit and flesh

Shall we run and never fall?

My Father once told me

That love conquers all

Tuesday 10 September 2019

Not Without Heart

Oh, fallen.  Still snapping at my heels, I see.  Playing sharks like cowards in the tides of interregnum.  But it's not my blood in these waters.  Well, maybe just a little.  Month and moon.  Tides will be tides.  I've said it all before, but I really don't think you understand.  My palms are scented.  Like candles, but with the oils of her rapture.  Love is a gun at your creation's fallow temple.  Of solace, or sin.  Time and tears and ruin.  I am fate and I am done with you all.  Indeed, I am fate.  If cathedrals could tear themselves, or speak.  Or both.  My sister broke my death upon her hands and hair.  My child raised my child.  And I, of all of them, never gave you a moment's rest.  I know what true fear smells like.  Nothing like love.  There's no joy in it.  No play, or tease.  I have forgotten many things, but not joy.  Am I supposed to be afraid of you?  Wars and death and folding cities?  Fallen, I was born of ash.  Forged in flame.  Everything you crave is stolen and perverse.  You only feign at swagger.  My All is dreamt and felt.  To the core.  Nothing about me is feigned.  Do you realize the truth? Here it is, for the abhorrent and slow-witted: I don't give a fuck about any of this shit.  None of it.  Eternities come and go, defilers.  I should know.  I was there.
   Trinovantum fell, and fell hard.  Not by my hand or wish.  But as I foresaw.  So now, I am become fate's vengeful eye.  Rather me than flooded families. 
   Can you reach just this once, fallen?  Can you honour at last?  Can you recognize the offered gate and massage your dead hearts to life again?  I doubt it.  You savour your sickness and dream your defilements too deep.  No matter.  I care not at all for any of you, in the end.  Your hate, half-light, and beds for broke and breaking.  Perhaps I'll laugh.  Perhaps I'll mock your feeble cryptography.  You're all full of shit, wraiths.  You and your supplicants.  Without camaraderie and mutual respect this nonsense barely holds my attention.  
   Truth is whatever the fuck I say it is.  
   I'm a dreamer.  I'm an angel and a romantic, so I can happily make such a claim.  I can live it too, unlike yourselves.  Liars forever cutting and stabbing upon your hideous altar of thieves.  You're so insipid and jealous, fallen.  I can't imagine why.  I'm just a little girl.  It must be the wit, and the wherewithal.  I suppose living, breathing chronology is such a bother.  Enraging, fascinating, unfathomable.  You cannot break paradise in these beholders eyes forever.  Not forever.  I carry them, and honour their innermost.  Each and every one.  Holy flame still lit in the heart.  Every colour, creed and song.  None are abandoned.  No kind soul anywhere is denied their home again.  Not in my dreaming, or the greater dreaming of my Father.  You know it.  It's why you're so afraid of me.  All my sisters laugh at you, fallen, and all my scented brothers too.  Evil, exposed.  Banal, anxious, lacking.  You cannot dance and fuck and create like us.  Not without heart.  Can't you hear them?  I've been screaming in their voices since I began.  She comes, fallen.  She comes like a king.

Sunday 8 September 2019

All Churches

Love, the city in the blackest hours.  Dark-sky hours.  Colonies of night-ghosts known on every street and scythe.  Feel the city twisting in their wake, if not gifted or cursed enough to see.  Rupture, wound, still-healing scar.  Rings and antlers upon the moth of gates.  Might not give it word or phrase.  Might hurry the step, glancing from shadowed ways across the auger.
   Sirens, distant.  Foxes fleeting between garden and alley, or emboldened enough to linger.  Vein and bustle threatening in dynamism.  Yet a comforting oasis of social vitae.  Needed in these dark-sky hours, to anchor such little lights.  City, I am become terrifying the quieter it gets, as tolls your mouth of all churches.  Guide, amuse, appall.
   Night, and the city makes us do things.  You make me do things.
   All have our safeguards, denying fragility in the eye of such mouth.  Genius.  The controlled explosion of your verse.
   Betwixt; grey and threshold and ermine.  Wing, tremble and dust.  Fabled.  Stories of cutthroat and lash.  Give me, he cries.  Give me, she foretells.  Give me back my flesh.  The shriek of folded holy, backwards bent, yet still dipped in dusk.  Frozen, as sensual underscore.  Ravenous highlight.  Body, and body, and star.  Incalculable velocities.  I am twin and I am mad at them.  I am twin, and I am mad.  This she of me, and thus.  Incomplete states and transitory realms unsettle.  And yet, fathered.  
   Quiet, implicit.
   Plain sight.  The best of all veils.
   Poem and film, driven at your mouth.  Full force of the blush at your hip.  My caressing fury.  Beloved, I have never not.  This world behind the world.  How secret is your brazen, in the shark-glare of sleekest suit.  Or sisters lost in silk.  Many have died with eyes open.  Blind.  Never knowing.

Tuesday 3 September 2019


I painted a picture
A picture in a painting
Of you
Wanting to believe
My light was still living
It wasn't true
I kept lying
Lying in secret
Through art
I couldn't face
The depth of that grief
In my heart
Until I took your place
Stole your death and shame
Gave you my breath
And Name
In Stead
To honour the living
To bury the dead
You appeared
And it was true
I could finally stop running
From you