I remember forty rhythms,
twenty four months ago
a verse for each of the departed mornings
there - a tempo of banana cart processions
here - a beat in whitened solitude
I read each one as suggested
the ticktock of typical
once anesthetic
now surged vociferous
How much things have evolved -
For fun, I smile during the many repartees
But they are so meaningless
And with all the miles of earth and rock
sometimes I think I exist nowhere
Except in divaricated light
Reflected from my broken mirror

Forget me – forget me not
Forget me – forget me not

Twenty four months have past
looking in the glass at my One and Only self
the analog clock now discarded.
I hardly remember the exact forty rhythms
but they pulse through me with each respire
And I love their tempo
More than I did
Twenty four months ago

words © 2011 Malai Carrara
image by johanna knauer

All things were elegant and in their place
some things disguised as sweetened lemonade
It didn’t occur to me at the time,
That I could be sipping from the bleak cup of monotony
It didn’t occur to me that I didn’t know
Only that my knees hurt, it was difficult to swallow
and I was exhausted
I only vaguely remember when the warp of cold air touched
and chilled my bones
It was the clamour of sarcasm
slamming together as cymbals
that shook the apathy off my skin
all that I understood was rendered to dust
I was stranded in a fog sardonic wonderment
Little bits of my self, relics bare and bruised
And hungry for truth
a hunger so severe you ache
and yet
Occasionally, someone offers me a sip from the cup
No thanks I say - I’ll pass on that cool-aid

Words © 2011 malai carrara
image © andreeachiru

It was how they awoke,
Their fingers laced in light
recalling how the color of morning
washed through them with absolute truth
It was impossible to trace the beginning
Though it hardly mattered
Everything that happened
Was a thread of slow successive movements
Where gentle vortex of respire
muted harsh outlines once yin yang
Undulating until tightly wrapped in circle
and rhythmed quiescent
It is what we search for all our lives, they thought
And once calm, there is no reason to search for the end

Words © Malai Carrara
Image by yuri pritisk

I always have this dream of being winged
and flying toward the sun, my highest
gently, weightless and serene
I long to feel the ascension
To shake away my apprehension

It was with pained surprise
i thought - What was it
That my pride could be mistaken
For conceit
I overhear that bleat

of disapproval - ringing in my head
spoken shards of glass
Driving me underground
gradually tearing at my skin
wearing me thin

perhaps I'll soar tomorrow
for today I am fatigued

Words © Malai Carrara
Photography copyright © Nausher Banaji
all rights retained by photographer. www.Nausher.com

Mid-November overcast
The mist of nearing winter
hangs like theatre drapes
heavy and velour
I might hear an aria
in places where light cannot reach
The water is my audience, deep and melancholic
I’d walk here in almost silence
Only the sound of my steps
Crushing the remains of my pleasures
In curled brown leaves
Decomposing and waiting for the flurry
to carry them like a procession of mourners
their serenade so heartbreaking
I die each night searching for those words
I wake each morning having found them

words © malai carrara 2011
image by metin demiralay

Dulled are my faculties
a room of dialogues decayed
My wants locked in cold evaporate
The haze of masquerade

I wear a coat of invisibility
to cloak this body, my shell
your empty words deflected
the vacuum of pretense my prison cell

in this museum of shiny knick knacks
my being tethered to the minutes and hours
A captive of contradictions
and wishful hallucinations, soured

All I want are white flecks of day
A light to crumb the course
an usher to slower expectations
my inamorata of discourse

words © 2011 Malai Carrara
Photography copyright © Nausher Banaji
all rights retained by photographer. www.Nausher.com

Musings in tenebrous grottos
All my childhood wants cling to a passing sigh
they wind like waves in a mystic sea
deeply unsettled
and colliding
with jaded voices of
the mocking and absurd
They echo through these tunnels
Like a gentle zephyr arranging
Bones and souls along baroque walls
Is this my divine benediction
Or are these the sounds of distemper?

words © 2011 Malai Carrara
Photography copyright © Nausher Banaji
all rights retained by photographer. www.Nausher.com

Deciduous things
Half harvests of sweetened fruit
most of their bitter drawn out by sun
changes to vernal bright and buds
the same experiment year over year
“Things happen for a reason” they say
Deciduous things
better than the clamor of gossip
and wears of domesticity.
mystic appraises the tea leaves,
sediment at the bottom of the cup
some takes the shape of my Other - a ghost
and some a smudge that runs into Self
a stain of our vagabond lives

words © malai carrara
Image by Vadim Stein

I stole a piece of shade
Behind the red maple
And leaned into the crack of time
carved by the wind
Looking to memories of my innocence
Fractured scarlet samaras
By wind, Blown off course
And shivered vertigo
It was a past to difficult to release
And a future we knew nothing about

words © 2011 Malai Carrara
Photography copyright © Nausher Banaji
All rights reserved by photographer

Stay with me a little while
Under the warm of morning
Light slipping through coral veils
Peeling flesh of tangerine.
Breathe with me to feel the vapor
A tumble of our secrets inching
Towards the remains of night
Wayfarers of solitude
Trying to settle still
Knowing nothing we do
Will ever be understood

Words © 2011 malai carrara
Image by Lylia Corneli

My story is -
that I will be there, making my memories a la piazza sitting at a small table with my espresso watching youthful stilettos flit over cobblestones in much the same way surefooted mountain goats skip over rocks – but with more flare.
I’ll look down towards my own tender experiences now tucked into stylish but practical footwear and smile because I know that even with a few years on me now, I can easily skip lightly across cobblestone and descend narrow stone stairs if I had to.
I will write epic poetry most evenings next to the gentlemen who have congregated for a game of scoba and will play until late into the night.
They will tell me stories in language so soft it would weave as silk.

What story would you tell me?

words © Malai Carrara
Photography copyright © Nausher Banaji
all rights retained by photographer. www.Nausher.com

I love the moment
Without language
A place known only to my
Most solitary senses
It’s the moment where the
Cacophony of sirens and nocturne
Turn themselves over
To the escapades of day
It’s a cerulean mist
that flirts with my hair
It’s an a cappella of rain
in rhythm with blackberries
And it’s an azure chantilly
Billowing in whimsy
And my feet in unabashed frolic

words © malai carrara 2011
photography by Patricia Robert

Harrowed by the
Voices in my head
The cantata of street lights and sirens
Feet tapping crescendo on pavement
And the tribal rhythm of the suburbs
Driving all things underground
How I strain to tear away the veils
to slip through a window
And perch barefoot onto
A clay roof of a brownstone flat
Where I once leaned into
Solitude and indigo ceilings
To watch luna rise and darkness fall
To hum my own hymn

words © malai carrara 2011
photo by rosa negra

Devoured by silence
I am parched from shouting
My body crumbled
from the sear of the whirling sirocco
All my boundaries blistered
And there, in the dry empty spaces
I hardly exist at all

Daymare without an end
The time of mind dirge bemoaning
Sun serrated and heat abated
delirium’s black & bleach colliding
it spread into wasted spaces
Floods my dominion with illusions
And I ricochet amid them

Labyrinth of ambivalence
They conceive me diaphanous
enduring my choices but always wondering
should I have chosen the contrary?
Tears burned, I am unconcerned
It’s time to crawl back into myself
Under the sun of my sanctuary

words © Malai Carrara 2011
Photography Copyright © Nausher Banaji
all rights retained by photographer. www.nausher.net

I detest the recurring reminders

The choke of reality

Of that exclusive existence

beyond these holiday walls

It scratches my throat

Like a ‘jagged little pill’

I beg it to stop - this torture

and it is seeping into my veins like a poison

taking hold of my body, my mind

My stomach feels sick

And the hairs on my arms are on end

The cloak of melancholy

drips heavy and

I am fatigued

As the one visited

but with whom you never stay

As the one kissed

but never wholly loved

words © Malai Carrara 2011

Photography copyright © Nausher Banaji

all rights retained by photographer

Supple bends from toe to cheek
Where the pale and curve of clouds
meet the perennial sedge of cattails
to ease back into the horizon.

She is painted golden
chasing enchantments,
and netting suspended charms
all the while freeing apprehensions.
It is a procession of fireflies.
these bequested jewels worn magestic

With every earthy respire
the ghostly shadows that pass over sun
break, radiate and fizzle
like match strike fire.
and the tremble of ambivalence departs.

unafraid remains

words © malai carrara
photography © nausher banaji

Tonight
under glow of my sanctuary
a scent coaxed
sequestered recollections
shifting and chattering until
images came to be
speaking to mariposa blossoms
in dialogue with pixies
and needling through clover
for 4-leafed magic
the star bellatrix serenade
wishing for flight
and when covering your eyes
invoked invisibility

© malai carrara 2011
photography by liliRoze

Tell me

If not beneath
a canopy of sweet
vanilla clematis
twining from toe to tip
arousing my anticipation

If not in a choral
Of buoyant reflections
A supple fragrance
Of time and not yet time
that lifts the weight of here

If not silvered
my world to moth-light
flutter of our delicate selves
in a provocative trance
of ecstasies

Where am I?

Words © malai carrara 2011
Photography © Nausher Banaji

almost twilight
we stood motionless
in this place of antiquities
the last flecks of Saturday spilling over
stony shells before a final descent
blades flattened by pigeons and passerby’s
little by little we huddled towards solitude
while the arms of shadows
reached to bridge distance
between our connections.
His breath swept over my hair
I will be leaving soon – I said
Filling the space was the sound of just
Just the heart thumps
Just the sound of sameness
and just the sound of the light
coming from the Zippos
as we read poetry

words and image by malai carrara

kiss me
beloved
revel slowly
let it linger long
and hush the sunrise
with a murmur warm

touch me
beloved
sweep your silken
o’re dewey eden
awaken the sugary
of our vernal solitude

words © malai 2011
image by "liliRoze"

self portraits
a delicious temptation
made convenient
by iPhone
too difficult to resist
It compelled me
In much the same way
cautionary “wet cement ”
Begs to be touched
with semi-steady hand
And frolic
fruity morsels
sweet and ripe
Forever preserved

(at least until botox is needed)

words and image © malai 2011

This is the place, where I begin

where waves complete with memories

undulating gestures, carve paths

Between two lands

To leave behind grains

of moments and compromise.

These little bits of me

A sandy skin that

stiffen when touched by damp

But fall loose when touched by warm

This is where I begin

and where I end

© malai carrara 2011

photography © nausher banaji

Nonna's old house was situated alongside a narrow cobblestone road; Walk out the front door onto the narrow street, cross it, press yourself against a stone ledge to avoid the passing cars and Vespas and follow it to any set of ashen steps. After a rain we would pluck slugs and snails off their rocky facade and peer over the edge for anything new. Nearby was once a macelleria - beside it a set of private stables one that housed a donkey - next to it a fire pit, a large iron pot and an old woman. She would render unsellable animals parts to collect the fat she needed to make soap and boil it down.

We watched - her teeth were black and gnarled, as was her skirt. A sweater, faded from years of use, draped her small shoulders and an apron with tomato stains rested on a wooded footstool. Her legs were surprisingly smooth, probably from years of climbing the stony hill and her feet, tucked into cork wedges with jewelled bands held her steady. And she slowly stirred the mixture that bubbled in the black iron pot with what looked like a large broom handle.

We could see macabre foam curl up on the surface - it billowed and ascended carrying the added scent in droplets.
The boys nearby would tease us with tales of gypsies stealing children, the donkey would bray at them each time they passed.
And the old woman smiled at us...she always smiled at us.

words © malai carrara
Photography © nausher banaji

Tangled soul
and enchanted heart
evanescent mist and dust
the skin the scales of silver-vested promises
In alchemy she is charmed

words © malai carrara
photography with permission by Christian Demaire

Last night
indigo overspill
pooled at my feet
and the incantations
of hushed expire from phantoms
almost inaudible
standing in wait
they penetrate
my being, my existence
devoid of gentle appeal
from foxglove perfume
but with escalating forebode
arousing my senses
that had been smudged by time
the crescendo of delirium
shaking indifference from my skin
the blue mead
fanned my body
until fully absorbed

I was lucid

words © malai carrara
photography © nausher banaji

The shout of bitter bearings
Hobgoblins raking skin, clawing back
is often more than we can bare
but we grind
and we hope
the wind hollows and howls
Shake loose our bristly layer
Of apathy
and our roots
entwined in lore
relinquish their hold
The solitary traveler tumbles
Pushed by shrieks and prophets
Rolls in barbed amazement
Seeds of pity left behind


an evolved project. © malai carrara July 2011
original posted April 2011

I am the rhythm
Of half moon and heart thumps
The tumble of celestial dew
And the reach of wisteria
As it climbs impervious

There is this strange magic
Here in the heart of silence
Where mist changes to amethyst
And the heady scent of celosia
Apprehends our sentiments

Retreat to this lush
where premonitions disperse
To dwell in moody emptiness
Singular moments to fill how we choose
with processions more divine

words © malai carrara 2011
photography © nausher banaji

I remember
tiny beads of moist across
the bridge of your nose
arms languidly draped
in a spike lee glide
we walked
we decelerated
on that hot of July
near the concrete harbour side
close enough
to taste abandon
your breath
over my creamy attention
as you whispered...
"like this?"

words © malai carrara
Photography by Grazia Camellini from the series "liliroze"

It was in the billows
Of cerulean mist
And the fragrant aroma
Of sea-salt nostalgia
Sipping grains of time
Quietly
When I dissolved
Evaporating from my hyacinth shell
Into an endless monologue
Of cicada dharma
That stretched
from shore to white curl of hair

words ©malai carrara
Photography with permission Grazia Camellini

Can you hear
A moth, and its rhythmic wing beat
And the susurrus electric of fireflies
as their iridescent pulses pale the veneer

It swallows day and it’s droning light
The throng of foxglove and Selene
hypnotic aromas velvet over skin
beads of dewy nectar moist – tannins that warm

pupils wide and starry eyed catch
the ivy magic tremulous and enchanting
while night winds incite our immutable souls
Their rich texture awakens our senses

To dance, our mortal memories waltz
to the song of elemental green and Peridot
burnished air and breath of Josephine
sequestered we flourish in the night symphony

words © malai carrara
Photography ©Nausher Banaji

a sprinkling of limb
languidly draped under glow
warming the ache of alone

midst the silence of expire
in penumbra light
and half-sentence conversations
I drift
On dins of whispers
To where
My existence entwines
in contentment
and my sentiments
embroidered on celestial damask

words © malai carrara
image by Igor Kraguljac

thin walls of reclusive luster
and thin skin much the same
her unsteady gaze in umbra quiver
fallen tresses, deep regrets and shame
a path to perdition
where fire and blood collide
flesh scorched like soft marshmallow
the grief curls from it like smoke
there is a click in your throat
and knots in your knees
like the swirled rounds of cut trees


words © malai carrara

In these profound solitudes

under mournful half-moon light

the bleed-through color of contradiction

stains my skin with silence

only I could hear

The sound of breeze stirring through open glass

Mouths gaping as winds of reality pass

cool and damp as snakeskin creeping

breathing on panes of not and now

only I could stretch

through reflections in blackened waves

pull back curtains of apprehension

to resolve the small secrets

that hold us to rituals

only I could inhale

the mist of verbena vapours

after all the candles are blown out

the sweet and invisible narrative

that carved my existence

words © malai carrara

photography © nausher banaji

Over white sand
of crumbled stone
fingers trace
the nebulous places
of nowhere and everywhere we’ve know
a fluid continuum marked
by striations
fading

under desert glow I wait

without motion
without pretenses
haunted by
those inescapable eddies
thick and twisted as sin
separation from the familiar
from the scent of moments past
and the fervent collision of gods with skin

words © malai carrara
photography © nausher banaji

drowned in black river
of frozen spring
seeking the winds of summer
I am parched and crumbled
blistered by my limits
burned by waves of stale
edges shifting and unsettled
they undulate in a rhythm
where silence ends
and nocturne begins
and my spirit spills over like dust

words by carrara/banaji
photophraphy by Vadim Stein

Trace my thirst
to where the gilded sun
burns away the mist and
Flattens against the wall of my skin

Waterless mouth
I swallow for wanting
a symphony of bright shadows
And a stream of white lies

The ebb and flow of forgotten memories
drowns me out with the tide

Moonless glow
From an iridescent pupa
and born of ash we seek
to drift through pale walls

our sorrow left behind
forever goodbye

words © malai carrara
photography © nausher banaji

I crave your vintage
The smooth nectar
of sanguine orbs
ripe and aching
on curling tendrils

Unfold them like so
And express the sweet
The night color velvet
And heavenly choral
To quench my thirst

words © malai carrara
google image

She fights the stench
of rotting submission
with short inhales and mouth closed

she resists the scratchy skin
of inevitability
closing in around her

She digs her heels
Into the soft tissue
And her grief lets out

words © malai carrara
photography © nausher banaji

Today

I imagined you
at that little table
sitting as the locals do
Early in the morning
with an espresso at hand
Your eyes adjusting
Skin warmed by sun
And the aroma of languid
Curling off you like smoke

At one time....
I wished it could be me
Sitting next to you
Tasting the sugar on pastry
still flakey from the oven
or walking on cobbled ambiguity
in tempo enough with gods
while sipping a wine
of living and loving sweetly

At one time….

words © malai carrara
photography © nausher banaji

An eclipse cast by inky eyes
....drawing boundaries
....drowning light
And she is suspended in the moment

The sour taste of indecision
...mouth parched
...throat tightened
a fog-like silver ochre spilling a suffocating haze

And ghosts hover in dust
...waiting for surrender
...waiting for the light of day
by the stained window of expectations

words © malai carrara
photography courtesy of Klas Falk, Sweden

I feel what you feel in you
Emotional might of gladiators
skin soft as velvet
sweet glances of anticipation
while you seek my full mouth

I feel what you feel in you
The intertwining of our fingers
Resplendent and secure
The sinuous curves of language
Dissolving over skin

I feel what you feel in you
Your voice ascending mountain-tops
Silhouetting doubts
The closeness of our incense
Evaporating sweet

and as each moment
takes its place in memory
by now you must know my love
I feel what you feel


words © malai carrara
photography © nausher banaji

my invaded soul and paled heart
in alchemy i am curled
on white sand inconsolable


words © malai carrara
photography © nausher banaji

a sprinkling of limb
languidly draped under glow
warming the ache of alone 


© malai carrara

I loathe the taste of bland
And its contaminating effects
it leeches into veins like infection
an unbearable itch

but there is solace on cool planes of porcelain.
Bitters expel from my throat
And drift on sandalwood smoke
to circle the quiet

The quiet... within cimmerian walls
Where I banish myself from the temporal grip
Of whirling dervishes of prosaic dialogue
and celebrity gossip

Oh let me be
I want to slip into obscurity
Left alone with only my thoughts for companion
If only for just a short time




words © malai carrara
Photography by TrixyPixie

Drawn to a silhouette feathering
a shadowy portrait awaits you aqueous
over my placid blue your fingers wade
touching the edge of calm

words by malai carrara
painting by Fabian Perez

walls, nice walls..
an architecturally sound, safe and secure surface
where doubts are discarded
and fears are lost and all is happy
wall, nice walls....
and fences and hedges and 3 car attached garages
a cozy, bug free paradise
and a fat mortgage that suffocates our choices
like prison
to confine quiescent denizens
near the Wii and their tassimo
ramparts to hold all that is beautiful
perfectly landscaped and well organized
a place to collect things and save them
just in case
walls, nice walls...
the same surface to hold beauty out.
and after time, truth becomes untrue.
and all that surrounds us is our stuff
while all the while...on the other side
we overlook
the muted song of soft rain over vast fields
the sound of hurt....the feel of pain
the blacked out voice of authenticity

Devine stone surrounded
By sojourner's tribal chorals
A frenzied pageant of pietistic sophists
flaunting their weekend morals

They glare with sardonic wonder
At the great art he defends
These fear-mongering philistines
And their carrion feeding friends

But with a great breath from Gods
through raging migraine he wails...
Cast away from here your defiling eyes
and phony puritan veils!

written © malai carrara
photography by © nausher banaji

With eyes turned to heaven…

They arrived with their burdens

Carried high on their backs

They arrived with their sorrows

Carried deep in their bones

They arrived with their belief

To sing madrigals

© malai carrara

photography © nausher banaji

she wears them
as decoration
these little pretty pleasures
an infinite string of sanitary orbs
allegorical excess wants
and perfect placement

delights disguised as order
to help her cope
devoid of passion
and lacking taste
these beads surround
like fetters of grief

to meager a crumb
to feed her hunger

Rid them…
parted lips
and chin held still
quiver no longer
spit them out
And when your mouth
is finally free of fake
your lips will know the taste
of simple deliciousness

by malai carrara
photography by Tribal Gal

A spring morning and gilded wind
The floor adorned in a motley coverlet
of last autumn and bluebells

birch bark murmurs white
its skin curls and sways
like thin sheets of music

She loves being lost
In thoughts with no fixed address
a sylph ambling in concert with echoes

by malai carrara
photography by Christian Demare

I always feel you

and know the taste of your breath

it melts on my lips

and moves through my blood

written by © malai carrara

photography by Eliara.com

It is on damp nights
When I recall those moments
Of light rain washing over hair
eyes darting over bronzy shimmer
Tasting the salt on air on skin
When your touch quelled the quiver in my throat
It is a tapestry of nothingness and everything
It is the textured sky of gray wishes
And the incense that lingers
It’s on damp nights
When I recall those moments
When we want the same
We are the same

written by malai carrara
photography by nausher banaji

It’s here
Hear, I have to go
On a journey
a trip
a lift
in a portal
rush, the onrush
squeeze inside
the tiny room
closer
close the door
congested space
like space and stars
twinkling beacons
the tips of breasts
begging to be chosen
touched, touch one
excitement
desires suspended
for a minute
maybe two

or you can let the darn elevator go and kiss me instead

The sting of sacrifice camouflaged in fierce expression
Tongue held but language in hands
Hands curled, prepared to preach a fire
and in his divine eyes swims truth
That our being is not sun kisses and rainbows
He wears vestments of courage and resolve
And believes in what others doubt
He is magnificent he is merciful
And he knows it
Let the sermon begin

written by malai carrara
photography by nausher banaji

She turns and twists like flickering fire
watching the reflections on blackness and following shadows on wind
caught from falling but tethered
and anchored down by thwarted dreams
the night wind whirls with silent screams

I am suspended between two lives
Longing to ascend to tender branches
Where wings and songs soar
Aching to find your echo

Tall black walls that reach the sky to shape a safe, secure place where doubts discard and fears are lost and all is happy. But these dark walls confine the quiescent denizen and after time, truth becomes untrue.
Black fortifications trap beauty in but also hold beauty out. Living on the other side the muted song of soft rain, the blacked out voice of authenticity and of course, hurt and pain. These sweet gifts denied.

words by malai carrara
photography courtesy nausher banaji