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