Yassin Zelestine

First Love

the flowers in her hand
she crumpled to dust
and dragged on her dress,
it wasn't right; the world
like an amoeba seeking shelter
in gelatinous liquid.
She had been in the woods
after dark, alone
the quiet time,
where secrets humdruned
into green foliage,
spurting spring's blood.
She had knelt down
pressed her forehead
to the oldest trunk,
there, said a prayer
'can I be loved by someone?'
smoke drifted from
nearby campfire
rolled like a moist tongue
on the back of her neck,
listening out to birdcall.
The monk had told her;
'don't stray from the path,
still she wandered
into the heart of the woods,
diaphanous on the verge
of womanhood,
removing shoes, socks
soil curling into toes
sticky black, languorous.
She saw him in the mist,
knew him as 'Levi',
all the school kids laughed
at his painted caravan,
his brother and he
chopping trees for the
camp-fire, the horses
near-by. Just for a moment
in the mist, they saw
each other as they
really were, a connection,
unbroken through time
the secret heart exposed,
to be searched for,
grasped at ever since
between moments
of effervescence,
city sophistication, and the
hands of other men, silhouettes
she did not understand
she turned seeking on odd days
turned and looked for Levi,
when the city closed,
loomed round her, and
everyone was looking
the other way

Artistic Conquest

I cannot paint this picture deep in my heart
your five faces that change
but stay indelible
flickering stop frame animation
in all the colours
masks that you wear
in front of the jewels
of life alchemical
transformation from dust
to gold winding snake
ouroborous we fall into
art because we cannot
love each other
because art is life
the secret attraction and invocation
of the strange attractor
art a radiant rainbow
colours from a paintbrush
seals in the spirit
a furnace rouses my heart
and moves my hand
I hope to move
your heart too