The sun gleams off her forehead,
And you would think nature would,
cast a shadow beneath the light that is her face,
But it glows; a display of fireworks.

The innocence that spews from the blush in those cheeks,
A smile both captivating and enthralling,
You’d think it was built for war,
But had that composure of a nursing mother.

Her lips are a banquet,
They possess an eloquent charisma,
Sumptuous, it makes one lush with lust,
The aperture unveils pearly whites that are the gate to heaven.

Her hair, A bouquet of flowers,
Rests upon the shimmering cynosure that is her face,
Strands woven into spongy locks,
As if they were handpicked, With great precision.

Her bosom is fabricated with great poise,
It welcomes a feeble heart and renders it robust,
An endearing bed of roses,
One in which you lay in, till the boatman calls for sail.

– Smyekh David-West.


Nightly Tales,.. A Nightingale.

Moon, Nightingale, Horse

May I spiel about the elements?
Or that beyond my window panes,
Laying in a invisible hammock,
Glows the moon,
But it’s pigment is that of the sun,
And for a twinkling..
I’m the moon,
Vis-a-vis; on opposite sides,
We peer at each other,
Constellations in our own right,
She lights up the dark night,
And I’m just a floating kite,
In a dark dwelling that is my room.

The silent night spills tranquil on us both,
But I envy the peaceful aroma that emanates thereof,
For I’m at war in my attic,
Drums play a soothing tune,
Melodic but loud, mildly overbearing.
They disrupt the peaceful scenery,
My thoughts dance along with no prejudice,
As if they aren’t mine,
It must be the snares, they sing about love lost,
A gloom tale.

Meanwhile my dreams mingle with sand in an hour glass,
And I’m waiting for that feeling of dust,
When my eyelids would shut,
I’m waiting, but dreams are timeless,
My vices have deserted me,
My thoughts dance to the talking drums,
On the sand that my dreams have brought,
Ironically, the moon and I are the audience,
For the idea of an open mind,
Unveiled the thought of dreams for the world to see,
Vis-a-vis; A show for two,
But, may I spiel about the dysphoria?
Or that beyond my window panes I lose my sanity.

– Smyekh David-West.

Free Fall


Ashes from my cigar fall,
Softly with disregard on the barren floor,
I watch and wish my troubles would shed,
As they.
Hell bound on chariots of fire.

The fumes from a suckle,
Travel into my eyes,
They sting and born a tear or two,
But I question my intuition,
No verbs in my vehicular,
Just mere thoughts swimming the smoke,
Out around and in my swollen head.

Surrounded by inanimate objects,
Of which I can’t be intimate with,
That need keys to be triggered,
I mean started,
As gunshots erupted,
From the pistol I shot in my bed.

But I sit legs crossed,
Parked up like the car that grins towards me,
Looks me dead in the eye,
Engine off and calm.
I’m similar, just like him,
Motionless, engine off and calm.

No trigger but I stumble,
Stumble on the butt,
Of my now charred cigar,
As my scattered thoughts trail,
Ascending on train tracks,
Into higher realms, at the top of my skull.

A station of rowdy customers,
That are my minds acquaintances,
Light headed I swing back and forth,
Rhythm fails me, breathing hails me.
I look into the distance, but see the other hour,
The one in which I get up and leave.

My thoughts beckon to me like an old oak tree,
Willing to die, to be cut,
A crime against mother nature,
The prodigal son that left home,
She weeps for me,
But I’m numb with disgust.

– Smyekh David-West.



You’ve never seen this one
I don’t think she’s from here 
She’s like fiction, the type that only stars in your inimitable daydreams
That it’s almost a nightmare because she seems impossible
She has this smile that draws you close, breath and all
An enchanting aura that mesmerizes your soul, yes it’s that deep
That you feel helpless but sinewy at the same time.

– Smyekh David-West.


Sun rays slash through the crevasse in the leaves,
And leave behind glints of white light,
Nature has a way of being violent and delicate simultaneously,
A stillborn bursting with life,
A star on the edge of implosion,
Cradling her vices in a strong hold that is emotion,
Kissing away all his bruises and bad memories,
So there are no more tears in his battered heart,
Unravelling lust that begets love, the exposure of a deathly desire,
Unwrapping the fervent passion she has packed up like a present,
The hush from the genial sway of ribbons,
Only the worthy receive gifts like this.

– Nina Austin & Smyekh David-West.