...

It is soundless.
Is this how it was
Before You spoke?

In the afternoon
Below a grey blue sky
I hear the chatter
Of the magpies.
And they talk in bird talk
In words unknown to me
As they bob their little heads
By the amaltas tree.
Glad I am to hear them
I listen carefully
Happy to be in their -
wondrous company

There used to be an angel
who was very close to me,
this Angel was a guiding light
wherever I would be.
Sometimes I made some big mistakes,
I walked the forbidden lane,
this Angel had a certain way
to bring me back again.

This Angel was always with me
every night and every day,
this Angel always helped me see
just where I went astray.
Sometimes I didn't like it,
the truth it often hurt,
but when I ignored this Angel
it made the matter worse.

I really loved this Angel,
we'd been together for many years.
We never always did agree
and often there were tears.
But angels are for a reason,
that is something I have found,
now this Angel is no longer with me
I'm so sad she's not around.

Sometimes I am good,
Sometimes I can be bad,
I enjoy life ,
I enjoy being driven in fast cars,
I can still put my leg in my underwear,
Whilst standing,
And not lose my balance,
Also I don't exercise  a lot,
But I do lots of accupressure points and tapping,
To service my internal organs.
I enjoy making money,
But I feel sad when it leaves me,
Somehow my fist closes tightly over it.
My daughter says,"It's like taking blood out of a stone,
It doesn't mean I am a miser,
May be its a phobia what would I do if I didn't  have any or,
It's just that I am one for financial discipline
I would give my children just enough pocket money,
So they would know its value.
25/3/2025

fields of lavender
as far as the eye can see,
in rows of scented purple
growing insatiable idiosyncrasies,
our minds are a rich, deep soil
and the children of our thoughts
run free,

run free
and light,
run free
and careless,
like a river to the sea.

the heart is programmed
to be broken,
to let in the light,
and the earth in us is woken,
our heart will open,
it will open,

when we take in our first
breath of this heaven.

not good enough to be in your band
or join your basketball team
but good enough
to spectate or be your water boy
not good enough
to pass your classes academically
but good enough to receive a passing grade
for participation that helped me graduate
so I’d be out of your hair
not good enough
to break bread with you at the lunch table
because our parents made different salaries
but good enough
to be put down when you needed a laugh
or to feel better about yourself
not good enough
to answer back when I needed your help
but good enough
to be a nostalgic crutch when you need someone
to lean on
I’ve only been good enough
to stand in front of your machines,
to fill out your paperwork,
to sweep your floors
but not good enough
to advance at this job or in this society
and now I’ve found myself conquering the world
despite your predictions, despite your conjectures
despite your criticism, despite your disparaging remarks.
I have made myself who I am today based on the indifference
towards your humiliation, your rejections, your rebukes
so, if you see me on the streets and I don’t say “hi”
it just means you weren’t worthy of acknowledging
and if I give you the sharp eye and spit in the trash can
it only means I’ve forgotten about you completely
and that is good enough for me.

Dancing for love like a flamingo,
But all I am is a collection of letting go...

Held by waves but lost in a tide,
Losing the memory of love—left behind...

Chasing it like crazy- up  and above,
Realising i am the love i was rooting for...

Venice’s Commemorative Monument to Bartolomeo Colleoni - 1488



The general glares downwards from his horse,

faithfully keeping watch over the mundane,

the tedious progression of centuries.

A sentinel, he had imagined himself—a noble,

intended to become immortal,

traveling ever forward in time,

defying the erasure of memory.



But time is the enemy of all things.

The pigeons and the rain could be tolerated;

time, however, has become relentless and unyielding.

It has eroded his heroic relevance,

he watches unblinking as his glorious benevolence

fades from all memory.

Generation after weary generation

manifests the ruinous decay of collective forgetfulness.

Mystery

Observation is key,
To unlock the mystery.

The sound of busy wings in flight
sweet song in mellow April light
carried on an early breeze
which shakes the limbs of new leaved trees,
pleasure after winter’s sting
a simple yet essential thing
we could not start the season
without the birds in spring