to lie on the warm sand at twilight
ripples of fleeting light
across a calm sea.

With spirit ablaze,
To tread, where everyone conspire
My truth, a flame held higher,
Yet branded still a liar.
This path, where doubts transpire,
To reach what hearts desire.
As in ages of old time's fire,
Worth on the pyre, a maiden's trial dire.
The heart's own fire, just water to the pyre,
Yet the world deems us of less significance,
Not much of a crier if you keep your distance,
We've never needed rescue, if the problem wasn't you.

Hook him up to the machine.
Shock his brain into
mediocrity.
Death stalks him;
he is aware.
There is too much
flash in his eyes.
His brain needs a reboot;
he needs to forget,
like a goldfish, like
a monkey in the zoo.
Hook him up to the machine.
He is too sentimental.
Salmon swim in his blood;
he has a paisley heart,
and a tie-dye soul.
He can smell colors.
Hook him up to the machine.
He has Van Gogh eyes, and
a Bukowski gut; he walks
like he's lost in a maze;
hunchback sadness,
butcher knife nerves,
Hook him up to the machine.
He believes in love,
and has too much trust.
His vivid green memory
is a curse, we need to
crash it, **** the eternal spring.
Hook him up to
the machine.

My grandson will be eighteen this July,
He shares a birthday with Mr.Nelson Mandela on the 18th,
He asked me,"Dadi(granny) what is the difference between you and me
My Love, you are the sunrise,
You have to shine  brightly a long  way,
Giving your best to life,
Whilst I am the sunset
Retired,
Both beautiful and unique  in our own ways.
21/5/2025

Affixed to the Lee–Enfield,
this blade, this trigger point,
stricken by ambush,
enters the melee
along the false edge,
cuts to the core,
like sympathizers of
William of Orange.

There are no daggers
apart from war,
just an ocean of
death and defeat,
its water,
its ever rising water,
swallows us whole.

the city buzzes with chaos,
honks and heat pressing in,
but with you beside me,
i forget the world outside.

red lights flicker across your face,
half in shadow, half in light,
i don’t speak,
too lost in how beautiful you are.

you ask if i’m okay,
but i’m caught in this moment,
drowning in you,
in the stillness between us.

the traffic? barely noticed.
the noise? a faint echo.
in your presence,
the world doesn’t matter.

The porch light clicks off behind me—
no ceremony,
no words wrapped in warmth,
just the hush of a door
never meant to stay open.

A moth dances in the dark.
I watch it,
wishing for wings
that don’t tear
in the cold.

My feet know this ache.
They’ve felt it before—
sidewalks splitting like dry lips,
a sky too wide
for someone so small.

I carry silence
in the crook of my arms,
like a child that won’t
stop crying.

The moon
presses its white face
against the windshield.
It doesn’t ask me to leave.

Every hour is a question
with no safe answer.
Where do I go
when even the night
runs out of room?

I’m tired
of learning the weight of keys
that don’t belong to me—
of knocking
on almosts.

If I disappear,
will the world blink?

Or will it just
keep driving?