There are wolves in the classroom.
They sit and stare
watching, waiting
sniffing the air for a hint of blood.

Remember Red

There are wolves in the classroom.
You have to tread carefully, cautiously
Lest their teeth
Sink into your soft flesh.

There are wolves in the classroom
Whimpering, growling and howling,
Gently now, be wary now

*Remember Red,
Remember.

One day, you
decided I would
speak no more.
So I sat as
you sawed my tongue
and sewed my lips,
"For proper measure," you said.
You smiled at your finished work.
I couldn't.
You see,
My lips were sewed
together, too tight
Like the pen
I held,
hidden in my hand.

I touch this sky walls
one last time
It holds memories
and yearnings,
of half-lived lives.

Who will walk these corridors when I am gone?

They tell me I shall
away to my husband's home
i, a stranger in a strange land,
leaving my walls and memories
for an alien wall,
To paint fresh memories
to cover your footprints,
that once filled the corridors
of this house, no longer yours.

perhaps it was because i espied
zeppelin and the eagles-beatles
in your words

perhaps it was the soft sadness
of half sung songs
and leftover musings

perhaps i saw
a bit of my soul
echoing in your work

for that and
all that is to come
I Thank You.

I always imagined September
a woman
Carelessly tousled
Auburn hair
crowned
with multi-coloured flowers
Dressed
in silken smoke
Dancing in a grove of fallen leaves.

I never imagined September
to look like grand-mother
Wrinkled, waifish
Wrapped in a blue waist cloth
A *** in hand
Slowly shambling
towards the sun-dried fields.

After all the hurdles,
the thorny brambles,
the kisses and
the waking ups,
when you finally
reach the happily ever after,
life turns around
and hits you with a grapefruit.

he was but a semi-colon
misunderstood and misused.

What is a mere heartbreak,
when you have a roof over your head,
blankets to keep you warm and
the choicest food to fill your belly.

So what if you feel
the rain on your breast
for a thousand years and more.
What if the biting cold
seeps through the skin and
freezes your heart.
And what if your heart
becomes a hollow bottomless pit.

At least you won't hunger,
or thirst or worry for
the next day's meal.

So what if hearts break.

And let's face it.
Hearts don't break.
You can't break it with a hammer,
smash them into pieces.
No, hearts don't break.
They just wither and waste.

My tongue feels alien.
Naked,
it twists and stumbles
A piece of flesh
Trying to reclaim a past
with borrowed words.

We are made up of stories.

We are stories in somebody's tongue
In somebody's heart
In somebody's head,

We are stories your grandmothers told you about.
We are your grandmothers telling you stories.
We breathe the stories that breathe us in.

For when the waves run out of shores
And the heavens roll back into emptiness
We will still Be, Stories.

The sale promised diversity.
There were cheap ones,
expensive ones,
middle-class,
affordable ones,
And they all stood in line,
the hopefuls and the cynicals
the indifferent and the undefined
waiting to buy
one
or anyone
of the soulmates
on sale.

Because heaven seems so far away,
I keep my soul
hidden in the spaces between words.

And up the hill we climbed
A singin' and a swingin'
But they switched off the stars
So we stumbled and grovelled.

Dishes to ashes
Lust to dust
And we all fall down.