Choices…
There are always choices,
Each day presents us with new choices.

Paths…
There are always paths,
Each step leads us towards so many paths.

Mistakes…
There are always mistakes,
Each experience coughs up a set of mistakes.

Time…
There is always time,
Each hour of each day gives birth to more time.

Chance…
There is always chance,
Each spin of our life throws up a fresh chance.

To marry, or not to marry?
To run the rat race, or to relax?
To argue, or to remain silent?

Children, they are gifts, treasure them,
Without a job how can you ever relax?
Speak your mind, let your words be free.

You stand at a crossroad,
Behind you lies all that was,
Ahead of you lies all that there is.

Step forward…

There is art housed and closed,
It stagnates in museums
Under cold lock and key,
People come and point,
They nod and take notes.

And then there is art right here,
Open and fresh and free,
Look there, right there,
In the darkness eyes glow,
The art of the city embraces us.

Beauty drips from the tunnel wall,
Colour glistens and paint ripples,
This is art wet with the lips of passion,
I heard them say a pop star came here,
I say the street art star is always here.

Something with the rotten breath of ignorance stains our city,
It was out there on a bright afternoon spitting and snarling,
The beast stepped out into the glittering sunlight without fear,
It crawled out from the coffin of a car towards Carrs Lane Church.

This beast was a cheap and violent punk of Pakistani descent,
What he did brought shame to the proud land of his ancestors,
He came with fire blazing from eyes red with the **** of waste,
His chin peppered with a designer beard which bristled and itched.

The car door lay open behind him as he ****** the air and snorted,
He stepped towards the youth handing out ‘The Stylist’ magazine,
The only sound was the blade of words which sliced the atmosphere,
He pointed, jabbed, spat, postured, and hissed at the delivery boy.

No one offered any help,
All looked away,
In a place packed with people
No one said a thing…

Until…

A schoolboy, from the lilting land of sun and calypso stepped out,
He confronted the **** who threatened the delivery boy,
The school kid stood calm and showed not an ounce of fear,
The volcanic heat and rising anger of the bully suddenly deflated.

Another door opened and another stinking blind beast stepped out,
He slithered out to aid his cowardly and quaking friend,
And that was when another schoolboy stepped in to offer help,
This lad was descended from the fair fields of faraway Pakistan.

The black boy, the brown boy, they stood together, warriors both,
They stood their ground and protected the white delivery boy,
This was brotherhood without colours, this was unity without borders,
The bullies limped back into their car, clamped the doors, and sped off.

Our kids,
They know unity,
It is we who build divisions,
We are to blame for the rising tide of suspicion.

As I entered the subway in the early morning spit and drizzle
My sleep rusted eyes saw bags, black plastic bags,
Bin bags, there were three, huddled at the far end,
Against the biting cold, the trinity of bags rustled,
Flipping, flapping, hugging, seeking warmth in the tunnel.

And yet…

When my shoes slipped across the wet subway floor
And I got nearer to the ******* heap at the far end,
My eyes suddenly froze and my steps slowed,
Those bin bags were acting as a windbreaker,
A windbreaker for a body upon the concrete floor.

A man without a home…

Wind, shrieking a heartless hymn of obscene guilt,
It punched through my carefully guarded sense of humanity,
A man slept there, discarded and forgotten, head near the gutter,
Shoes curled, body curled, a man searching for a mother’s warmth,
The light above harsh, dank, and as lifeless and as merciless as a tomb.

Do not forsake him…

This man, he was the son of the morning, dreaming in lands unknown,
Sleeping in lands known, attacked by politicians, kicked by society,
Demonized by the press and bitten by the rabid media machine,
Knifed by the blade of youth, and eulogized by the church and elders,
Yet, through it all, we all knew, and we silently walked on our way.