They flow in the meanders of streets and bars,
Warnings by enslaved sugar cane harvesters from afar.
The produce as dangerous as lashes on disobedience,
From sloshed owners of plantations delirious. Tipsy greed.

Known to colonists for driving drinkers mad,
“Le rhum rend fou” they whisper in France, gulping
The brutal inebriating substance of wrong doings,
Turning blind eyes to ancient ports of human trade.

He was a descendent of those who stayed behind,
Only to later emigrate to the Metropole, unwanted
Reminders of ungrateful history. Parents working
Hard to fulfil disillusioned dreams of opportunities.

His amber bottle, his best friend, able to turn white
Sclera red, smiles into raging smears and slurs, be it
Not a swear word, using lexicon to hurt as pupils
Dilate, for looks to stab and offend, cursing blessings.

Easier to be a victim than take responsibility, blaming
All exception made for the precious liquid, bashing
Intentions with statements of futility, projects with
Sentences of failure, as the last drop burns a sore throat.

Perceptions of my body disturbed, me
With consciousness. Unable to relate,
Recognise myself in others, irrepressible despair,
Frantically ridding of clothes, jewels, makeup.

Hardly bearing the touch of feet to ground,
Blue moquette, craving annihilation,
Cancelling body to erase thoughts.
Little did I know I would learn to love all.

Some could say she was a multi-ethnic poet, others
Might want to focus on her motherhood to two
Peaceful beings, grown up to become models, of
Honesty, kindness, fairness and dignity.

Her friends toast to her with champagne glasses,
As her father before her, she enjoyed life to the fullest,
Without major extravaganza casting smiles, able to twist
Sorrow into laughter, lighting rooms as she entered.

Her lovers remember her as the sensual essence
Of a woman, so they defined her many a time, though
She’d ignore why. She wore no make-up nor high heel
Shoes, no creams to prevent age from exhibiting itself.

Her tattooist drew the stars on her body, has knowledge
Of the celestial maps engraved with ink by needles,
Yet I am the only one who knows her deeply, in me
She confided, the creative thoughts concealed in her mind.

She was a tenacious human with courageous concepts,
Dictated by inspiring instincts, something she called
Universal consciousness underlining all, that ever
Was, is and will be, throughout special infinity.

She reconnected the dots and spread the word enticing
Those who crossed her passage to feel, the harmony, unite
In common realisation, that we are one with all and nothing
Can support our existence other than love.

I’ll miss her tender lioness features,
Her mane covering eyes elsewhere, as she gazed
Into the abysses in my direction. Faithfully hers forever,
Mac Apple, alias Pro.

You are to be found far and wide within
Me and out, flowing through veins, inundating
Entirety. Ancient drops of you concealed
In stars released through showering debris,
Rendering existence possible, your absence
Intolerable, instincts in eternal search of you.

Intimacy in little opaque cabins made of glass,
Ceramic tubs, algae basins, riverbeds, by shores
Where feet don’t touch, blanketing granular materials,
Silicon dioxide in the form of insoluble quartz, calcium
Carbonate from shells and skeletons of organisms,
Corals and molluscs losing you forever, stranded in deserts.

I allow you all for you know how, to gently
Lick and lap thirsty skins, totality of my body
Hankering after vital substance as you take control
Of me, manipulating vibrations with mastery, unaware
Of your nature, crucial lymph, my only lover,
Forcefully penetrating cavities and pores.

I shut my eyes to your caress, yearning
For profundity, melting desiring fusion as
I unseal my lips to drink of you, inebriating
The perfect system longing to redefine
Itself through absorption, recognising
Its consistency, you within and out.

Your power soothes my consciousness, heals
My ills, paces my movement as your sound
Orchestrates, my heartbeat and breath to
The rhythm of universal quantum. You are old.
Billions of years constantly mutate your state
From ice to vapours, though I crave for you most

In liquid form.

It has been said many times before, ‘Old
Habits die hard’ and I agree, without
Condemning any of my own, as I begin
Unlatching eyelids, shutters to the real world,

To gentle caresses of sunbeams, furtively tiptoeing
Around the room, invading space, consistently crawling
On my bed, to reach my forehead and grant
A longed-for princely awakening kiss.

My feet touch the floor, a few steps next door,
I cleanse my face with tepid water, always
Appreciatively contemplating the billions years
Old interstellar ice, molecules composing each single drop.

I slowly walk downstairs anticipating the day, prepare
The espresso coffee ***, as I allow the radioman to shower
Me with the latest news I wish to block,
Roll my cigarette and open my precious laptop

Containing me and all my thoughts, a second brain
To register what I forgot. Look about in the meanders
Of a virtual world other than my dreams
And proceed typing words that combined create

Meaning, unleashing imagination, feelings and evanescent
Memories, observing my surroundings, once more asking
Myself why, each time I take a break and lie
By the lake, ants climb over my body.

Infancy talked to me various languages, switching
Tonalities for different melodies, to be learnt.
Naturally acquiring the discernment, recognising
Faces and voices to choose applicable native tongues.

English with my father, whose name echoed as Plato,
Iranian with my mother, Italian with my siblings, French
With school teachers, Greek on summer holidays.

Growing up my hair and accents, led to the inevitable
Repetitive question, ‘Where are you from?’
Timidly answered as it was hard to comprehend, until I set
Myself to do so untiringly drafting precious family trees.

Investigations interrogating relatives to exhaustion,
Ignited my pride for every single drop of blood,
Composing me and drawing borders
On geographical maps delineating my essence.

My story was one of many, they labelled me a multi-ethnic,

For my daddy’s naissance in Accra from a mulatto beauty
Queen, daughter of a British doctor and his Ghanaian lady friend.
For her husband, his Hellenic pater, son of Chios, born in Sudan.

For my mummy’s naissance in Tehran from a noble
Banker, progeny of the Qajar dynasty originally Turkic,
And his pure blood Persian wife.

My parents met in England where they studied only
To marry and move to pre-revolutionary Iran. I was born
In Rome where they fled, when insurrections began.

Now if someone asks I forcefully respond,
“From planet Earth. A terrestrial little sphere at the heart
Of its star system, on the edge of its galaxy lost
Somewhere in space in the maze of the Universe.

My story is one of many, I labelled us humans.

unfurling smithereens
of retrospections
stitched to mend
fragmented derelict
sails.

I hold onto the hope that someday I will see them. Those lights drug across the sky by a goddess with her water colour brush. Greens and blues and pinks that dance a star's song into being while the sky stretches and wakes up and prepares to host this fit of brilliance. When people down below lift their eyes to the heavens. Irises are filled and reflect a dazzling champagne of pastels which God has created. He wants to say 'I love you' and could think of no better way than this expression. Where snow gives way to reflective ice and the shiny sparkles slide silently through the night. It is the visual of the heart when in love, and it lights up the night like the first beautiful moment of a stage being brought to life. The conductor lifts his hands and a radiant explosion surrounds the audience. Music is not needed and none will ever accurately describe it. Few will see this spectacularity because the auroras only reveal themselves to the minds that wander and the hands that reach towards heaven.