The Pakistan Fashion Design Council in collaboration with Sunsilk presented the fourth and final day of the eighth PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week. Indeed the 8th PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week marked the twelfth fashion week platform initiated by the Pakistan Fashion Design Council [with eight weeks of prêt-à-porter and four of bridal fashion] and was a direct manifestation of the Council’s commitment to sustainability and discipline within the business of fashion and the facilitation of Pakistan’s retail industry. Indeed #PSFW15 endeavoured to define and present trends for 2015, focusing specifically on fashion for the regions’ long hot summer months. Day-4 featured High-Street Fashion shows by the House of Arsalan Iqbal, Erum Khan, Chinyere and Hassan Riaz and designer prêt-à-porter shows by Sana Safinaz, Republic by Omar Farooq, Syeda Amera, Huma & Amir Adnan, Sania Maskatiya and HSY.

Speaking about the PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week platform, Chairperson of the PFDC, Sehyr Saigol said: “With the 12th iteration of our critically acclaimed fashion weeks, the PFDC is always working to streamline our prêt-à-porter platform to make the PSFW experience more beneficial for all stakeholders in terms of show experience, exposure and ultimately, retail value. To that end, each year we look inward to find the best possible formats and categories to benefit the very trade and business of fashion. In this vein, we introduced 3 separate categories for Luxury/Prêt, High Street and Textile at PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week, giving each entirely separate show space, times, audience exposure and viewing power. Our High Street fashion brands had been given a standalone show time on two separate days as early evening shows and Textile brands a separate dedicated day for Voile shows on Day 3 of PSFW 2015, a measured step to further highlight Pakistan’s textile prowess and high street fashion strength which are of significant importance to national and international fashion markets. As per past tradition, we continue to work closely with all our emerging designers and mainstream brands to help hone their collections for the runway through mentorship by senior PFDC Council members and with retail support through the PFDC’s own stores and network. We are grateful for the committed support of our sponsors and partners which provides us the stimulus to further enhance our fashion week platforms and put forth the best face of Pakistani fashion on a consistent basis.”

“The Sunsilk girl is an achiever, with an air of enthusiasm and positivity. Great hair can give her the extra dose of confidence so with Sunsilk by her side, she is empowered to take on life. Fashion is very close to this aspirational Pakistani girl making the PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week a highly valued platform for us. We recognize PFDC’s efforts to promote the fashion industry and experienced and upcoming talent alike. Sunsilk has been a part of this fantastic journey for 6 consecutive years and continues to shape aspirations, taking contemporary fashion directly to the homes of consumers and encouraging them to script their own stories of success” said Asanga Ranasinghe, VP Home and Personal Care for Unilever Pakistan.

On the concluding day of #PSFW15, the Chairperson of the PFDC Mrs. Sehyr Saigol also made a special announcement on behalf of the Council and its Board Members, where she shared the Council’s plans to establish Pakistan’s first ever craft based Design District, a multi-purpose specialized facility that would assist in developing and enhancing the arts and crafts industries, which are an integral part of Pakistan’s rich cultural legacy. In addition to being a centre for skill improvement and capacity building, the Design District would also house a first of its kind Textile Museum.

The official spokesperson of the PFDC, Sara Shahid of Sublime by Sara also announced the official dates for the Council’s next fashion week, PFDC L’Oréal Paris Bridal Week 2015 which is scheduled to be held from 15th September to 17th September 2015.

Indeed the success of PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week continued to prompt private sector associates to grow in their engagement of the platform to launch new marketing campaigns and promotional activities. To this end, the PFDC’s evolving partnership with Sunsilk grew exponentially this year whereby in addition to their title patronage; Sunsilk also took over the coveted PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week red carpet and the Green Room/Backstage, as sponsors. This extension of their support is indeed a manifestation of the brand’s belief in and commitment to the platform. Also in continuation of their support for the platform, Fed Ex – GSP Pakistan Gerry’s International returned to PSFW as the official logistics partner, offering the PFDC a special arrangement for international designer consignments.

PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week 2015 was styled by the creative teams at Nabila’s and NGENTS. Light design, set design, sound engineering, video packaging, choreography and show production from concept to construction was by HSY Events, front stage management by Maheen Kardar Ali, backstage management by Product 021, Sara Shahid of Sublime by Sara as the official spokesperson for the PFDC, logistics and operations by Eleventh Experience and photography by Faisal Farooqui and the team at Dragonfly, Hum TV/Hum Sitaray as the Official Media Partners, CityFM89 as the Official Radio Partners with all media management by Lotus Client Management & Public Relations.

High-Street Fashion Shows

The House of Arsalan Iqbal

The afternoon High-Street Fashion Shows on the final day of PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week 2015 were opened by leading fashion brand The House of Arsalan Iqbal, who showcased a collection titled ‘Devolution Chic’. Inspired by street art across the world by various artists, European high-street trends and technique of quilting, Arsalan Iqbal garnered personal portfolios of graffitists from myriad urban cityscapes such as London, New York, Tokyo, Barcelona and Cape Town, juxtaposed with some unique in-house created patterns including those of Pac-man, calligraphic flourishes and aqua and tangerine bands and circlets. Based in chiffon, the ensembles were molded into voluminous structured silhouettes including draped tunics, edgy jumpsuits and wide palazzos dovetailed with off-white and ecru charmeuse silk jackets created with a revolutionary quilting process. Along with menswear pieces, the collection also included in-house footwear and jewellery made in collaboration with pioneering Karachi-based street artist SANKI.

Erum Khan

Designer Erum Khan followed next and made her PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week debut with ‘The Untainted Shine’. The collection took its inspiration from the sparkle of twinkling stars, a walk on pearl dew in the morning and the enchanted glow which is produced when “a magic wand” is waved around the body, making it glow in a pearlescent white and exhibiting a jewel themed lustre on the body. With neat and straight structured cuts, Erum had used fabrics such as organza combined with silk, 3D flowers, patch work and antique katdanna in a collection which was based in a white colour palette. Trends highlighted in the collection were high waist skirts to button up pants and sheer long dresses. Acclaimed Pakistani musician Goher Mumtaz and his wife Anam Ahmed walked the ramp as the designer’s celebrity showstoppers.

Chinyere

Following Erum Khan, fashion brand Chinyere showcased its Spring/Summer 2015 High-Street collection ‘Mizaj-e-Shahana’ at PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week 2015. An ode to the era of the Mughal royalty and their imperial aesthetic, the collection comprised of modern silhouettes and traditional embellishments with organza skirts paired with cropped tops, angarkha-peplum tops with embellished cigarette pants, sheer knee-length jackets paired with structured digital printed bustier-jumpsuits, diaphanous wrap-around boot-cuts and embellished boxy sleeves with soft A-line silhouettes. Chinyere also showcased ten menswear pieces comprising of waistcoats, jodhpurs, knee-length sherwanis paired with gossamer sheer kurtas. The colours used had been divided into a collection of distinctive Mughalesque pastels and jewel tones. The pastels included the classic marble ivory-on-ivory, the bold black, saffron, gold and ivory. The colour segments also included metallic gold and grey sections, with accents of bronze and black. The jewel tones included jade, emerald, ruby and sapphire.

Hassan Riaz

The concluding High-Street fashion show of PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week 2015 was presented by Hassan Riaz who showcased his ‘Contained Shadows’ collection. Inspired by the diverse facets of the human soul that explore both the dark and light sides of human nature, taking into account yearnings, desires, and anxieties that make us distinctly human, Hassan had based the collection in summer twill, organza and summer denim in shades of blue and white with a gold accent to reflect upon his inspirations. ‘Contained Shadows’ made use of structured and drifting silhouettes, cage crinolines with corsets and bustiers with distinct trends featuring cropped tops, nautical accents, experiments with transparency and patchworks of metal mixed & matched with flowers.

Designer Showcases

Sana Safinaz

PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week 2015’s evening [rêt shows on the fourth and final day was opened by premier designer label Sana Safinaz. Sana Safinaz’s PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week collection was inspired by monochromatic structured looks with pops of color. The collection was based in luxe fabrics such as kattan, silks, fine silk organza and dutches satin in a colour palette majorly based in black and white with strong vibrant pop infusions.
Key trends being highlighted were the oversized T, constructions-clean lines, simplicity of cuts and effective embellishments.

Republic by Omar Farooq

Following Sana Safinaz, acclaimed menswear brand Republic By Omar Farooqshowcased a collection titled ‘Que Sera, Sera!’ (whatever will be, will be!). Omar Farooq had used a variety of luxe fabrics such as suede, linen, chiffon, cotton, cotton silk and wool silk. A collection for all seasons, the ensembles built upon the label’s signature aesthetics while providing a new take on contemporary menswear. Acclaimed media personality Fawad Khan walked the ramp as the brand’s celebrity showstopper.

Syeda Amera

The third Prêt show of the final day of PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week 2015 was presented by designer Syeda Amera who made her ramp debut with ‘The World of Sea’. Inspired by love for the enchanting underwater, the collection was based in premium quality organza, jersey, nets and silks with delicate cuts and embellishments consisting of beads, sequins and feathers to reflect the collection’s aquatic theme. ‘The World of Sea’ featured a palette of aqua marine, scupa blue, powder pink, grey blue, tequila sunrise yellow, orange and lagoon green with trends that employed skirt layering, frills and ruffles and flared pants.

Huma & Amir Adnan

Following Syeda Amera, Huma & Amir Adnan showcased a joint collection for the first time at a fashion exhibition. Both Huma and Amir feel that as a couple they share their lives and draw synergies and their collection ‘Symphony’ was an epitome of how two people can revolve around the same concept in harmony, while maintaining their individual distinction. Showcasing both menswear and women’s wear at PSFW 2015, Huma and Amir had used a mix of fabrics, textures and embellishments with a complex collection of weaves, prints and embroideries in silk, linen, cotton and microfiber. The color palette included midnight blue, emerald green, wet earth, aubergine, ivory, old paper, turmeric, leaf and magenta. Key trends highlighted in the collection were long shirts, double layered shirts, printed vests and jackets, textured pants, colored shoes for men and layers of multi-textured fabrics, tighter silhouette, vests and jackets for women.

Sania Maskatiya

Designer Sania Maskatiya showcased the penultimate Luxury/Prêt collection of the evening at PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week 2015. This S/S ’15, Sania Maskatiya took audiences on a fashion journey to ‘Paristan’ – a place of fairytale whimsy at PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week. With a colour palette ranging from the softest shades of daybreak to the deepest hues of nightfall, ‘Paristan’ was a collection of playful, dreamlike prêt ensembles. Featuring luxury fabrics like silk, organza, charmeuse and crepe, the pieces followed the brand’s signature silhouettes, both structured and fluid. Beads and sequins embellished varied hemlines and multiple layering, all set against captivating scenes of mirth and magic. Motifs ranged from the sublime to nonsensical; friendly mice and naughty elves, clocks and teapots, flowering fields and star-filled skies, princesses and ponies.

HSY

Day-4’s finale was presented by acclaimed couturier HSY who showcased a collection titled ‘INK’; a collection inspired by Asia and specifically HSY’s journeys to The Land of the Rising Sun. INK represented the essence of Langkawi, Indonesia, Nagasaki, and Yunnan with natural and indigenous yarns, hand-woven to perfection. The collection featured the traditional dyeing techniques of Shibori from Nagasaki, Batik from Indonesia, and Gara from Sierra Leone infused with mackintosh, saffron, aubergine, eggshell, rosette, indigo and ochre. Created with the scorching sub continental summer in mind, INK channelled versatile hemlines to suit a diversity of younger, older, working men, women and homemakers alike.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane

Paris has traditionally been the city where inter­national designers – from Australia and England to Beirut and Japan – opt to unveil their collections. However, Karen Ruimy, who is behind the Kalmar label, chose the runways of Milan Fashion Week for her debut showcase in September.

The Morocco-born, London- based designer hosted an intimate al fresco event in a private palazzo to launch her holiday line of fine cotton and silk jumpsuits, breezy kaftans, long skirts, playsuits and off-the-shoulder tops in tropical prints.

Ruimy had a career in finance before moving into the arts – she owns a museum of photography in Marrakech – and has become increasingly involved in fashion and beauty, thanks to her personal interest in holistic therapies.

These are clothes, she explains, that marry luxury and wellness, and are the things she would wear when she wants quality time by herself. The fact that they are made in Italy, convinced her that Milan was the right place for her debut – where she showed alongside the likes of Gucci, Prada, Verscae and Marni.

On fashion calendars, Milan has conventionally been the place where the runways confirm the trends and themes hinted at ­earlier, in New York and London. However, this season, the Italian designers did not speak with one voice, making Milan Fashion Week all the more refreshing for it.

Often, there might be an era or style of design that dominates the runways during a particular season, but for spring/summer 2017 in Milan, there was a standout showing of techno sportswear and techno fabrics employed in updated classics such as coats and box-pleat skirts, or with references to north African and Native American themes.

The Italian designers sent looks that would appeal to everyone, from the haute bohemian and athletic woman, to the cool sophisticate and the art crowd, as well as – as in the case of Moschino – to the iPhone generation.

Only three seasons ago, Gucci’s creative director Alessandro Michele was lauded for his complicated maximalist styling. Yet in Milan, Gucci channelled a dreamlike vibe with Victoriana, denim, athletic apparel and oversized accessories, thrown together in delightful chaos, making it difficult to predict the direction Michele is taking Gucci in.

Currently he seems to be in a holding pattern, hovering at once over 1940s Hollywood glamour, 1970s flared pantsuits, and ruffled party dresses from the 1980s, in a cacophony of ­colours and fabrics.

The feeling of joyous madness continued at Dolce & Gabbana, where street dancers emerged from the audience to start the party in the designers’ tropical-themed show. The clothes used some of their familiar tropes, such as military jackets, corseted black-lace dresses miniskirts. New, however, were the baggy tapering trousers redolent of jodhpurs, and the lavish and detailed embellishment the designers used to sell their story.

Wanderlust dominated the moodboards at Roberto Cavalli – rich patterns, embroidery and patchworks inspired by Native Americans – and Etro with its ­tribal themes on kaftans, duster coats and Berber-style capes.

Giorgio Armani, Agnona Tod’s, Bottega Veneta and Salvatore Ferragamo – with its stylish twisted leather dresses and crisp athletic sportswear designed by newcomer Fulvio Rigoni – all answered the call of women who want stylish but undemanding clothes.

Marni would appeal to the art world for its graceful, pioneering ideas. The label’s finely pleated dresses displayed a life of their own, and its micro-printed dresses were gathered, folded and distorted to walk the line between stylish and quirky.

In contrast, the sportswear at MaxMara and Donatella Versace targeted the dynamic generation of athletic women, with sleek leggings, belted jackets, power suits and anoraks. Versace has made it clear that she thinks this is the only way forward. She may be right, but there’s always room for the myriad styles displayed at Milan Fashion Week in all our wardrobes.

It was feathers with everything at Prada. Silk pyjamas, boldly coloured and mixed checks, cardigans and wrap skirts with Velcro fasteners show Miuccia Prada reinventing the classics. Most glamorous was the series of evening dresses and pyjamas with jewelled embroidery and feathers, worn with kitten heels that married sporty straps with heaps of crystals. Prada’s must-have bag of the season is a bold clutch with a long strap fastener, that comes in a multitude of geometric and daisy patterns.

Versace

Over the past three seasons, Donatella Versace has been carving out a new image for her brand – a shift from the luxe glam of red carpets and superyachts, although the inhabitants of that world will be sure to buy into the new Versace vibe. Donatella’s girls are both glamorous and empowered. The sporty look is tough, urban and energetic, judging by the billowing ultra-thin high-tech nylon parkas and blousons, stirrup trousers and dresses (the shapes of which are manipulated by drawstrings). Dresses, skirts and tops are spliced at angles and studded together. Swishy pleated dresses and silky slit skirts gave energy when in movement, and were as soft as the look got.

Bottega Veneta

Model Gigi Hadid and veteran actress Lauren Hutton walked arm in arm down the Bottega Veneta runway, illustrating the breadth of the Italian maison in Tomas Maier’s hands. This was a double celebration of the Bottega’s 50th ­anniversary and Maier’s 15th as its creative director. Menswear and womenswear were combined, and the focus was on easy, elegant clothes in luxurious materials, such as ostrich, crocodile and lamb skin for coats; easy knits and cotton dresses worn with antique-style silver jewellery; and wedge heels. Fifteen handbag styles debuted along with 15 from the archive.

Fendi

Silvia Venturini’s new Kan handbag was a star turn at Milan. The stud-lock bag dotted with candy-coloured studs, rosette embroidery and floral ribbons couldn’t help but charm every woman in the audience. It was the perfect joyful accessory for Karl Lagerfeld’s feminine vintage romp through the wardrobe of Marie Antoinette, with sugary colours, bows, big apron skirts and crisp white embroidery juxtaposed with sporty footballer-stripe tops – effectively updating a historical look.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses

Countless strangers sit or stand in wonder
at tall statues and head-height tombs
of solid, austere men who cannot utter
a word to explain the cathedral’s gloom.
The ostentatious architecture’s croon
from a tattered breeze
dithers through deathless abbeys
where memorialized men lay strewn.

The vacillation of their hearts
remains hidden like it did in life,
their public presence disallowed it then
as carved marble and stone now imparts.
That common unresting inner strife;
what was and what could have been.

I know it well (as well as I can),
that unfinished man Frederic Leighton’s tomb,
his beautifully ebullient Flaming June
brought to mind as I gaze on the grave
breathlessly overwhelmed, trying to understand
how anyone can frown on how artists behave.

That thought-drowned sculptor Henry S. Moore
is situated among the others, beguiled
without grave, a resting statue, “Mother & Child”:
in the smoothed out bends of arching stone,
from troughs between figures down to the floor
I read his face, all it held and could hold alone.

Down the crypt on straight-cut-steps I descend,
pressing on further through candle-lit corridors,
commemorations surround in half-light that offends
receding memories on sandless shores.
Horatio Nelson, John Donne, Sir Flemming, Chris Wren,
each pass till I find a man I’d adore:
Philip Sidney, that grounded man, that defender of art,
consumed in the ensuing century’s heart.

Consumed likewise I stand
gasping, beached upon a strand
of a non-physical contagion;
we’ll suffer it all again.


Three minutes more or less I gaped
until my feet forced my face away
and weaved my soul among the wooden pews.
This hallowed place where the past is draped
is an icicle looped through the fray
of my ambition’s thinning view.

Another adoration there!
That visionary mythology sewer
William Blake, whose piteous glower
for mankind begot his lasting dream.
On his placard chiseled rhyming pairs
beg: take things, not as they seem.

My fingers run the lines of text
slowly, strongly, as if forced by the air.
I fall down a thousand winding stairs
taller than St. Paul’s in my heart.
I compose all my strength to regain context
of cathedral, pull away from Blake, part.

Up the stairs I climb
back to the street.
The rustling, busy fleet
of tourists entwines
about me in my haste
to get outside the tomb,
that time-reversed womb,
of men who didn’t waste
time, place, talent, skill,
but impressed their lives on eternity.
The clock is still,
I’m out in the street –
cathedral shadows
twirling high, then low,
over my body and feet.

What is there, inside that place, is intangible and petrified by reality;
it is trailing smoke from the pipes of sages who spoke,
in broken thoughts, sworn things that cannot be repealed.
It is time unwoven and crocheted again into patchworks of undefinable color.
I must have died a hundred times unaware of it all – out of nothing it called.
It was felt and known, ended and rebuilt accidentally out of the contagion of guilt.
It was a small drag off of nothing.

Khabele is an enemy from the spiritual world
Debacularly rocking peace of people in my village
My Hamlet, or my country, my continent or in my piety,
He starkly hates anything human, especially the family,
His tool box against human family is a composition
Or dark Patchworks of opportunism, ethnicity, poverty,
Fluidly disordered gender, abortion, ****, diseases, war,
Crude religion, divorce, self-pride, shallow thought,
Infertility, love for money, laziness, corruption,
Politicization, public indiscipline, self-idolatry,
Shameless thievery, looting and gambling,

portraiture.
sweet tooth.
rotting away my teeth.
bitter aftertaste.
indulgence. indulge me.
inhale decadence.
exhale toxins.
cleanse deep.
she knows. she knows. he does too.
but he always did.
new to the game.
red lipstick razor blade.
cut you open. let you spill your guts to me.
incorrect patchworks.
inaccurate intricacies.
spillage on highway 505
where we left our beating, ****** hearts.
lit up with gasoline wine.
fast ignition on a mission.

for your neck.
failed wreck.

Does she know the silver chain wrapping
Around her ankle is terminal and deep
As a trans-Atlantic cable connecting the island
And here.

That a single full-breasted pull
On a summer cigarette was
Life altering.
Her body was beach-burned, her hands
Sifted grains of sand
Funnelling beneath her thread-bare towel.

Our silver natal thread contracted
As the blue smoke rose,
Magnifying the August moon.
Three hundred moons have dimmed.

We walked in step from the Village
Through the park with the slack chain
Dragging, scraping on cement.
I have often polished that chain,
Used muriatic acid to untarnish.

We didn't know our brains would
Become onions behind our eyes;
We didn't know towels would become
Patchworks stitched over bones.
I didn't know a chain of being could snap.

.
Teems in the whirling grasses,
Fire in the daisies, littlest suns
Becoming patchworks of stars
Above the hallowed loams of soil,
The black ants shine in the light,
Spiders construct their silk laces,
Line by line as the wind unweaves
In the crepes, even in round dew,
One can see the globe of waters,
Watching itself in minnows' eye,
The insects, fly, iridescent gods
Floating sparkles, burst, buzzing
Wings, the stems of green ferals
Flowers flagging them into grace,
With chalice, tasting cup in blood
Of the petals, to thirst and quench
Ambrosial nectar, freshness, new,
Sweet in the tendril vines embrace,
The songs of colours, lowly birds,
Even higher, sing, above, choirs
Of the knarled and ancient twig
Branches that flame into briars
With leaves of yellow, feathers
So fair, water cresses in pools
Of the meadow and the violets
And buttercups spun, painted
With splattered, arts, confetti
Whirl, world in meadow sun.

Why must I write?
When there's so much better,
Prose, poetry, free styling words,
So much more elaborate,
So beautifully knit together,
While I create patchworks of rhymes, and reason,
This silence would ****,
This inability to express to people,
Because paper patiently listens,
Because this desire-less life feels a little lived when pen meets paper,
But I don't write in ink,
Charcoal let's me rethink,
Who knows what's going to happen next,
And if you did, what would you really do differently?
Can you escape yourself?
Wherever you go, there you are

loves me but it hurts
******* **** ****** sits on my couch//on my feet—
toes gently tucked under his jeaned thigh.s.—
tells me he loves me.

love is not a mistake but mistakes are made up of love.
tiny hearted patchworks attempting *******//
makes a home out of my arms.
tears falling down me him my his face.s.
stretches me open like bubble gum /little princess/brat/toy.
fantasies in our heads. little secrets. sweet taste from his lips.

opens up my mouth. stretches it wide. pushes his fingers through. as if the inside of my gums held the secrets he has been trying to reach in my head. pushes them far back. almost gag. mine mine be mine be mine mine mine be mine. i hear it. he keeps quiet but i hear it. silent pleas.

wild. sweet daddy darling. wild. i am wild. i belong to no one.
**** me/take me/own me for a little while. fulfill those needs. sate yourself and me.
i am no product to be placed on a shelf.

whispers it in my ear in between faces staring.
hearing it makes it more real. analysis. how many fingers was that? how did your tongue do that? can you do it again? can i try?

why.?. do you love me. why.?.

this will be better for you i will not call text contact you
no
why are you crying
no i don’t want this stay
you don’t love me just the idea
no
of me
no stay please i need you you make me happier than i have been in so long
this is *******
i know
this is *******
i know

.
Teems in the whirling grasses,
Fire in the daisies, littlest suns
Becoming patchworks of stars
Above the hallowed loams of soil,
The black ants shine in the light,
Spiders construct their silk laces,
Line by line as the wind unweaves
In the crepes, even in round dew,
One can see the globe of waters,
Watching itself in minnows' eye,
The insects, fly, iridescent gods
Floating sparkles, burst, buzzing
Wings, the stems of green ferals
Flowers flagging them into grace,
With chalice, tasting cup in blood
Of the petals, to thirst and quench
Ambrosial nectar, freshness, new,
Sweet in the tendril vines embrace,
The songs of colours, lowly birds,
Even higher, sing, above, choirs
Of the knarled and ancient twig
Branches that flame into briars
With leaves of yellow, feathers
So fair, water cresses in pools
Of the meadow and the violets
And buttercups spun, painted
With splattered, arts, confetti
Whirl, world in meadow sun.

it starts with the masses.
heaped upon one another in grey, wet bodies
and from the amalgamate of ruined life
rise the silver, brilliant winged
filthy sog and bones sludging off
their unmatched, magnificent light

like shooting stars they ascend
to the enormous white clouds
garnered with the span of their great feathers
wearing masks of divine neutrality

and we

in the masses

stare so longingly at those divine heavens

some of us with patchworks of feather and bones- hopeless things we can barely call wings-
tattered and ripped but still determined, like the writhing of a starved beggar-
flatter unsteadily up
groping desperately at the clouds
with bony, aching fingers
only to meet
solemn and unforgiving
stone

and pushed
back,
tossed

back

into the masses


and like comets, they
rain down

                                          the fall of the inadequate




crashing into the hideously wet festering:
into the decay of the mundane and ordinary


and thus the procession commences
great silver wings nailed with dignified
steel stakes
graceful hands and feet
mangled unforgivingly with hammer and iron

we, the inadequate and mundane and ordinary
we wail, we scream we cry
for the destiny of divinity
in anguish and desperation, our cacophonic chorus
becomes
the great symphony
of the decaying and dying
bathed grotesquely in the light of the holy
we continue to beg and shout and call

the opera of roaring voices:


                                     the crucifixion of the prodigy



as we continue to decay
the weathering, spreading
and becoming, morphing into something no longer
recognizable


slowly we die off
each of us, clawing and howling to our very last moments
in succumbing to mortality
the symphony, melting in its desperate, rabid energy
until the echo of the last
haunted cry-

silences


hence closes

the fall of the inadequate

the crucifixion of the prodigy

and


                           the decay of the mundane and ordinary

the leaves dip
and sway,
caught in the
breezes of
a rainy
day,

little shadows
light like stars
the sudden rain
falls and the
leaves shiver
on their stems
patchworks
of silky greens
infinity of edge
on a high, high ledge,

echoes of a storm
in the violet light
shadowy branch
droplets tumbling
as if a rain drop
touched the
golds of the
winding wind.

.
Teems in the whirling grasses,
Fire in the daisies, littlest suns
Becoming patchworks of stars
Above the hallowed loams of soil,
The black ants shine in the light,
Spiders construct their silk laces,
Line by line as the wind unweaves
In the crepes, even in round dew,
One can see the globe of waters,
Watching itself in minnows' eye,
The insects, fly, iridescent gods
Floating sparkles, burst, buzzing
Wings, the stems of green ferals
Flowers flagging them into grace,
With chalice, tasting cup in blood
Of the petals, to thirst and quench
Ambrosial nectar, freshness, new,
Sweet in the tendril vines embrace,
The songs of colours, lowly birds,
Even higher, sing, above, choirs
Of the gnarled and ancient twig
Branches that flame into briars
With leaves of yellow, feathers
So fair, water cresses in pools
Of the meadow and the violets
And buttercups spun, painted
With splattered, arts, confetti
Whirl, world in meadow sun.

I can fly.

I do it every night.

First, I close my eyes.

Then I spread my arms, hold my breath

and I try not to think about the thousand butterflies

that start to flutter in my belly.

And slowly

I levitate.

My feet leave the ground.

And

I break free.

I slowly open my eyes

and see

everything.

The patchworks in al shades of green,

the streets that run through the roaring fields like veins,

it's like a painting only I can ever see.

And as I soar above this little town,

I realise that

for the first time

I'm free.

And there's nothing

you can do

to take me down.

I flit to infinity.

So catch me if you can.

l.t.

What have we done today?
Have you loved,
have you grow tall,
have you follow that trail of stars,
take everything,
give something.

I'm afraid that we've done the same,
it all looks the same,
at times I only stare at other people
while they stare back.
We are patchworks,
we are the lovers that could not be
and it's alright.

It's alright to be that, the sea.

It's alright to be
the rubble, the dust.
The dark moon under the eyes
because we walked alone back home,
because again we weren't able to read
between the lines of our silence
and love still remains unknown.
It's alright. It's also beautiful,
to be the turned-off firefly.

There is this innocence we have as children.
This fundamental right
to believe in a world where anything is possible.
That our daddy's can scare away any boogeyman,
Hiding under our beds or in our closets.
That the world is full of possibilities,
and there is endless time
covered in romantic notions.
But as adults we are no longer fundamentally innocent.
We are patchworks.
Taped in some spots that come lose all the time.
And sewn together in other spots,
That don't come undone all so often.
But we are broken and glued back together,
more often then even we are willing to admit to ourselves.
We harbor resentment and bias,
creating our own worlds in which the boogeyman
is everyone.
and not a soul can save us from him.
The part of us that was so eager,
The part of us that believed in a world of endless possibility
Withers and rots.
Leaving just the acidic taste of lack luster life.
Endless, monotonous daily tasks.
Craving the days when the world didn't feel like
The inside of stove with the pilot burning but out.
We are no longer the innocent.
We are the patchwork creation of a life,
That hasn't always been forgiving.
We are what our children think can save them from anything.
We are the boogeyman killer
The demon vanquisher.
Patchwork and all we may not be innocent,
But we are strong.

The grain was like ocean waves of green,
as far as the eye could see, in motion,
the wind crawled invisibly amongst the stems,
shaking each one and testing its worth.

The fifties model tractor, blazing red,
trudged along, working a private patch,
in the backyard of an old ramshackle house,
patchworks of colored siding holding it together.

The white hair of the old man driving,
was tested by the wind as well,
red and white bandana tied about his neck,
flapping, along with the straps of his faded overalls.

As I walked the fence row, such as it was,
more rust and rot than metal and wood,
I waved to the man and the whitest smile
and the return of the wave came back to me.