29 January, 2011


I see worry
darken your beautiful warm face
little lines of anxiousness
crease your smile
you're saying the right words
but your eyes plead me to walk away.

Leave me to my solitude, 
let me walk with my shadow.

I watch your hands
nervously wringing each other
They stop themselves
from reaching out.
You look at me look at you
The mirror to your torment. 

Let us walk alone awhile,
Stay close enough to call out to. 

26 January, 2011

And slowly, 
As we tread this loop of memories
We fall between the lines
Hope and Happen.

20 January, 2011

Taking the RISC

The Reading International Solidarity Centre (RISC) is a terrific treat for the senses. It has a delightful bookstore with books from around the world. The shop is a cluttered space of colourful trinkets, bright scarves, organic food products and other very stimulating bric a brac (like the beautiful wooden dragonfly that balances on the tip of his nose or the quirky postcards with a conscience). It has fascinating historical connections with stones of the bar tracing origins to the Reading Abbey and associations with the famous Quaker, William Penn, founder of Pennsylvania! To add to this perfection, RISC also houses the Global World Cafe which is a quaint place with large-melting-over-themselves-droopy-faced-candles and wonderful Ethiopian food. It hosts live music shows from Dub to Indie and Folk, has documentary screenings, has an award winning terrace garden and generally is as good a place as it sounds. 

Why am I telling you all this? A few months back, RISC exposed me to some powerful documentaries which made me write this. That's why. And because they have restored my faith in the strength of collective action.

04 January, 2011

On A Day Like Today or Question 23

Have you met me in one of those moods? Where I am a song without music? Acappella, so perfectly lyrical.  I'm a sunbeam on a holiday, with the wind for feet. On those days, if you join me, I'll dance to your heart beats and erase all that writing between the lines. I'll walk in circles and wonder why butterfly wings turn to powder. I will stand and stare, fiddling with a piece of paper. I'll be the face in the bus that waves out to you. I'll prance around the corners of our minds and shrug and carry on to nowhere. I'll slip into oblivion and burst forth in a rainbow. I'll jump across moments into a symphony of clutter. I'll bloom with a flower and tattoo the moonlight on my back. I'll shriek in surprise at nothing in particular and then collapse into a bunch of details. I'll  have a portrait painted and gift it away. I'll shuffle the leaves and eat off my fingers. And when the day is over, I'll slip into a sigh, pregnant with promise.

02 January, 2011

Grains of Sand

Drenched in a dream
Into a pale dawn
I writhe.

Drowning in a memory
Out to Time
I whisper.  

Counting my wishes
Down the hourglass
I fall.

Exalting in my hopes
Another very long mile
I walk.


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