Exiled to dusk,
Fractions of the sun
Begin to lift away,
In concealment
We shudder,
Casting our reels
Into a pond of uncertainty,
Clock hands bend
With advancing shadow,
And speak of time
Only in past tense.

I so want everything
I ever felt for you
Preserved for posterity,
Even should forever
Be far less than
We imagined.

The sweetest fragrance
What is it
Where is it
It is nothing
But the divine love
It is within us

This perfume of heavenly affection
Brings us closer every moment
The sensory aroma
Dwells in our beautiful hearts
Once we feel it with immense devotion
Surely we will find it with the speed of light

Night is still young...
Calling us to take a stroll in fields...
Showered by drizzling rain...
And warmth of moon light...
Ànd the song of lonely crickets...
Breeze carrying the earthy smell...
Making us to stay there...
Wishing the time will stop for us...
Just to embrace it again...
With you holding my hands...
Our souls finding each other...
With the rhythm of our hearts...
Without any words...
Without any gesture...
The oneness we felt...
Only when you kissed my tears away...
I realised that I was crying...
Making me smile again...

-- Jonna Adam

Brace indefinitely one another
Our bond is made in heaven thereunder
Not just anyone except each other
The day seems shorter
The night seems forever
But if we have each other
Nothing should matter

Is it sinful to be a man of colour
To have colour is beautiful
To be plain is unique
But,
I can't breathe
Just like Floyd
We're choking
              Black or white
we are human
Black is beauty

A stew

That just about describes our human zoo

We are all mixed up and bubbling in the ***

Don't much matter if you like it or not

No never minds, what if's or what ever

Everyone eats if we all swim together

So bring up your bowl, eat as much as you wish

A lot of different vegetables will make a better dish!

The balm of sun and charcoal smoke
instantly evoke lost togetherness
from the very first time in the eighties
when beguiled by a well fired banger
and Russ Abbot opined a party

Hold fast to the Proustian rush
as soon enough the dim seasons will return
and the muted, sterile days withhold
all but a sense of cold and pause,
so revel in the glut and sing