my gaze on rose trees
as the buds burst with colours
scissors hesitate.
26/2/2024

The simple act
of throwing cups of cold water
hurriedly, several times
over the head and shoulders,
when taking a bucket shower,
is nothing I look forward to
in the morning.

An equally boring activity
is the simple act
of shoveling forkfuls of food
almost mechanically
into the mouth
with stainless steel fingers.

But the simple act
of gazing into your eyes -
across the small circular island
holding the steam-spewing thermos,
and the yellow and white eggs
silently sizzling beside freshly baked bread,

at that time in the morning
when the birds have just started
the second round of greetings -
is pure happiness

Sometimes all we have to do
all there is to do
is to hold on to the ledge,
tightly, until straining veins
at the back of our hands
grow like roots seeking water,
until sore fingers silently pray
under the weight of our predicament
as we wait for the storm

and when it starts, some days
it can be as bearable
as accidentally slamming the door
on a finger, heart pounding wildly,
calling out in suffocation,
deep within the confines of soft tissues

other days, it seems to take a deep breath
pulling back heavily on the whip
before striking with barbed malice,
trying to pry open
the hinges holding our inner beings.

At one point, the winds of time
will slowly blow the dark clouds south
bringing oxygen, nutrients and hope
and we can let go of that ledge
turn around with a fortified soul
and step into the sunshine.

As witches chant and cigarettes burn
I wait, patient, for my turn
I do not want what I have got,
But I sure do have a lot
Witches chant and have their fun
As I bake below the pressing sun

Pebbles and dirt,
Worms and sprouts
I open my mouth
And nothing comes out

While witches pant I've come to learn
That I will die before my turn
Nothing's promised except for stones,
Twisted sticks, and dusted bones
Now witches rest, while I ignite
The wasted pages of my life

Cinders and earth,
Ashes and teeth
It sometimes is better
To simply not speak

Witches gather their things to leave
And now I'm sure I'll become these leaves
What gets said between oak and fern?
If woods could talk would I ever learn?
The witches have gone, tho I have not
What's left of me now, just flesh to rot

So hard to stand
So soft, this seat
I can feel the forest upon me

Eat!

About people leads to gossip,
Curiosity about ideas will light the path to creativity,
And progress.
25/2/2024

Your superior.
And I,
Inferior.

A hurdle in your way,
An object on display.

A possession for your pride.
And I,
Wish to hide.

For your loving kindness
Was my demise.

Oh, father.
That little girl,
You met in September.

You left.

Remember?

Without a trace,
Nor a track.
Left mother nothing but a heart attack.

But, father,
Dare I ask?

Is there a chance
You will ever come back?

is anyone reading my words
Or am I invisible
and just someone

lostintheunknown

send
help
before
I
die

Idontwannadoth­isanymore

Please
I
Beg