Let me leave something beautiful in the worldone good poem, one good heart, one merry moment of dance and songone kind word to the underdogone good kiss to elderly hands, one sweet smile for a loving petseeds to the morning pigeons and doves and a sigh of gratitude for June morningsLet me leave something rebellious… Continue reading Leaving
Month: July 2025
Winter
Until lessons learnt, and nails walked on Until barefoot, skin shed, worn and torn,
Fistful of Words
Slipping like sand through my fingers, are a fistful of words
The Writer
One word. No sound. "More".
Fear- spoken word
a floor of eggshells, a cloud in the air
On Gérome’s Art
Truth, thou art draped in false raimentsgagged and pushed down the deep wellTruth, thou art abused by many claimantsYet who owns thee? Ah, none can tell!Truth, thine rage is as the swell of seasthat in thine bosom doth rise and leadthee out the darkness, naked light to reveal...and strip bare all... that seek to clothe… Continue reading On Gérome’s Art
Picnic
The local keepers chatted with the parrots to indulge us, but the smart birds weren’t playing. At best, we only caught a few words from one brave/silly enough to go against its mates- encouraged, I’m sure, by my glee and excitement.
Saved for a rainy day
No. One must be careful. Choose wisely. As though choosing what vial of medicine to administer to the weary, no, the dying. Each sentence that rolls through the tongue in the quiet, stormy, candle-lit room, a crafty portent- whispered to the winds of fate. And no going back after turning the page.
My Beautiful India
She's the jewel of the East adorning the golden necks of Gods and Goddesses. A sculpture, she, to marvel at- a complete temple in herself! She's the flavour of the earth, sent in ancient carts of heaven laden with salts and spices-
Move to the music, por favor
She moves despite herself to Cuban-smoked soul perhaps in an old life someone played her th' saxophone in vintage balmy nights 'neath sultry sepia moons How else'd the spirit respond to tongues unknown, from lands just so Perhaps she once walked on jazz enlivened Spanish shores Soft strums, softer drums voices with stories of their… Continue reading Move to the music, por favor
Ishaisms 
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