Nostalgia

Did you know you could miss a room?

A desk, a chair, 

A bookshelf,

All things move, you carry on,

Marching forever onward,

Always forward,

Don’t look back,

Life whispers in your ear,

But once in a while, 

For no reason in particular,

Maybe, you used to have,

A pen stand, which looked just like that,

All at once, you find yourself,

In the bittersweet nostalgia,

Of old lost things,

As your face grows wet,

Perhaps your heart too.

Everyone disappoints

Everyone disappoints you sometime 

You learn to move on 

Sometimes you’re loved too much

Then at times it’s just not enough

Everyone disappoints you sometime

Sometimes you’re up against a wall

Only to realise that the wall

Was the only thing holding you up 

Then the cracks and the falling over

Hitting rock bottom

And still falling further

Everyone disappoints you sometime 

Sometimes in unbridled joy

Ecstasy in a moment 

Carries you to the edge of climax

Still turns to hurt in an instant 

Everyone disappoints you sometime

Sometimes a friendship in fire born

When two minds speak as one

Or in contrast provide balance to love

But scales can tip turning love to hate

Everyone disappoints you sometime 

Then again I’m not perfect

No expectations but my own

Over extending self 

This hunger to have it all

I disappoint me sometimes

Memory of a smile

A light that shines a little brighter

A song that stays in your brain

A touch that lingers even in solitude

And a memory of a smile

A little bit of you in me

A little in my child

A little bit of me for you

And a memory of a smile

Years fly past, but hours move slow

And sleep was long lost my friend

Tiny fragments of joy and grief

And a memory of a smile

Tied through chromosomes 

Through blood and guts

Taken for granted for sure

But there it is again 

The memory of a smile

Heart and soul and DNA

Not enough but will have to do

Holding onto to old pictures and stories 

And yes, the memory of the smile too 

A world on fire

The worlds on fire but

I’m still in line

Waiting for the traffic light

For the freedom to move

Children die everyday

Ripped from their mothers or

Hungry and naked

Sometimes even just because

I’m still waiting 

On that traffic light

The clock ticks slowly

But a decade flew by

There’s already a new war 

On the horizon

Old graves forgotten

But hey I’m still waiting

For the sign to turn

There’s only money to this madness

Method be damned

No nation can be Great

Without sacrificing a few pawns

The light’s amber now

Blinking in my eyes

I’m still waiting 

For the green in my life

What price freedom

And is freedom really free

Or just another slogan

To keep me focused on green

Lights change and we move forward

Lights change and we move backward

Never knowing whether a decision

Is truly ours, or what we’re told

The world’s on fire but

Hey, the lights green now

Time to get my coffee

Be a good cog in the machine now

Sight

I see you

In the corner, sipping your coffee

I see your knowledge

Maybe I’m the only one

The only other in this godforsaken cafe

Recognising the world going up in flames

People just going about their day

With their iced tea or chai latte

Coffee and the drug of poverty 

Desperation is the handicap of the hour

The powers that be playing in your head

Telling you what to think, Instead

Of letting rationality survive

How will the world work

If there were, God forbid, Equality (gasp)

It’s such a wonderful mass psychosis

Who me... well I never... no I’m not racist

This delusion that we’ve all surrendered to

That we believe we’re all equal

But some men of course are more equal than others

Worshipping, admiring, objectifying

Desiring 

A contradiction of self is a human

And we try to define it in a tiny little box

Always forgetting where we came from

Ugliness is in our essence

A drive to dominate and establish our presence

To be the One, the Alpha, the Omega

And when humanity failed we created the Other

The One, or the Many

And called them Creator

We said we were “created” in their image

Or that “They” are part of us

Self serving, petty and egotistical are we 

Oh but better than us is He

So yes, maybe I am the only one

No different from anyone else

Maybe even a bit worse

Seeing the delusion

And buying into it anyway

To be accepted into this cesspool of trauma

But I see you

Across the cafe

And I think

You see me too

Buying In

Do you buy in?
Or do you question?
Do you lose yourself sometimes
In the restless musings of your dreamer mind
In the dissatisfaction of your current life
Or are you content ?
With the way of the world
With the seemingly pointless existence

Do you buy in to your higher purpose
Or the bribe of your afterlife
Do you believe like so many of us
That the body is fleeting
And that the soul rejuvenates

Isn’t it the same?
As wanting more than this construct
To wonder if this life is the experiment
And that all of us are learning
Breaking the cycle, one life at a time
Embracing the madness, the ebb and flow of life

Who are the masters then,
Who cracks the whip and makes us go on
If our memories be ourselves
Then who holds us prisoner
At the interruption of the cycle
Who becomes the teacher
Is that who is God or the Devil?
Who sits in judgement of our life
Do you buy in ?
Or do you question?

Death is nothing at all - Henry Scott Holland

Death is nothing at all, I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I,and you are you;
whatever we were to each other, that, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way which you
always used,
put no difference in your tone, wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we shared together.
Let my name ever be the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?

I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just
around the corner.

All is well.
-Henry Scott Holland

The Doodlebug

The Doodlebug has doodle hands,
Doodle feet and does a Doodle dance,
Doodle doodle goes the Doodlebug,
On the walls and on the rug,
The Doodlebug doodles for all,
For everyone, big or small,
The Doodlebug is a part of you,
A part of me and the neighbor too,
She wiggles and waggles,
And jiggles all over,
She doodles and dawdles,
And dances moreover,
She just wants to remind you,
And me, for that matter,
That doodles and drawbooks,
Should never dust gather,
So pick up those pencils,
Or crayons or pens,
And let’s all go back,
To doodling again!

Talk me down

Talk me down

From the ledge, the edge of existence

About to jump, just talk me down 

From this craziness in my brain, 

This infinite insanity, just wont let go of me

Surround me with arms and eyes 

Tell me you’ll watch over me

Soul sister, soul mate, friend, father, 

Mother maybe, just a sole connection

That could be just all I need to fill

This emptiness within,

This walking talking shell I’ve become 

Never had any control

Or maybe I did and I just didn’t know

That I could say no, 

To the voices screaming in my head

Telling me I’m not perfect, that I must be

Just the way I’m expected to be

Strong yet soft, thoughtful yet bold

A goddess and a whore

A beacon of joy and yet serene

Sometimes not heard just seen

What does it even mean?

Just that I’m not enough maybe

And that this was always where 

I would end up,

This ledge, the edge of my existence

In your own head

Sometimes you need to have hope

Hope in the midst of the prison

You put yourself in

It’s all that’s keeping you afloat

In the sea of your own despair

Drowning, drowning, always drowning

Grasping for air

And for a hand, a branch, 

Even a leaf that’ll hold you there,

Keep you from being pulled away

By the strength of these currents 

But they are of your own making

These voices in your head

These raging rapids of failure of self doubt

The years of telling yourself you’re not good enough

Your size, your height, your colour, your race 

Hell, even just the lines on your face

They say it’s just not good enough

When will it stop? 

Mirror mirror on the wall

Who really is the sanest of all

Is there even such a thing as sanity

Or is it just pride masquerading as vanity

Is it just me up here in my head

But then who am I when I’m writing in bed

Alone at night when the world is asleep

Pseudo intellectual and I try to dig deep

This is all I have, all of myself

Not good enough, maybe but then again

Just this once something takes root

And I tell myself I’ll try this one too 

Busy

Morning dawns and I’m on my feet again

A zombie walking down Main Street again

A robot, a machine riding in the car

On the bike, in the bus, in the train again

Morning comes, as it does every day

I blinked, 

Tomorrow was yesterday 

A heated discussion, a strong  presentation

Oh, what a well executed negotiation

Stuck in a rut of improvement and appreciation

Of buzzwords and jargon, and self motivation

Night falls, it always ends the same way

I blinked, 

Congrats! It’s 3 years today

Hindsight is 20/20, they always say

I always wondered 

Who exactly are “they”

And where is their checklist 

That I am doomed to follow

Their grand plan, grand design if you may

Go tell “them” to stop pencilling me in

I blinked, again and again 

I don’t want this anymore

This endless maze 

Of reward and rebuke

This pointless chase

Maybe it’s not all it’s cracked up to be

Or maybe I’m just longing for the fantasy

The dream they sold us, the story they told me,

“The race is the goal, don’t you see?

It’s safety and stability, a worker’s guarantee”

Is this what we’re all meant for, a life full of 

“I’m busy”

As you do

Staring in the mirror, 

I try to see what you do,

You, who holds me up,

Pushes me forward,

Builds me back up,

When I am broken,

You, who sees the magic in my life,

The light, the art and the beauty,

You, who believes I am worthy.

I’ve lost myself in the abyss,

So many times,

And crawled out alone,

Scratched and torn,

Wounded, from old scars,

That are just waiting to split back open,

They never did heal, 

Maybe they never will.

But, they scab over with you,

Skin stitches together

Not healed, no,

Just patched over,

To stem the relentless bleeding of my unforgiveness.

The slow dying of a soul.

The slow fading of a fire.

It feels easier this way.

I may never see it,

But, perhaps on a good day,

The sun may shine on me too,

And I will finally see me,

As you do.