September 28, 2013 § 8 Comments

The book
was full of song
and sorrow
belonging to words
belonging to you

and today.

I could speak more
of today
and the moments of promise
that peer at me
before scurrying by
in song
and sorrow,
but they slip
and shy away,
afraid to compete with
the song and sorrow
of the words
yousqueezedonthecornerofapage –
July 2013

April 25, 2012 § 14 Comments

Clouds appear the colour of the heavens as they swirl around us, sending scattered showers of comfort.

A midsummer storm duly approaches to smother us in its intoxicating display of light and sound and ensure we look past the worrisome heat that glared down at us mere hours before. The dense darkness that swallowed the night keeps my window open for the sudden lightening to sneak in and delight upon a hot mug of tea and plate of pakodas. We laugh in relief and awe that the wishful sound of our turning of the rain-maker was heard by the gods.

April 14, 2012 § 11 Comments

 

I think her discomfort and pain have made up her mind and mine. I don’t think I’ll ever be strong enough to relive something like this again. Guilt is inevitable sometimes; I feel like I achieved something the cancer was merely in the process of doing.

I feel empty. The house feels so different without her, as do my mind and heart.

A year has passed, more than I imagined has happened, and yet I’m not used to missing her, her morning kisses and weekend barks.

January 22, 2012 § Leave a comment

Tea cups clutter the walls of their homes as they labour in the fields on end. The history of a land is difficult to forget, but when each meal is a blessing, the present and the rumble of a frustrated mind and stomach are as far reaching as the cries of a neglected child.

November 22, 2011 § 3 Comments

I searched,
a search that was my own.
I looked into my core,
and there within,
found your spirit.

Perplexed and rattled,
violated and prehended;
I wanted to cry out,
but knew only you
would hear me.

March 10, 2011 § 3 Comments

I haven’t been here in what may soon be two years.

The warmth of this rock does nothing but embrace me like an old friend. Its presence has always been of great comfort; its glory, a wondrous vantage point. It’s a mystery how some things become and some things don’t; I’m gladdened by its becoming.

There was once a time when I feared forgetting. I believed my only means of understanding myself, was understanding my own journey. I still wish to remember these things, but I also wish to remember that they are not who I am, so I must not fear losing them.

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