Hmmm

“By late afternoon the light that washed over the garden turned it into
a lake of gold, with islands of shadow; the blown lilies, the long
tendrils of roses and the anemious grasses streamed like plants that
grow in water.”

Edith Pope; River in the Wind; Scribner; 1954.

Ah

One of the most beautiful photographs I have ever seen:

Must Read…

Read Rebecca Traister’s post on Salon.com here, this how I felt when ‘Friends’ ended, sigh!

Moi

I am of the many cities I’ve traveled

of the Earth I’ve stepped, the gravel beneath

the little butterfly that left a yellow smear on my finger

the echoes and the music

the many nights of dreamless sleep

hours of looking up dictionaries so people believed I knew

I am of the sweat that rolled off my brow

late nights, swaying colours and desperate measures

the failed attempts at several jobs

the few successes, many worlds, constructs

I am of a quiet solitude, a deep sense of remorse

an odd spark of gurgling bubbling joy

I am of the books I have struggled to read

the words I never learnt to spell

I am of cold nights, whispered condolences

terrifying nightmares and flights of fancy

of long hours of debate, an insight or two

of struggles I can only call my own

of money that I have always overspent

choice and graciousness of many a hue

of a huge crowd and a fistful of friends

from epithets and epitaphs

from smoke and spirit

I am from her and him and them

from her too, though she was never my friend

from barely being able to walk to treks

from a late starter to a voracious reader

from a D grader to an A+

from love and loss, being and being and being and being some more…

I am from a pinch of salt, a struggling mind

from a slippery surface and a crumbling foothold

from magenta leaves, curvy ringlets and bended knees

I am from there and not from here

I am from where I hope to rise to,

Worth more than three smooth pebbles and a crumpled tin can.

Hibernating…

Fourteenth is my day of liberation…well at least partially. Its a deadline, once gone there’s nothing I can do to bring it back. I shall be on a brief hiatus till then. In the meantime check out George Bush as a Jedi here, and on a more sombre note the new post on blogging manners at Marketing Slave.

Would have been…

• On a private cruise, all alone with stars for company
• Curled up on a bed with a warm mug of drinking chocolate
• Getting ready to announce the next miracle to the world
• Singing in the rain, barefoot in a village after months of scorching sunshine
• In a limo sipping a glass of blood red wine
• Part of a high speed car chase minus the guns
• Happily beautiful and brainless
• A Martian scheming on how to take-over planet Earth or demolish it for the next cyber-pass

Sigh!

Jesus Among the Neocons

            Had Jesus, the Shepherd of  sheperds,

            been a bodily traveler among us

            today, he might not have been able

            to ride any plane, or cruiser,  or bus

            into the United States,

            or to conquer any of its many hates.

            What with his Asiatic visage

            and sable skin,

            compounded by his Bin Laden beard,

            he would have had to dare

            more than the fates.

            Supposing he had entered the place,

            aided by some technical subterfuge,

            would he have recognized the New World

            as love’s haven, or christian refuge?

            The born-again, beefy giant

            at the check-point tray

            might have slapped the cuffs

            on him even as he made his pliant

            in unintelligible Aramaic huffs;

            and no sooner than you think

            he might have landed in Guantanamo Bay.

            Once  secured there, O Jesus,

            answer me this:

            would you have pleaded anew

            ‘father, forgive them; 

            they know not what they do?’

            Or, would you, more realistically,

            (as Luke has you say) express

            your wrench and anguish thus:

            ‘father, why hast thou forsaken me’

            in a glittering, golden wilderness

            from whence the reigning evil one

            decrees to demonise Creation

            with dirty uranium and white phosphorus?

___________________________________________

Easter thoughts in a lovely poem, forwarded to me by e-mail.

Time

I need a little time,

to take a breath,

to talk to me and to listen to you,

I need a little time,

to laugh and to cry,

to sleep, eat and live the regular everyday,

but time is the one thing that I never seem to have.