Archive for September, 2018


baobab tree – art from google




talkin’ walkin’ with a friend unblues …



we shall walk this earth, along the rolling African plains, we shall dance with glee, in the cool gentle rains,


we shall wade through the wetlands, we shall sing in the streams, we shall live life as it should be lived, as we have lived it in our shared dreams,


we shall travel to far flung places filled with flavours spicy, and to ancient cities filled with wonder, we shall wear out our walking shoes, as through the miles we continue to wander,


we shall walk side by side, our journey taking us to places and to people unknown, we shall break bread with all, singing songs of different cultures, woefully out of rhythm and tone,


we shall walk hand in hand, two friends roaming so many a diverse land, feeling the powdery talcum sand under our feet, on so many a distant island,


we shall talk as we walk, of hopes and of fears, of broken souls whole again, of eyes no longer moist with tears,


we shall soak in the warmth of human contact, of languages seas apart, we shall learn to speak many tongues, bidding adieu to friends made along the way, for the memories within us will always stay,


so let us walk along these paths ahead, leaving it all behind, our tortured past to finally be shed, making the soft grasses our nightly bed,


sharing with all peoples of all races, all religions, all man-made divisions,


that the colour of the blood that pumps through all our veins,


is red.



a baobab tree – from google

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from google



sidestepping shards of splintered glass, beyond the haze of billowing grass,


yesterday came, as today left, leaving me empty within, bereft,


so take my hand and walk with me awhile, beyond the tears, smuggling in a faint smile,


who knows the paths we’ll weave, as time trickles through its merciless sieve,


so take my hand and we’ll walk awhile,


a few steps today, and who knows,


tomorrow may be many a mile …



from google

The Immigrants Void – Sculpture by Bruno Catalano

http://brunocatalano.com/sculpture-bronze2/sculpture-en-bronze-bruno-catalano.php?galerie=1




migrant feet.




bleeding feet.

bare,
alien,
calloused feet,

that bleed,

trudging,
scraping souls,

seeking paths that lead,

somewhere,

anywhere from here,
from the horror of the now,

wiping bloody sweaty tears,
of grandmothers’ brow,

seeking refuge, sanctuary,

from bullets,

from epithets that wound,
that slay,

from men, always men,

puffed-up, inflated,
stuffed with raw venomous hate,

to be flotsam and jetsam,
adrift on the seas,

crammed into boxes,
clutching onto every choked breath,

seeking another fate,

not an asphyxiated blueish death,

tossed, seasick,
wracked and pained,

inside,
cattle-cars, slave-ships,

modernised mechanised terror,

the horror of self-righteous zeal,

nations, cultures,
tribes, traditions,
creed,

stoking the flames,
sectarian, communal,

the fuel on which bigotry must feed …


tiny feet, old and cracked,
all kinds of blistered twisted feet,

a death march along the treelined street,

seeking only alleyways of peace,

and,
perhaps,
perhaps, a bite to eat,

as gleaming chariots roll on by,

and if you’re thinking you’re safe,

if you’re thinking it isn’t us, its them,

him, her, they, those people,

for now,

think again,
and think how,

“… first they came for the communists … ” *



      
           _____________

* Pastor Martin Niemoller

http://tinyurl.com/oo45esm

from google

Hope always!

from google


deciphering silence …


you and i,

shielded by silence.


barred from ourselves at times.



exiled hearts,

building ramparts.



a wall that may fall.



so, my friend,

lay your head on my chest,


letting my fingers run through your hair,



lulling you gently to rest, as we share our silences,



for life is far too short anyway,


to squander even a day.



from google

the palette of colours

from google




the palette of colours …




earthy dust awash with rustic tinged passion,


vibrant hues of emotions sketched,


aflame with jasmine scented swirls,


each dawn breathing life,


as sublime flowers their petals unfurl.




our lips, tracing feelings


deeply etched,


coursing through autumn browns,


winter charcoals,


infusing each breath with smiles that banish doleful frowns.




teasing out love from nature’s palette of colours divine,


entwined by a bond felt deep, in your soul and mine.




a riotous desire imbibed not by neatly manicured gardens of blazing reds,


but far, far away from human eyes,


in places untamed,


in the forests of wild, pristine, untouched flower beds,


soothing the mind,


yawning across crystal streams,


in colours of exultant life,


painted in the palette of dreams …





from google

a wish for you

from google




a wish for you …



May your smile never fade,

may you always be as you are now,


warm and kind,


true and filled with the generosity of spirit that defines you,


may your dreams soar into the boundless open skies,


and may the benevolent fingertips of time and of fate,


brush away any tears that should fall from your gentlest eyes.





May you forever stand tall,

may your head always be held high,


with stoic dignity.


May your past experiences be the stepping-stones that mark your path ahead,


may your heart be your guide,


your blazing beacon of wildly enthusiastic hope,


may your wishes be simple,

and may they come to be,


filling your life and your moments,


with joyous bliss,


where you truly feel free.





Free of the weight of yesterday,

free of gnawing doubt,


and may your being be infused,

with the softest serendipity,


so that you may spread your arms,


and to the heavens shout,


I am free,


I am me,


at long last,

I am standing tall,

never again to bow,

or to fall on bended knee.





This is a wish both simple yet elusive,


a wish that only you can make true,


by simply being,


the kind,

warm,


gentle person,

that is you …




from google

i am he

from google




i am he …




he continues walking down the empty boulevards, the soft petals beneath his shambling feet, his head down, feeling the earth crunch and the flotsam scatter, as he reminisces of yesterdays bygone, and tomorrows yet to dawn. he speaks to no one, just the obligatory shake of the head in acknowledgement at another soul traipsing down the same cobblewebbed slippery slope, braving the sudden winds that lash his frigid hands as he turns up the collar of his coat, feelings swell and peak, the music of the banal soothing him somewhat.


he lets his mind wander too, mourning crushed flowers strewn like blood on the soft earth, and fears the onset of the years, slower and dimmer, yet racing past at breakneck speed, heading for a heavens knows where, but just content, content to be in motion, walking, walking down the rusty dusty alleyways of this life …




from google

from google



common fountain …


in a world tugging,

pulling, drawing and quartering,


each soul apart,


and as mercy, humanity, love,


effortlessly, and resistance-free,


depart,


embracing ignorance, hugging credulous unreason,


fracturing human bones,

cartilage, tendons ripped,


shattered hearts, broken minds,


there can be but one answer,

simplistic as it may sound,


teach respect, not creed,

worship shared humanity,

shun lecherous greed,


then, and I believe only then,

may we truly, as one,


from our common fountain feed …



from google

Nelson Mandela Foundation




Nelson Mandela Centenary (1918 – 2018)



Nelson Rolihlahla ‘Madiba’ Mandela walked amongst us not long ago.

A man of action forged in the crucible of resistance.


Resistance against racial discrimination.

Resistance against injustice.


Resistance against oppression.

 

Nelson Rolihlahla ‘Madiba’ Mandela walked amongst us not long ago.

A man burnished in the furnace of struggle.

Struggle to defeat the crime against humanity that was Apartheid.

Struggle against the obscene notions of racial superiority.

Struggle against the scourge of hate.

 

Nelson Rolihlahla ‘Madiba’ Mandela walked amongst us not long ago.

A human being who personified kindness.

A human being who embodied humility.

A human being who exemplified the unity of our human race.

 

Nelson Rolihlahla ‘Madiba’ Mandela walked amongst us not long ago.

A man of peace, and a man who fought the just fight.

A man of forgiveness, and a man who battled the Apartheid regime for the need of taking responsibility for the heinous crimes of the past.

A man of truth, and a man of humane love.

 

Nelson Rolihlahla ‘Madiba’ Mandela walked amongst us not long ago.

He was of flesh and of blood, and he shed his blood as he endured the lashes of the whip on his flesh.

He was of flesh and of blood, and he fought ferociously against the suppression of his fellow human beings.

He was of flesh and of blood, and he emerged with dignity from the hell of twenty-seven years of imprisonment on an island of tyranny.

 

Nelson Rolihlahla ‘Madiba’ Mandela walked amongst us not long ago.

He was a man of a steely will in the long cause to rid all oppressed people from the yoke of colonialism, he picked up arms and fought the honourable fight.

He was a man of fiery resolve against the scourge of divisiveness, he was at the forefront in the battles against human subjugation and indignity.

 

Nelson Rolihlahla ‘Madiba’ Mandela walked amongst us not long ago.

Madiba was a revolutionary, in the trenches against the obscenity of poverty and deprivation.

Madiba was a soldier, on the ground in the service of the most vulnerable, the children of this world.

Madiba was unshakeable, and he lived the example of the committed revolutionary and the dignified statesman.

 

Nelson Rolihlahla ‘Madiba’ Mandela walked amongst us not long ago.

 

Our beloved Madiba does not walk amongst us anymore.

And yet, Nelson Rolihlahla ‘Madiba’ Mandela lives within us.

Madiba lives in the streams that flow into the rivers that flow into the oceans.

Madiba lives in the winds that blow across the vast lands of Africa and beyond.

Madiba lives in the thud-thudding of heartbeats around our world.

Madiba lives in the veins where the blood flows through our common human form.


Madiba lives!


Madiba will always live!




Nelson Mandela casting his ballot for the first time as a non-white South African – 27th April 1994

what are we if not just human?

from google




what are we if not just human?




Beings flailing through the quagmire of life,

embroiled in emptiness so stark,

hoping to find some solace, some peace,,

stumbling along in the dark.




What are we if not just human,

grappling the torturous grind,

stabs of reality wounding us each day,

enduring hollow platitudes,

cloaked in the veneer of strength we portray.




What are we if not just human,

filling the void with trappings of convenience,

deluded that it will dull the pain,

buffering us from truths that surround us,

losing ourselves within our selves,

celebrating the meaningless ornaments that we attain.




What are we if not just human,

no more and no less,

praying for a salvation beyond this realm,

buying redemption with lofty intent,

crawling in apathetic inebriation,

always on our knees, our backs forever bent.




What are we if not just human,

trying to make sense of all we feel inside,

while in truth the masks we wear,

shrouds ourselves in cocoons to hide.




What are we if not just human,

clinging to scraps we find here and there,

what are we if not just human,

jarring ourselves to care.




What are we if not just human,

rekindling the humanity that resides in us all,

refusing to look away while those around us slip and fall.



What are we if not just human,

striving for a world less harsh, more true,

what are we if not just human,

never forgetting that we all bleed red,

him, her, us, and me and you.



from google

from google




Not quite a Refugee …



In all my life, I have waited, searched, stealing glances behind every closed door,


peering into teacups, my feeble attempts at divining what tomorrow may have in store.



In all my life, I have kissed the soft lips of joy, murmuring words of love, always trying to find a soul,


a soul perhaps far, far away, or around the corner, looking for that one who would make me whole.



I have found love, here and there, deep and true, as I have faced the gale, a hurricane that never ends, always on the lookout, for the poisoned arrows that fate sends.


I have found desolation, tossing me about, lost in the crowd, never fitting in, never wanting to fit in, to finally flee this city’s cacophonous din.



I have found pain, slicing me into bits , the offensive comment here, the hateful look there, the laughter of them all that echoes in my heart, barren and bare.



I have found anger, within myself, at my being the way I am, having to cross oceans, to walk amongst people who do not give a damn.



I am lost, an exile amongst my own people, where you either join the fake charade, or get dumped broken and bruised, trampled by the hollow parade.



I am lost, a refugee who will never be a part of the pack, for I know they will always snigger at me, behind my bent back.



What do they know of loss and of pain, what do they know of packing up a few belongings, fleeing cities, over and over and over again.



What do they think when they see me, a party trick who does the rounds, breaking little by little inside, while all around me their laughter abounds.



Where can I flee, where is my place of peace, while the jabs and the snide quips never cease.



Where is that promise of home that once burned bright, while now I am in the dark, bereft of hope and blinded without light.



How do I pick up these pieces, scattered fragments of my being, strewn across the world where I have always lost, a part of me staying behind, at an immeasurable cost.



How will I ever shed this skin of the clown, this fakeness I have wrapped around me, how will I ever be me, ridding myself of this plastic smile, to just be free.



This world, these places, offer me no hope at all, for they have thrashed me to the ground to mercilessly crawl.



This world, these crocodile smiles, these clinking champagne flutes, can never compare to the dung-caked soles of my roots.



This place, and countless others through which I have roamed, are razors which dealt death to me by a thousand and one cuts, where you must conform, without any ifs, and certainly without any buts.



I find my solace in my scribbles, in my blood dripping on each page, where I pour out my pain, my loss, my deadened spirit, my brimming rage.



I find solace in the moments when the rain washes these avenues, a rushing past of detritus in a cleansing stream,


I find solace walking through the icy rain, in my eternal quest to not reek of foreignness, for just a moment or two, to be pure and clean,


I find solace, fleeting at best, to moult this skin, of every pain felt,


and of every horror seen.





from google

a traditional Ndebele design




The African Rains.



Soaking,
the rains settle,
meandering over jagged faultlines of our memory.



Drenching,
the rains settle,
streaming through veins,

the thud-thudding of the heartbeat of Africa.



Absorbing,
the rains that settle,
within each of us,

herald rebirth.


And,
if you listen,

if you strain to hear,

while shedding the raucous noise of your inner turmoil.


If you listen,

the whispers of the ancestors,

speak to us all,
lending us warmth,

urging us to stand,
even though we may stumble,

even though we may fall.



a baobab tree – image from google

double-helixed uBuntu*

from google



double-helixed uBuntu* …



these interwoven veins

dna
double-helixed

microscopically
binding

me
you

us
all

through
this common
shared
truth:

‘I am because you are’*

all of us
together
as one

me
you,

… uBuntu*

 

* – uBuntu is an isiXhosa/isiZulu concept that espouses the “belief in a universal bond of sharing that connects all humanity”



from google

from google




South Africa: Heritage Day 2018



Today we celebrate our shared heritage,

through smiles and tears, the ache of the past and the hopes of today and tomorrows yet unborn.

Today we share our Africanness, our blood enmeshed within each other – bright red thumping through countless veins, reminding us of the spirit of uBuntu – I am because we are,

we are because of each other, fellow travellers through the travails of life, seeking not riches nor title, seeking the bright sunshine of peace banishing the darkness of strife.

We are one people, myriad hues of the rainbow enveloping us all,

lending a hand to each other,

every time we stumble, each time we fall. 



from google



from google



Life, delusions, and Scribbled Verse …



I remain alone, never letting anyone in, my ramparts solid, my walls tall and impregnable,

I remain alone, always dousing the hope, my words of departure articulate and allowing me to unashamedly mope,

I choose this lonesome way, having tasted the nectar of love, and punishing it to always slip away,

I have chosen this path of quiet solitude, the cowardly one, shrouding my heart with armour, knowing I lack the fortitude.




Love has touched me deeply, I have loved with all my might, I have immersed myself in the cauldron of desire, yet I always seem to deliberately douse the fire,

these are not easy confessions to make, to share my inability to walk the long path of love, to always look for that escape, leaving good pure hearts scattered, as I search for the window where I can my slipping away make,

these scribbled words tear into my heart, puncturing my soul, fracturing my mind, as I sit and wonder why it is that I choose to never be whole,

I make no excuses, I sputter no half-baked reasons for my fleeing from love, while I have hurt the gentlest souls, the ones who deserved so much more, not the cowardice of a man, who always seems to find the exit door.




These words sound to me like comfortable self-pity, so easy for me to accept no blame, laying it all out, yet still brimming with the moping of the lying man, who feels no remorse, who will not accept the shame,

these hollow words as empty as the “it is not you, it is me” cop-out refrain, so easily blabbered forth, so conveniently absolving me of the cause of any pain,

how many times have these callous words been spoken, how they have fractured loves that were real, how many times have they left good souls broken,

and still my conceit above says it all, my belief that I have the power to cause fractured hearts and injured souls, the hubris of man who believes himself able, to injure the ‘weaker sex’, for ‘man is so much more capable’.




I rail against misogyny in my scribbled verse, I damn the narrow mindedness of male chauvinism, it is I who so effortlessly dons the mask of the ‘liberated man’, all the while it is I who am a part of my genders’ ‘entitled’ clan,

oh yes, I scribble against this evil and that injustice, I speak the loudest, claiming to be progressive in thought and in mind, but it is I who refuses to see, the vestiges of male superiority, which tightly do me bind,

what becomes of this world when so-called ‘unchained’ men like myself live in our cocoons of self-righteous comfort, what becomes of the struggle for gender equality, what is the future when I spout my egalitarian beliefs, so hypocritically solemn, while I am blinded by the fact, that I am part of the festering problem,

yes, I wave the rainbow flag and I shriek out the necessary slogans, I march alongside my ‘sisters’, I pour my drivel scribbled on pages as I delude myself that I really do give a damn,

what happens next for this world of inequity, this world of abuse, this world of gender-based violence, this world of female genital mutilation, this world of women enslaved by man’s convenient norms of male-centred religion, this world of the shackles of oh-so convenient culture and tradition,

what happens to this world when those empty like me beat the drum of giving a damn,

when all in all, when it is boiled down to the harshest truth,


I remain the ever hypocritical man?





from google

image

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The girl with the beret at the Bus Stop …

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I saw her at the bus stop, on a bitterly cold winter morning, her beret tilted to the side.

We exchanged polite smiles and furtive glances, till along came our ride.

We sat across each other and soon we spoke, breaking the ice, with talk of the chills battering our bones, as we shared sandwiches, for each other just a slice.

We spoke of the coldness around us, the frigid souls we encountered, we spoke of life’s pathways and where we hoped we were headed, as we confessed, what we feared most, was the banality of a life we so fiercely dreaded.

Thus began our short morning ritual, a bus ride with a stranger, not knowing anything except our names, our conversations so true they scorched like roaring flames.

We often laughed about the funny stuff we experienced, about the weight we felt we had to carry, the seemingly heavy burdens wracking us, all these chats, drowned out at times, to the soundtrack of the squealing brakes of our bus.

Our talks were blisteringly true, as happens at times with strangers, yet we opened ourselves up to each other, trusting the depths in our eyes, feeling a kinship, that logic defies.

We spoke of earning a wage, paying the bills, discarding the frills, we spent what felt like hours in those short-haul trips, baring our truths honest and deep, feeling for once, the harsh shadows of daily life retreat.

She was to me the girl with the beret, fierce yet gentle, knowing so much and still wanting to know, as was I on those mornings so long ago.

We spoke of lovers lost, of lost loves, of our ache for something tangible, something less gaudy, something more true, a mirage always just out of view.

I showed her my scars, she showed me hers, a lifetime of half-promises built on mounds of dust, we spoke of escape, into each others dreamscapes, even as all around us our world was covered in rust.

There was nothing about us but truth, nothing but a truth distilled, an understanding that someone out there in this cold world understood, far from the slicing of all the threatening grudges, we knew, our sharing was beyond all that, as we often in complete silence sat.

Our conversations churned into the butter of each morning, easing the coming day, and we smiled knowing that one else knew us, no one could ever relate, even as we were innocently oblivious of the often cruel hands of fate.

Her eyes danced with a fire, when sharing her insanity, and she said my eyes raged as well, embracing the craziness of it all, the two of us ever mindful, of the ache that did in each other dwell.

Then came that fateful day when she was there no more, and I felt the icy chills deep in my bare bones, feeling a vacuum I did not know my life could ever fill, a random friendship so tightly bound, that decades would pass till a friendship as profound as that was found.

I often thought of her, at another bus-stop, her beret tilted just slight, waiting for her ride in the morning air, feeling that we somehow remained connected, heart to heart, in a way impossible to articulate, for it was us, just us, with whom we felt we could only ever relate.

I think of her often, my friend on the bus all those years ago, sharing parts of our life, profound and without judgemental fears, through moments of agony, and through the smiles and the tears.

I must confess that to this day, whenever I pass a bus stop, I glance at it even as I know,

I shall not see that girl in the beret,

from so many years and lives ago …

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(inspired by Bruce Springsteen’s “Bobby Jean” from the album ‘Born in the USA)

(also inspired by “Raspberry Beret” by Prince)


image


ps: happy birthday to “The Boss”

An amazing piece by a new friend … Please do visit the blog – it is breathtaking.

A South African blog and a French one – ONE world always

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https://wp.me/p1ZuaM-1qQ
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an old piece from a while back …

Vincent and Ludwig.



“we are mere vagabonds, scraping here and there, never belonging anywhere, and never wanting to belong somewhere” said Vincent to Ludwig.


“yes my dear Vincent, we walk this earth with tattered shoes, our madness binding us in friendship, feted now and then, yet mostly left to ramble through our lonesome lives” Ludwig says, looking down at his weather-beaten boots.


Vincent and Ludwig share a smile, each knowing the feelings felt when sinking deeper into the depths of despair.


“your ‘sunflowers’ always bores a hole into my heart, my dear Vincent, your flourishes live in the swirls and your warmth and love for humanity shines through, tearing at my insides” Ludwig murmurs to Vincent.


“just as your ‘ode to joy’ bores a hole into my soul, with your unselfish, transcendent love for all living beings, alive and resounding in every note” Vincent says, looking into the distance.


“what are we, my dear friend, tortured by our inner demons, left to rot by the wayside, torn and broken by this harsh world all around us” Ludwig asks Vincent.


“we may be mad, and maddeningly so, my friend, but why do we see the smiles washed off the faces of the sane, why do we we tears trickling down from far too many eyes” Vincent says with a rueful smile.


“yes, my dearest Vincent, it often appears that this whole world, this whole veneer of civility, these people who have enough yet always clamouring for more, while those who have nothing hunger for just scraps” Ludwig says, almost to himself.


“and we see it every day, in their greed glazed eyes, their grubby grabbing hands, their world they call sane” Vincent mumbles.


“what are we then, Vincent, in this world of naked oppression, in these places of vulgar ostentation, in the midst of all this madness” Ludwig asks, looking to his friend.


“we are sane, my friend” Vincent says tugging at his phantom ear.


“sane, yes Vincent. sane” Ludwig says with a smile, his fingers feeling his ear that once could hear.


“sane”

blabbering quasi-philosophical bs 

from google



blabbering quasi-philosophical bs …




memories persist, at times flitting in and out of view, as the continuum of time edges ever ahead,


we look ahead into the future, we turn our heads and the past lies strewn with fractured dreams, with splintered promises.


we plod on, ever mindful of the now, today, this moment, at once, right now, teasing out a life from second to second,


a life of desires merged with the ether, disappearing in the wind,


a life of vows, and of oaths taken, ridiculed by the corrosion of feelings,


a life yearned for, the neediness for love’s light, the light that will surely cast aside the desolation of this black hole, these infinite steps of day to day repetition,


a life embellished, with the sprayed on veneer of sophistication, of making it big, of being with it, of wanting it all now,


a life of the ticking down of the clocks,


as they urge us – just do it,


carpe diem,


a life of salivating in the now, the need to shuck oysters, the need for the clunky obscene timepieces, the need for the bubbly to be guzzled, the need for every desire, each want sated, yet always and ever clamouring for more,


and more,


while hearts bleed out,

out of sight,

while tears are rendered invisible, while the wailing cacophony of basic needs gets drowned, suffocated, deemed far to far from us to spare a thought,


even as the avalanche of greed, of bartering money for joy, of ensconcing oneself in towers of gold,


even as all that whips souls to the very core, as long we remain safe from the marauding horde, banging against our iron-clad door.


the void that yawns before us, a gaping hole we wish to fill till it is whole, flinging trinkets of silver and sparkling stones, into the ever widening yawn that from apathy is born,


meanwhile,


the continuum of ever inching time exacts its price, turning hearts of empathy into blocks of ice,


tearing the fabric of one human family, barked out from loudspeakers at every charity ball, inured by the convenient shawl of giving back to the dregs who always by the wayside fall,


this life, these desires, these wants, these needs, these countless vulgarities of the 1% who rule everything, who control it all,


heartwarmed by the sound of tossing a few coins into a begging bowl,


all the while, the corrosive acid of financial success, erodes, bludgeons, sets ablaze,


the one thing that knows no boundaries, that breaks all barriers,


the promise of the possibility, of regaining within each of us,


the purity of our shared human soul




from google

The Torture of Love

from google




the torture of love …


slicing through memories, each bite of the scalpel tearing the heart apart,


every thorny rose digging deep, drawing blood, even as the barren soul lies trapped in the mud,


you loved me once, you promised me forever more, yet I now stand alone, locked outside your love’s door,


we shared champagne kisses, we walked into sunsets, we lay beneath the autumn trees, was that all for nought, as today I see love being bartered, sold and bought.




you threw me aside, by the gutters filling with sewage, your love had moved on you said, you had handsomer, sexier, cleverer men clinging to you, so I ended up a cast-away memory …



“do you know afzal?”.


“who?”.




your love was simple back then, when we shared stale bread and jam, tepid tea and broken biscuits, when we found solace in each others arms, but the tugging of this glittering world, left me on pavement, as you giddily swirled and twirled.




the years have passed, the wrinkles deep, the tears have dried up, the memories though, the memories still cut deep,


so enjoy your fillet mignon and your fine bubbly,


and forget about me, as I search for another underpass beneath which to sleep …



from google



“Starry Night” by Vincent van Gogh

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Vincent and Ludwig.

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Do you know, my dear Ludwig, that I’ve sold just one of my paintings?”

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“Yes, Vincent, do not despair, my friend, they cannot, will not, fathom the flower that reveals its petals before their eyes”

.

“I suppose you are right, old friend. They cannot, will not, hear your ‘Ode to Joy’, though it is you who are deaf!”

.

“But my dear Vincent, you do hear my ‘Ode to Joy’, deep in your soul”

.

“Yes, I hear it, I feel it, Ludwig, flowing like liquid paint through the canvas of my veins”

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“My dear Vincent, I too feel your brush-strokes, and in each swirl of colour I hear your joy, and I can touch your pain”

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“What does that make us, my friend? Two men cast adrift on the bluest seas, leaving nothing behind, yet heading nowhere. What does that make us then?”, asks Vincent.

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“Human”, replies Ludwig, smiling.

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“Human, yes, dear Ludwig”.

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“And that is enough”, says Ludwig, almost to himself.

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“It is enough”, smiles Vincent.

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“To be human. It is enough.”

.

Vincent laughs, as Ludwig watches a gentle wave caress their toes, through their tattered shoes.

.

.

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“Ode to Joy” by Ludwig van Beethoven

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