Old World Order

The winds are bringing change
carrying dust of decaying structures.
Dust that could blind
those entranced in the past.
Lessons learned
face turned
to the verdant plain
where new plans will be lain.
Potential to fill a spiritual abyss
we can be an oasis
within a desert of complacency
that, as rain drops,
we are changing
to a sea of morality. 
Education, work, faith
endowed with a sense of mission
from a vision. 
We make revisions 
to the world
with each decision
leading to serve. 


Time Departs

Three blades swirling that fuse
twirling white bodies of smoke
into a coil.
Below it all, in humid confines
with sweat its only moisture,
are tan walls and light outside.
Small roads of light illuminating dust piling on dark skin.
Fever chills till I can no longer move
a hand stroking my thinning hair
soothing someone’s coughing cries.
Oh just go already. Why are you still here?
Why do you force me to stare?
It hurts knowing
I will be leaving soon
are the thoughts we both own.
I fear doing this alone.
Yet you must escape away
I don’t want you to go
but I cannot be kind and stay
are the words
we wish to say.
But we shall be alone
and go as we are.
We are not fine.
Not yet I know.
Please come with me.
So I do not go alone.
Am I selfish
for thoughts that won’t be?
Perhaps I am undying
or in mourning.
Perhaps in a haze
we shall go on for days
after the second
we part ways.

The Street Outside/ Real Colours

If now, in a split second of indecision
A terrible mistake were to happen
I’d rise and stare through glass
At this clash of powerful forces.
Through green tops. Through instinct to creation.
With realization of circumstance
these people dance.
Gather. Pose questions
that offer no help.
Artificial red rivers and seas
that spread towards white scenery
like a disease
to mix with the rushing blues
showing contrasting hues.
Concepts and philosophy and images
define the two.
Black soars overhead
and lands on stretching brown.
This all exists as though
society does not now.
As people pass
there real colours carry life on
knowing that while here
we will soon be gone.

Thoughts on Friends

It was a strange feeling
We were drunk or high
staring at the ceiling.
I don’t know which
but since I kissed a sky
I’d say it was the latter.
I remember licking your cake batter
off your finger.
Talking about dreams
that linger then never happen.
Childhood words from two kids.
I remember adolescent years
partly still here
with us skipping lectures
and exams over long spans
to sit in seats elsewhere.
Look at other faces.
Talk about sad things.
That happens.
I remember my anger
and your smile those times
as you detailed others
I remember false lovers
and could have and want to be’s.
I remember cold Decembers
knitted scarves
and those from Mars
observing from far away
as if I was an alien as well.
I remember hugs and silk threads
that my fingers cruised through
to comfort you and to be comforted.
I remember my lies and honesty
and all that in between.
I remember salty drops ending
dirty trails on snow
that descended from deep blue pools
reflecting apologies and words of no.
I think I remember
a sad close to a journey
with swift movements
east and west
trying to redress
the ship that was filling
with water from the inside
as the twin ice blue ponds
thawed and realised
what I had been looking for.