She goes down to the watering hole every time her purse is full.

She guzzles down the amber liquid that takes her to sweet oblivion.

She throws herself at any grasping, grappling, groping hands.

She opens up herself to the battering waves of deceit disguised as love.

In the quest for gentle tenderness.

She wakes up alone, an empty, barren soul.

Wrung dry of every drop of self-esteem.

She looks at her broken body, dreams, and heart.

She wonders if it will ever rain in her garden.

She longs for the soothing, steady, showers of refreshing, restoring, relieving rainfall.

She yearns for tender, gentle, warmth, acceptance and healing love.

If it still exists for the likes of her.



It made him laugh; it weighed me down.

He enjoyed the effort made to bring humour into the tragic reality of malady in life.

I let the weight of despair and a vicious cycle of the havoc caused by a lingering illness overwhelm me.

When the film came to an end, a hush fell over us.

Heavy silence on my part, light reflective quietude on his part.

We were both on the two platters of the scale, opposite ends of the measuring rod.

It is a good thing, come to think of it, because together we strike a balance.

The difference is beautiful, for our uniqueness brought together offset each other.



I have what it takes.

Do I?

They have what it takes.

Do they?

We have what it takes.

Do we?

For real?

For sure?

For a fact?

When it is all weighed;

In the balance of time and life lived.

In words kept, truth not told.

In the balance of things done, and those unaccomplished.

Where do we stand then?

Where do they stand then?

Where do I stand then?

It is easy.

It is tempting.

To ask them to justify their actions.

To live up to their standards.

To show their words in deeds.

To live up to their promises.

And me?

How do I measure up?

Without reserve.

Without  restraint.

Without a doubt.

I too must strike a balance.



You hoped for a better day but saw the dark, bleak night of clandestinity.

You hoped for the warmth of a refuge but felt the cruel, icy cold, deadly grip of the deep dark sea.

You hoped for a better future, a better life, but you sank into oblivion.

Your last breath snuffed out, without a sound, without remorse.

Your hopes dashed with violence against the Gibraltar, against our indifference.



You are noteworthy.

I am not worthy.

‘Tis and might always be so.

Sorry, it is to say, the perception thou hast,

Of my contemptible frame!





Trust me, don’t be mean.

Can’t we always come clean?

Can’t you someways not demean?

Trust us, don’t we make a good team?



Like me, accept me, want me, receive me.

Need me, keep me close, closer to thee.

Lo and behold.

No matter how considerable the effort devoted to the task.

‘Tis not, yea ’tis not possible, the whole crowd to please.

The mob is an unfaithful mistress.

She changes the chosen beloved on a whim.

She praises and curses all in one breath.




You long for relief.

You wait in earnest, longing for closure.

Being satiated, yet it is a deceptive fullness.

The bittersweet moment of betwixt and between, on thin ice.

The beginning of the end approaches by stealth.

The trickling down of a source already tarried.



You smile at me, my heart blossoms.

Your gentle eyes draw me ashore.

These dew drops of tenderness you shower upon me.

Quench my parched soul.



Exponential growing, gliding upwards.

Floating, fleeting on a fantasy flight.

High, higher reaching grasping straws.

Strands golden gleaming glittering.

Whispers, murmurs.

Beaconing, beaming.

Beacons, bearing.

Hollow, hopes.

Explosion, crashing, grounded.

Emergency landing, breaking boundaries.

Coming nigh, peeling, lingering layers.

Exposed, bare, barren, hardened.

Disillusioned, dissed, disquieted.

Wisps, strands.

Grasping, slippery.

Sloppy, smothering.

Elusive hope.

Exponential, higher reaching.

Shattered, glass ceiling no more.

So firm, having, holding, handling.

Raising, resurrecting, transformed.

Wonder, delight.

Gained, desire.

Never asunder.

Having hoped.



The heaviness sets in again.

The sighing begins.

The faraway, forlorn look sets upon.

The frown alights on the eyebrows.

Giving the face an anxious look.

Shoulders slump.

Head bows.

The walk is slow and laborious.



It is a process. Everything is a progression.

Clear away, sort out the junk.

Scratch, break, dismantle.

Dust, mop, clean.

Remove, rearrange, rewire, reconstruct.

Wet, wipe, dry.

Paint, decorate redesign.

Refurbish, refill, reuse.

Remodelled room, hangar now usable.



Mysterious, lovely, sophisticated, strangeness.

Curious, wanting to know you.

Moving closer, drawn into your orbit.

Your delicate, intricate beauty burst into sight.



Dear drying, wilting flower.

You were a witness to these decisive moments.

You came when we were at a crucial crossroad.

It was a make it or break it situation.

We had our backs against the wall.

Our hands were hanging limp, with discouragement.

We wondered, wounding, wounded.

We were hoping, groping in the obscurity.

Lost in the darkness of bitterness, anger, strife, and rage.

The murkiness of distrust and unforgiveness completely engulfed us.

You come to us at that moment, dear rose.

The vendor you belonged to approached our table.

“A rose, one euro each,” she said.

I saw you then, nestling with your buddies, in a sumptuous bouquet.

I never said a thing, all the time longing that my man would buy you for me.

He never seemed moved by you.

When I was about to give up, I heard him say”a dozen roses, please.”

There you were, our peace offering.

I held you tight, enjoying your delicate fragrance.

With each smell, my heart softened towards him.

In a silent understanding, we looked at each other and agreed to bury the hatchet.

I cradled you and your friends in my arms.

For you were the proof, of our cease-fire.

Dear rose thank you.




He looked at his children, wondering how in the world he would manage.

The depth of the loss and grief struck home.

She left too soon.

His life was full up till now, thanks to her.

She was his wife, lover, friend,  companion, a mother to his children and much more.

She smoothed all the daily ruffles.

She pulled together the family fabric.

She had borne his failings.

Where was he to turn to now?He wondered.

Small hands tugged at him, pulling him from his reverie.

His daughter looked up at him.She held his gaze with her big soulful eyes.

Her little fingers clutched his hand in a gesture to comfort him.

It was his undoing.

He broke down and sobbed.

He pulled himself together after much struggle.

Through, his tear veiled eyes he noticed his three other children. They were looking at him with eyes full of understanding.

“It is going to be alright, dad. We will teach you how to take care of us,” said his elder son.

“We will lead you on this journey of discovering life, through her eyes and our eyes.  We will grow together.” added his son.

He breathed in and shook himself out of the stupor that enveloped him.

“I will stand tall again; I will survive, I will live again. Yes, I will get over this loss, even though it seems inconceivable to me now. I will because life goes on. For their sakes, I will be strong. ” He thought to himself.



On the surface cool, calm, composed.

Slow, unsure, unaware, ignorant appearance.

Internal movement, activity, commotion.

Build, create, finish, expand.

Let true nature unfold.



Daddy, why did you leave early?

Why did you have to go, depart, rest in peace, die?

Why papa?

Did you ever think of me?

Eh papa, did you?

Did you ever think of the pain, regrets, remorse, confusion, fear you would leave behind?

Did you papa?

A lot of things I would have said, done differently.

Numerous bitter words, needless fights, I would have avoided.

Had I known, oh papa!

Had I known our time was short.

I was foolish, careless; I wasted it.

Squandered the limited grains of sand, left in our hourglass.

I realized it too late when only one grain of sand remained.

No matter how much love, remorse, affection.

I tried to squeeze into the moment.

It still felt altogether flimsy.

Measured by the ocean of unsaid words, unexpressed love, standing behind me.

Oh papa, oh my daddy, I am now a mum, a mother!

Yes me, your little girl, I am now a parent too.

It hurts, oh how it hurts papa, for you will never see how they

resemble you.

Papa, are you proud of me?

You would have been elated, glad to meet them.

Wouldn’t you papa?



A heart burdened bursting and overflowing.

Full of words, faces, expressions, smells, memories, places.

Weighed with, sorrow, yearning for a loved one long gone.

Lightened with the joy of remembering a cherished one.

The face, once fading away, now recollected,

Memories have waned, details now vague.

Barren thoughts, without light, life or song.

Now like a blossoming flower emerges.

The dust blows off.

The light settles on the yellowed, musty pages of remembrance.



In a flash, I acted, I did it!

No taking back, though yearning amends to make.

Longing with the whole heart and might to rectify.

Break, demoralize, diminish, shame.

This is the result, not the original intent.

The consequence of thoughtless, rash gesture.

Spilled milk, one cannot gather.

Why lament and cry?

The deed I have done, make amends now I must.

Which road to take, to repair?

Why regret without anything doing?

For not all done, is of reproach.

Only a particular thoughtless deed.

Owing not to the essence of the action, rather to the motive behind what one did.

‘Twas a hand raised in angry frustration.

Landing fast and hard, on child’s  bewildered face.

The child in mischief found, deserved not,

Weighty punishment, which on him, befell.



 They say it, without a word uttering.

A glance, a tone of voice, what went unsaid.

Emerging spaces within spaces.

These non-verbal conversations, pregnant with significance.

These silent speeches, bloated, ripened, like a boil about to burst.

Exploding, projecting the infected pus.

Leaving a gaping hole where it once was.

Excruciating pain in the moment of truth, where deceit, hypocrisy unmasked.

Oh, what a blessed relief, from the pungent release of make-believe.