BETTER SAFE THAN SORRY
Wear my heart on my sleeve
Come hell or high water
I’ve learnt over the years
Better to go short sleeved
She had tattoos, she said
I’d have to pay to see
But then I’m miserly
Rather squeamish besides
Life a deck of cards
Unsure no one marked the cards
We shuffle and deal
Shysters and diehards
Trampled, embittered and scarred
Still we share the meal
THE WOUND WE WIND
Round and round we wind
The wound we wound around us
Tight in our own grasp
History is history
The present we give ourselves
Too much pollution
In our air, in our water
In our politics
“There is the path of wisdom and the path of ignorance. They are far apart and lead to different ends … Abiding in the midst of ignorance, thinking themselves wise and learned, fools go aimlessly hither and thither like the blind led by the blind. What lies beyond life shines not to those who are childish, or careless, or deluded by wealth. ”
– Katha Upanishad,
IF YOU PRICK US
Shed blood, whoever’s,
Is always the same colour.
Not white, nor black. Red.
MADLY IN LOVE
Her life redrawn as a comic strip … sans comedy.
No longer that dynamic duo. Batteries flat.
Bats in the belfry, robbin’ bewildered senses blind.
And … adrift might best describe it. Hooked, blind and snookered.
…..(He is the one?)
Even lying beside her, not truly here, he lies
oceans away, behind cold fronts, lines of icy bars,
biting winds, squalls of temper, hurricanes of contempt.
Comforts herself with poetry and sweet memories
…..(He is the one!)
that turn to nightmares where he’s drowning, calling her name.
Then she is there, reviving him (mouth to mouth, of course).
Waking to find him gone she recaulks her leaky fancies,
sets her sails for yet another day tacking upwind.
…..(He is the one!)
Eschewing havens, but never her hope, she soldiers on,
soiled sails reduced to tatters, she rows from pole to pole,
trawls the seven seas. Her treasure? Nowhere to be seen.
He has unfurled his true colours: the skull and crossbones.
…..(He is the gone.)