of lines and walls...

heaps of them..
them, and of lines and walls..
strident, clangorous recalls..

embroiled, entangled with Them!
them wretched emotions!
them miserable thoughts!
cry the skies and oceans..

suppression? expression..
it's what you make out of it..
take it as it comes.

leave it as it goes.

*Memory's Kiss.

..as i rummage through those memories
i can see me running around in the open space..
leaning against a stone pillar, i look at those trees.
a tear finds its way down my face..

i stroll through the passage,
walk up the royal staircase..
gingerly touching the banister..
i sit down.. unable to leave this place..

through the arched window,
for years on end did i see the bustling street below,
i see myself in the distance, on that street..
looking up at me..

i peek into the old library..
the comforting shelves and spaces in between
smile when they see their reflection in my watery eyes..
the quiet fan rotates noisily to welcome me..

i run down to the sand-pit..
and climb to the top-bar of the jungle-gym..
I'm the queen of the world i am.
all over again..

i plonk myself onto the race-track..
to find myself surrounded by lemons and spoons..
and batons and sacks..
the vacuum.. i want to go back..

i look up at the old bell..
the saving grace when the boring ones droned..
my ribbon still tied on its rope..
i embrace it.. thinking it more alive than most people i know..

my eyes glisten with tears as i stand outside the office..
where you sculpted what i am, out of the miserable lump of dark clay that i was..
i see my artwork pinned up on your board..
and imagine my letters in your desk drawers..

i walk into the room which most never wanted to enter..
but it's the room where i was groomed, and packaged..
so that i could be sold to the most difficult customer..
that being me..

i sit on your chair..
and feel a rush within..
as i see myself walking up to me,
to say thank you.

i run towards the terrace..
three floors up..
i know the way..
inside me.. i walk through you everyday.

i stop at the door.. n sink down to the floor..
remembering all the times i came here to do what I'm doing now..
weeping hard...
i run my finger over the words I've etched into the stone wall..

words I'd never say to anyone..
something I'd never feel again..
so i trace every letter..
almost re-writing those words..

how i wish.
how i wish.

how i want.
to be etching those letters for the first time round..


walking out slowly..
all these images form a soft, dense cloud..
the atmosphere in and out, almost holy..
having swam through all of this, my heart pounding loud..

more than once have i wished,
for my arms to be long enough to wrap around you..
no more is that needed,
for my heart is what you have kissed.

agony sometimes.. ecstasy other times..
silence somewhere.. in the realms of cacophony filled thoughts..
i find solace in you.. because of you...
coming closer to you, i will continue to pursue..

--

(for my first love - J.B. Petit High School for Girls)

Dying. The day worth living for...?

as i trudge up education..
as i walk towards career..

as i see responsibility at the horizon..
as i listen to all that advice..


as i sit by my diary, my canvas, my mind..
i wonder about the place in which i lie confined..

winding my way to or through
family.
friends.
teachers.
colleagues.
''others''

i think about things that go beyond

the general classifications..

as i lie here,

the newness of this silence

stirs up noisy thoughts..

between all that joy,

and much sorrow..

through all that work

and scarce rest..

with them, without them,

surrounded by things which are mine,

and things i want to make mine..

i look out the window

and suddenly i know...

all that i'll ever own..

or possess..

all that i'll ever be able to make mine,

is Now.. this moment.

and it's a lot by itself..

so much so,

at times i feel it's so much,

that i don't know what to do with it..

a moment.

small and diminutive it may seem...

taught me

that i was dying.

a lot of us die,

before we realize

that we're alive..

and capable of living..

that moment...

small and diminutive it seemed on arrival..

defining and sacred on departure..

as it nudged the next moment to ask me:

is dying the day worth living for...?

.

like i need you.

yeah.
so you decided to walk out on me.
after years of being together,
and ranting about how perfect we are,
to anyone who was ready to listen.

u came to me with little or nothing..
i gave u all that i could.
in return,
you taught me...... .

i now realize why you made this scrapbook.
with all our stuff in it.
not so that you can flip through our good times..
but so i can weep holding that book.
not because i need you anymore..
but because the child we're holding in those pictures does.

you came to me with little or nothing,
i gave you all that i could..
in return,
you taught me...... .

like the images in his picture books,
you are now the picture parent,
in the storybook of his life.. written by me.
he's already begun pointing at your pictures,
wanting to know where you are...
he waits expectantly for an answer,
that's non-existent.

your departure couldn't have been better planned.
running away like that..
but i have a right to know. i do.
did you just wanna get away from me,
or was there another.. ...?

those wounds, those scars,
on you, that i helped heal..
are reopening on me..

you came to me with little or nothing.
i gave you all that i could...
in return,
you taught me..... .

at times i did wonder,
about whether he loved you more....
but now it kills to know.
he sits in your chair
and sleeps on your side of the bed.
coming to me only if he hears me sob.

i hope that you're happy.
after all this....
and don't come back.
because.
you came to me with little or nothing,
i gave you all that i could.
in return, you did me a favour.
you taught me...

how never. to love again.

.

black in white in black.

ebony black ivory white,

when mixed, produce a grey fight,

contained in black is whiteness so pure,

the virgin white has in it, the black to endure.

a ray of white illumines the black,

a spot of black stains the white,

black if you look back,

up front is white light.

gyrations made by silken, soft white,

sculpt the coarse lump of black...

steadily penetrating into the white,

black makes its slow attack.

leaping into the darkness, so black,

flees white, spreading light,

making attempts to grasp it black draws back,

for despite its blackness, it can view the magnificent sight.

bit by bit,

the white reflects the black in it,

dances divinely the flame in black that's lit,

so white, so pure, that it makes my black submit.