Residue

On a bus, looking out
I see the 80 ft billboards of an upcoming all-in-one shopping mall, happy families, smiling faces, fitter happier, children playing, a few cultural references thrown in like the done-to-death Kathakali cliche, ambient graphic shapes and bubbles,
I also happen to see the lines of construction workers running to their bus trying to find a place to sit on their long journey back to wherever they live - in the outskirts of the city
Like marching ants, so many of them with their yellow construction helmets, in queues, queues of yellow,
Faces full of sorrow, anxiety, trouble, thoughts of their wife back home, or child, fees to be paid, groceries to buy...
In front of them, Corolla's and Honda's passing by the busy road, music blasting, latest sound systems flashing neon pixel lights,
Such a world of contrasts, the equilibrium met,
Another take on humanity and its flourishes,
And a window into the lives of those workers, the residue of our society, the unwanted children of mankind.

Two poems from W

Cup of the sun
Circular
A space between the sky
made to see
a life gone by

----

Green on black, kids in a line
Hand to the leaf, rows and rows
Half empty glasses, white on black
One eye looking, one hand feeding.

Admonition

If you dissect a bird
To diagram the tongue
You'll cut the chord
Articulating song.

If you flay a beast
To marvel at the mane
You'll wreck the rest
From which the fur began.

If you pluck out the heart
To find what makes it move,
You'll halt the clock
That syncopates our love.

- Sylvia Plath

Lullaby in three

An orange blossom breeze twirls in circles, dervish-like
One hand taking, one hand giving
Blue in green, hat and the like, pointed to the sky
Heaven-faced, fantastical
Viscera sera.

The Music of the Spheres

A universe harmonious as a harp.
Rhythm is repeated equal times.
Heartbeat.
Day/night.
Migrant birds' arrivals and departures.
Star cycles and maize cycles.
Mimosa opening during the day
and folding when night comes.
Moon and tide rhythms.
And crabs who know the tide is on the ebb
and before it goes out have their hiding holes.
A single rhythm in planets, the sea, atoms, apples
which ripen and fall, and Newton's head.
Melody, arpeggio, chord.
The harp of the universe.
that is music.
Difference between music and noise...
The bell's sound is in its form.
Or girls' legs, come to that.
Matter is music.
Matter in perpetual motion in space and time.
Rhythmical are hearts and stars.
The universe sings and Pythagoras heard it.
The music of the spheres,
rather than classical music, jazz.

- Ernesto Cardenal.

Wildernest

A place,
Small wood, small twigs,
The dedication to the art of building a home, a tree of figs.
Contrasting with the world's pace.

A space,
Quiet, undeterred by unwanted noise,
Simplicity, tenderness, not by choice.
Contrasting with the outside race.

Onwards and forwards
away from here.
Three sentences too long,
one zentense too short.
Finding the way
in the overall grid.
The pattern is made,
the machine, it moves,
close your eyes,
let the moment begin...

The Stupid, The Proud

The stupid, the proud waltzing in the sparkle of their brand new red car
A bold new drive
Look into the camera, make a face that makes you feel like King
You are no oracle, all you are is 9 to 5
Struck by twilight with tubetop barbiedolls clenched in the fist of your left hand
Right hand holding the one hundred thousand diamond studded cellophane-clad cellphone
Make a call, act interested, ask questions, keep talking, never listen cos its not your concern
Hypocrite, grow up, this is not you, do you realise how superficial you are?
Look deep into the heart of a country that you never knew existed
Grow up, there is life around you much more valuable than your pinky swear.

Feel

God has given me a red ribbon to tie around my neck. Only I can see it. I have a piece of silver in my hand. From the heart of the Hinterland. A gift. A sign. A message, not in pixels. No words. Said to me in a language I can only hear, not read, write, speak. A thought beyond words. The warmth in my palm adds lines. A future that lasts only a minute. Now is all I have. And I am moving forward, step by step.