scar

presence

I stare at the blank page

           open      on whatsapp, 

and I wait and I wait and I wait 

for the word to appear under your name

online

It flickers into existence 

like a hologram

   a mirage

online

transient letters 

      imprinted on a surface

    only a surface 

                    you surface 

         

online

          and for a moment in time

       time stops. 

and here we are 

we are both here

        so faraway

so very near

your presence lingers

         I disappear 

I go back

  

        online

you're no longer there

..... I stare and I stare and I stare

at the blank page before me

and there are

so many things I wish to say. I miss you.

so much, I wish I could make you stay

present

but goodbye is done

and we've already  become 

cyber ghosts

drifting in and out of unspoken dialogue

haunting....

                 presence 

your presence 

    I hope it never lessens

for it's all I have of you

love

real hidden gems

        the laundrette

that old iranian sam owns

the naval officer- come- material cleaner

            two bouts of cancer later

he's still standing,

still working the machines

the tumble dryers

           sam an outlier

                           he dreams

of taking care

of    his sick mother, his mother

             a lover

               of London city

     dreamer of a home

he can never go  back to

   but his kids are scattered now

        across the world

they possess all sorts of degrees

                  elevation

they don't come to the shop

     any more   

                 

***

the soup kitchen

moses visits them all

   far and wide

across the city,

    to eat a meal, with others

companionship, it's what he seeks

  up right moses

with lots of stray papers in his bag

a steely gaze,

    a knowing

a hearty laugh

     that reverberates across

them all,

all those soulful places

filled with people

          in some kind of need

material and emotional

   this being human.

      

***

the church

   that self appointed

old pastor jack visits

     he takes my hand

     he tells me the angels came to him

         in his youth

his father died at war

    but never did they go hungry

         work 

his mother worked in a factory

         Jerusalem is alive in his mind

he hands me a bag of lavender

    and talks about mash and eel pie, 

   to listen is to be alive       

it's to arrive

                at a junction.

***

the real secret gems 

spinning with eternity, eternally

sitting on the floor

  of the silver hive 

the little boy who dreams 

         with      eyes       wide

open, to know them 

    is to know 

the secrets of the universe

to know them

is to know

a single molecule

brings form to the cosmos               <<<>>>>

                                                            (the blinding light streams in) 

>>>>///////////////////////—————————

where he       goes, 

                   none can follow

   sitting on on the floor 

of the silver hive

the little boy who dreams

  eyes dancing, senses in overdrive

 so still, so silent, so faraway

the ground beneath him sways

all around

musical atoms surround

the buzzing of the bees confound 

   with their hidden language, 

     beautiful and rich

all of a sudden a switch

occurs, ———————

up he scrambles and proceeds to ramble

he moves arm hand up and down / heaven bound

  and starts to spin

with the bees, with the music 

    he loses it, 

he finds it

spinning, hands clasped

he spins fast 

so fast, to grasp (to learn/ to unlearn)

the music sounds, the bees buzz 

round and round and round

he spins he spins 

he grins, in a trance

I watch him dance, 

with the wind, 

with the music

with the bees

with eternity 

eternally

eternal 

the little boy who dreams

with eyes wide open

to know them

you can never know them

Kew Gardens, The Hive (inspired by a boy with downs syndrome who dances with eternity)

 

 

in the folds

my empire of dirt

it sounded on the radio

a country boy's hurt

after a wander around

a burnt down house

somewhere out east

by the lake, the wild heath

the moody sky 

beneath it, I seek 

an atoms weight of peace

           a crease

unfolds in a field

       a swamp, a wild rabbit

             crazy horse

comes up again

                           and red cloud

       the bisons

they go quiet

the birds chirp, chirp, chirp,

the wind is so loud

 there is no peace

no peace no peace 

                                         no peace

but at least

          there's life

(somewhere in the folds)

shapes in condensation

sweet november 

glittering gold

a rain drenched 

concrete corridor

footsteps and puddles

condensation

it's a jungle

outside 

the bus conservatory

draw a map

find your way

circle another sun
wide open in outer space

the universe 

          reiterates

strands of

 that age old message, less is, 

more,

do not store

any ill, 

cease to berate

                     fate
                                             (misread)   

a path like this

a path like this

a path like this

rain is falling

the end is shrouded in mist

the river is fading

an old dream reawakened

to walk until the path is gone

to cross borders

every border

every border that exists

the rain is falling

the rain is falling 

            pitter patter 

pitter patter 

the rain is falling

draw a map
in the condensation
find your way

c4,     8d

layers of life

/sometimes/

all of real life

feels like fiction

tears at the janazah prayers

     searing pain, lasting affliction, 

a lingering embrace

a lingering embrace

in a holy place

in the house of the Lord
your reward
resides in jannah, with Him

the children's laughter, echoes

in a room full of broken hearts

the end the end the end

the boys in white

will grow up too fast

       tears fall,              

                         i stall

               in prayer

tongue tied

 we're tied, to dunya

until the day we die

and death will come to us all 

how long will you stall, sy?

 all of real life 

feels like fiction

              

                  the wisteria

birdsong, the towering pylons

the underpass 

the lonesome paths

maybe I should ask

something of you

    but what 

all of real life

feels like fiction

             bob geldof, nick mason

                             a crowd of strangers 

I wear patience

                    like a cloak

I close my eyes and

                                I float

towards the light......

                      but then

 clinking glasses and adult laughter

      bring me back to a world  

                                                       not mine

the boys in white will grow up to fast

the reeds blow in gold, the water 

reflections waver

all these places, I savour

the freedom

the millstone fell on the rat in 1703

300 years ago, it's hard to believe

the wishing wheel

swallowed up our wishes

and left us bereft

the rest

(who knows if they came true)

all of real life

feels like fiction

that ethereal night 

the view from the top of the building

there at a gathering, 

was it a cult, was I at fault,  

                  for not arriving  

              I lost my card

                too busy striving 

to make it some where

all of real life

feels like fiction

following that old canal 

that old canal 

talking to the nuns from belarus

talking to stanley francis 

about history

in a secret garden 

all of real life

feels like fiction

the chandelier at africa house

the mouse

meow caught

/////it got away

it got away

all of real life

feels like fiction

the everyday

the everyday
sitting in the cemetery office at dusk
the doors are locked, and we're at home
sipping on tea and talking about the past
in a house surrounded by death
and what's left what's left what's left

the everyday
sitting in the old english garden
listening to the sound of water hit the surface of the pond
watching the birds, flit through skies of gold
writing down stories in my journal
and what's left, what's left what's left

the everyday
wandering by the canal
pass door ways shrouded in wisteria
through a garden centre
by the old church;eerier
than before, a thousand thin mirrors
belonging to a gas tower
and what's left what's left what's left

the everyday
wandering around the museum
waiting for my shift to be over
staring at stone men
watching women in sari's
and boys in kimono's
and what's left what's left what's left

the everyday
bus journeys that never end
thoughts that trail on forever
a pair of lungs on fire, legs that often tire
a waning will to aim higher

what's left what's left whats left

(perhaps, everything)

alhamdulillah
for the everyday

(recalling memories on the) 48 bus

48 bus

      there's never enough

                                timeeeeeee

two d a y s, 

nothing makes

sense anymore 

things seem meaningless, 

I wander what it's all for

---------------------twilight

                gazing out the 48 bus    

 window

in faraway         walthamstow 

listening to heart

wishing I could start

over anew

someplace else//// 

gosh, how tiresome, 

                these thoughts on loop

take a step back, try to regroup

she said you seem depressed

i shrug, think it's just the meds

I'll be fine when I'm better

just trying, to keep moving,

I keep losing

track, of where I am

but right now I'm here

and I miss you

a kiss on her forehead

when did you get so big

beautiful girl

stay free, stay free stay free

i know your mum just wants me

to settle down, and to grow up

I don't want to, but some days I feel so stuck

the bus goes past clapton pond

strangers take their seats

I watch others delete

thoughts, passing reveries

so many memories

the bus goes by

my old offices, 

the church yard where I would sit

the walls of the old chapel

I painted them in white

how strange and fragmented, 

this one precious life

this living

this living london

come undone

the streets I would often roam

the bus goes by

the city, the city, the city

monument

until it reaches it's last stop

the real journey begins

noticing things

the way the evening light

hits the cherry blossoms

the way the clouds shift

making shapes, broken and solemn 

the way the wind passes through 

the way the tropical palms sway

every time that you 

drift by and opt to stay 

rooted, muted, in a secluded

patch of green

the way the ancient crows seem

to know everything

they make their homes in pines

out of small lines

of straw

straw, that's what it's for

to make a home

*

the way the evening light

hits the weather vane on the asylum 

the way that you wear silence

as a cloak, concealing

it pointed east

the crow took flight, fleeing

in that very direction

(a home to come back too)

*

the way the gates were opened

the gates to the secret garden

the way that life unfolds

the way the universe holds

onto you------ and keeps you upright

in restless times, when nothing is right

see, when you spend so much time alone

you notice the crow in his home

you notice each undertone

wandering and wondering 

seeking refuge

in a secret refuge

(a thousand of them)

you notice things

the way things are 

for just a moment in time

and everything is as it should be

everything is everything 

Alhamdulillah

slow down, don't stop

a thousand moments

                  maybe more

a frail old man

eyes fixed on the floor

he carries a mammoth book

 he moves slowly

ever so slowly

(from a bus window)

                                          at twilight

a blind man bumps into

                    a sign outside a newsagents

a hovering stick before him

he moves slowly  

ever so slowly

someplace else

       a lady using crutches

she struggles as she clutches 

onto her everything

             she moves so slowly

ever so slowly

///heart breaks, at seeing souls make

    slow movements

but to move still

but the bravery 

but the life

but the bravery and the life

but the life 

      on the other side

the boys and girls from chelsea

sip martini's outside bars

dressed in tuxes and gowns

 on roadsides with fancy cars

the other side

a small private school boy

exclaims the lipstick pen is epic

unceasing laughter 

it's epic, shit it's so epic 

that lipstick pen

but also your boyhood  

spirit (keep it safe forever kid)

the kimono

the strangers

the runners that run by

the river that flows 

the lost foreigners that wander

drifting, sub alive

                   --- unable to identify 

with the townscape

and the people that make

it so

so so so so 

no tarrying, for some, just travelling

though

just looking to

the sky

and at the people

gosh the people
wondrous and unearthly

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

V&A reveries III

hiding in silver

waiting in gold

searching in tapestries

for wisdom, I sold

nothing, but a map 

a map a map a map 

I told you not to go

off track off track off track

it's not safe, but wait

forget it, just keep going

go any way you like

I'll keep wandering by the casts

under curly delicate glass

far from home in asia

far from home in the far east

far from home in renaissance

hmm hmmm hmmm but at least

we're in the same dimension

on the great bed of ware

if i fell asleep would I wake

elsewhere

 i wonder

life at the museum

it's all people watching and botching

up words.... too lost in thought

I can't remember a single thing

you said stranger,
 oh...?

oh japan is that way

oh kipling is there

asia is behind you

you're really quite near

////can I dream again?

sad girl

sad girl 

why are you so sad

you never said goodbye 

she know's you well enough

to understand

and if she doesn't that's ok

soon she'll forget, 

sad girl, you regret

everything

why not live well

so you have less to regret

                                            to forget

nothing is set

in stone 

not even your heart

(though you may think it)

sad girl

why are you so sad

you keep shutting everyone out

to keep from getting hurt

you end up getting hurt still

sad girl, I wonder what it will

take for you to learn

sad girl 

don't worry the feeling will pass

don't worry sad girl 

you'll get better soon

and when you can breathe again

nothing will seem so bad

gosh, sad girl 

why are you so sad

everything is ok

it will be just fine

though you may not believe it

there's a fine old line

between sorrow and gold
try to unfold
///// those old mind maps
             timelapse

the future is bright *believe it*

shalimar gardens, in battersea

it felt like shalimar gardens 

at twilight 

it always did

the birds never hid

away in trees

they flew in the pink sky

only they were black kites

maybe eagles

not pigeons and seagulls

and the water had all dried out

and the people had all gone home

and it was always better then

once the people had gone

and the world was quiet

and still and anew

it felt like shalimar gardens
what else was there do
but to tarry for a while longer
just a little while longer

weeping willow and a blackbird at sunset

restless skies

blustery winds

weeping willow

weeps louder 

his entire body is shaking

swaying, wildly flailing

tears are everywhere 

blackbird tries to console him

he perchs onto his shoulder

and whispers into his ear

for a moment weeping willow

stops flailing and wailing

he is still, he can hear

///mysteries, everlast///

twilight reflections in a secret garden

everything changes

 maybe for a while

maybe forever

who's to say, 

one day you go through a turnstile

the next you're on the other side thinking hey

where am I how did i get here

you're there then

you're there 

a wander after work 

wonder why you always dare

to take the road less travelled

perhaps you like the way it feels

earth and gravel

beneath your feet

pass the royal marsendon hospital

the sky is pink

trees are shrouded in cherry blossom

a heaviness begins to sink

everything is dark 

the birds begin to sing

but so beautiful too

a wander over albert bridge

the gold lights go on

the sirens are getting louder

fear pulses through the city

but above is only colour

only calm, 

the river is pink

a wander, ---disarm 

helicopters overhead

headlights and an uneasy traffic

twilight reflections

I find that secret heavy door

that leads to the secret garden

there is no one

just me beneath the noisy darkening sky

the sound of the water fountain

so melodic and sweet

just a dozen worn empty benches

just some more trees

vague gnarly ancient ones

hello trees, it's me again

it's sy, i wonder why

everything is always so weird

and strange 

                            so out of reach 

so out of range

i saw a rainbow today

when life gets you down

get the bus

it's cheaper

you lost your wallet 

always were a believer

of what's meant to be

will be, look out the bus window

you'll see - life goes on

shit sy, life goes on

and on and on and on

until it doesn't anymore

no sooner will you realise

what it was all for

you'll realise

that there was less to realise

than you always thought

when life gets you down

when you've been ill for so long

in your broke kingdom, where you belong

when you been so ill

so still, so unable to instill

a sense of peace within

and wonder

go for a wander

(even if it's in your mind)

so many roads go on forever

and you might just find

there's a rainbow down that way
it's okay to stray
off the beaten path

*this isn't everything*

when life gets you down

let the purple petals rain down on you

look to the gold light, feel it burn holes into

places that know only darkness

that brown girl with the purple hat

so small, she was facing you on that 

bus, looking at you the whole time

as if trying to communicate something

when life gets you down

go up to the secret film room

and hide for a bit, get lost in the moving stills

when life gets you down

follow mister robot in the museum

he was there, he was,  he was

make everyone laugh

even if it renders you half

a person, it won't worsen

cos your  windpipes already broke

for even in telling a joke

there is relief  -----------

shit sy, when life get's you down

when you think of everything 

and everyone you've ever lost

every decision that cost

you your peace and joy

look out of that bus window

             the river is still flowing

it's flowing

you are not a river

you are a person

and you can see the rainbow

                 and you can truly grow

through it all

///time lost//// senses gained///

pollution

pollution
the air is black and grey
the solution
is to float far far away

into the cosmos
there's no air up there

up above
there's only stardust
that's more than enough
sustenance

down on earth
I am perfecting the art

of falling apart 

the atmosphere is killing

gravity- let me go
I'd like to depart
I'd like to float

upwards  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

the art 

of wearing your earthly
 heart

on your material sleeve

where does that leave

  you?   

bereft -------


time and time and time
again
when oh when oh when
will you learn
child of the stars
to breathe in gold
and not hold
within clouds of black dust
bits of poisoned earthly crust
here on the cusp
//////              of a cosmic life
let go



the art              

 of wavering

of endangering 

       a hard-fought peace

this cough won't go away
 it won't cease

pollution
london  air is black and grey
to breathe it in
it will make your insides fray

your lungs will no doubt
fall apart

the night forest in translucent 

the sky is doing something

///words relayed, responses delayed

the storyteller and the wanderer

we clamber over gates

start down a baron path way

a metallic river

the trees are growing all around

i struggle to make a sound
 to speak to breathe

ribs rattle and bones squeak

mouths stays quiet

modern soul

pollution
the air is black and grey
the solution
is to float far far away

into the cosmos

and on and on and on and on and on
(yo im dying out here)

lost not found

sunlight, a crack in the window

   a beam of gold in a grey room

it spreads across the ceiling

      i watch it shift 

          all the while    reeling

from thoughts of yesteryear 

        yesteryear 

the daffodils were in bloom

spring was drawing near       

back then

     you and I would share

                         everything 

but maybe nothing too

shit man, I miss talking to you. 

        I miss wandering wherever

      I miss never

wanting to be anywhere else

i miss having a best friend

   someone to talk too 

most days I feel so alone

    but that feeling is nothing new

I wish we were able to see through

bullshit and pretense

           past and future tense

wish you could just be you

and I could just be me 

and we could meet somewhere in the middle

i spent a lifetime building walls, 

         what remains, nought but empty halls 

derelict spaces, disused and wasted

echoes reverberate        

          and nothing even matters 

lost not found

-----to be unbound

by time and space

by hurt and haste 

to find grace

in unlikely places

to remember things right

                                      to forever delight

in memories luminous in nature////

>>>>>>lost not found

night on repeat

black flies on the windowsill 

that we are

that we were

that we are to know

the sky opened up above

revelaving streaks of grey indigo

dotted with stars

         some fading and broken 

           some  disused

             loathsome 

hiding in the folds 

waiting for the light to go out        

 I wandered alone

by the river that night

looking upwards
        then the earth   shook ///////////::::::::::

and I coughed

and coughed and coughed
and coughed and coughed

until my ribs shattered

inside my battered

heart, became exposed

                                                    but I suppose 

it was only a matter of time

there by the river

by the japanese pagoda

the gold buddha watching me intently

as I clutched onto my insides

exposed in the darkness

though in the shadows it's easy to hide

like those stars in the folds

shrouded by the forever universe

writing on the wall

 leake street 

     delirious concrete 

colours on the wall

              shapes that enthrall

and 

the smell of piss and weed

              and        

    a single message to heed

'if you're looking for a sign

this is it'

woolwich life

tranquil vale

defiance avenue

zenith fried chicken

woolwich life

the blue flashing lights

the sirens

the road that lead into the river

the twilight sky

an elongated shadow

was it mine

it must have been

the atrium

the broken warehouses

tranquil vale

defiance avenue

zenith friend chicken

woolwich life

park bench

the moody twilight sky

streaks of grey and swirls of wonder

venus

the crescent moon reflected in a puddle

cold air,

              everythings      a muddle

vague shadows,                

           weeds and rubble

absent thoughts

I settle,  on that bench

watching, breathing

waiting

believing

                         that   by      leaving

footprints in mud

     a trail would be left behind
                              thud///
                                                       rewind time
where did the years go?

shit, where did the years go?

transitions

ten thousand wanders later

a victorian pumping station

a conservatory in a palace

the paper city from a high place

crouch end

the bend

of the railway tracks

the secret door

exploring hacks

                        a packed lunch

a weird hunch

that it's better to go forth

 up to the white house on a grey 

hill, passed an allotment

wandering still

how many hours have passed

when did night turn to day

still finding

new places to lay
to rest old stories
past failures and faded glories
with each mile traversed
a thought unversed
surfaces, i held your tiny buddha baby

he cried

i looked at your daughter

she cried

but those dancing eyes

they defied

the sadness she was taught  

and that old coversation

that left us both weighty with guilt

wish I could explain

why I'm never around

why I never show up

wish I could make you feel

less alone

wish I knew what to say

to make you feel like you're home

when we're together 

but there are no words

life inside the square

everything is alive

the pigeons in the sky

they flit over the water 

over the stone lions

some gather around me 

waiting for crumbs

for crumbs

she hums, she waves
he sweeps,

I gaze 

into space

I watch them

I watch the people pass by

an old lady takes a seat beside me

an young man gets up to leave

the busker

sings a sad drawn-out song
and then another, so she prolongs

a silent conversation
with herself, and everyone she had ever known
there alone, with pigeons in the sky

with the stone lions

everything is alive

where do we derive

our inspiration

if not through watching 

simply watching the world

observing encounters

they gradually unfurl

and give way to clarity,
a thousand lives play out,
       inside a cloud of profanity
                      kind words, and vanity
the world is a theatre,
                              ////sweet banality 

there is beauty, difference, there is life

after watching a blip of it

I went to watch paterson

watch the world

through the windows of his bus

in that empty theatre
I watched him watch life
the small details
to find peace and beauty in them,
every day is filled with beautiful surprises

fiction satirizes

fact, and everything is alive

the pigeons in the sky

the poems we write

the things we see

places, people, and objects, 

the things that render us free

the imagination, faith, hope

a thousand ways of seeing

everything is alive

imagining freedom

floating up and down

at night in the museum

and then it plays

if you want to view 

paradise, simply look around

and view it

and a smile crossed my face

and a feeling entered my heart

a feeling of pure joy

so powerful it could destroy

every molecule of ill

everlast everstill

in awe of life, and living

the beauty of imagining

everything

for in dreams

we are forever free

for in dreams

we can forever be

wherever and whoever

we desire

so live in dreams

where you will never tire

of the sublime too ordinary

things that make up existence

/////life is for the living///////////

living london in scattered places

there i was

sitting in australia, 

                                                 what a failure                  

south west thirteen 

in the company of a black swan

my mind was kind of hurting 

from thinking about all of life

and nothing in particular

exit five thousand

try not to be particular 

                          a wander by the thames

ten thousand memories

half grey, (a hundred more steps)

the rest

is history (the ancient kind)

so I settled in the walled garden

an orchard filled with apple trees

and tall tall sunflowers

and I sighed, an easy sigh 

cos despite it all

life is the shit

it's beautiful 

there's so much of it

beauty in the small details 

the sunlight on an orchid 

the crimson of his beak

the silence, the solitude, the freedom

what more does one need?

here be everything

your card has been declined

scars all over your face

red gashes and cuts

you were a costume maker

you said you couldn't remember

the name of the man you fell in love with

so you just wrote gorgeous man

how we live

sugar house,
                     cottonmouth
limehouse cut /
                         the slaughter
a barcodeless bottle
                                         of stolen water
and the future is just like now
but in a little while
                            so surrender
          and just smile,
at that stupid giant thing
on the wall
the barnacle geese
are landing on the water

 and the house boats
and the anecdotes
and the lessons learnt
the shits that burnt
a little bit of our insides
and
the red squiggle
the lidl pastries
the path, the past, the daydreams
the trampoline
                                 us in the air
up in the air
not a doubt, not a care
just the moon, and following lights
the neon, the scribbles
the fading nowhere nights

ethereal delights
small details

living london
is that what this is

our friendship is forever

and this is how we live

wild horses

wild horses

running through the green

one after the other

so free so free so free

the wild horses inside of me

are running still

the ocean

it will fill

every gash and gap

every undefined avenue 

on the map, 

that is you

the heavens cut in half

everything is new

the lights spreads, and reflects

and seeps in

the ravens ride the wild wilds winds

over the hills, these ancient hills

for a moment, everything is still

wild horses

they are running 

       running 

      they are running away