Sunday, 28 April 2013

poem apologies

so I know none of you are reading this
that's why I'm finally writing it down
I realize it's long overdue
but you know
I've always been renowned
-for the over-due-
and as such
-the guilt, I've accrued-
has been great
the weight, I've incurred
has been weighty
-I want to be weightless-
so let me speak to you:
let me speak though
the written word
for it's all I can manage
at this present moment 
 I apologize.... if only I knew
then what I know now
I know somehow
nothing would change
everything would've remained
the same
still let me just say, sorry
I'm sorry E for never going back
for never leaving properly
for not returning like I said I would...
I couldn't, it was a matter of timing 
and I'm sorry D for not calling you back
after you drove me home on cold nights
whenever there was a lack
of transport,
know that I fully support 
you and your decision 
to leave. 
I'm sorry S 
for not replying to your message
(I don't think I ever will)
not because I don't want to 
just because i'm somewhere new
and I'm through with that, for now
for now I want to be
I'm still battered: from the long hard winter
I'm sorry other S, for bailing that day
for not getting in touch since, to say
sorry. I am. Sorry.
and I'm sorry C, other C, for not making it
though we tried so many times
and that's why I've not been back in touch. 
you were there for me,
you understood me when no one else did
(human fragility)
-the experience of the otherworldly-
my guru, my teacher, i wish you knew
why I stopped replying...
why I disappeared
And J, I'm sorry never made it that day
or any other day after that
then too much time passed
with no words in between
and I'm sorry if I seemed
like I didn't care. I was just trying to be there
for me. And to the old gang
so many times I promised I'd visit
I didn't want to then because
i was failing and I knew
that you'd be disappointed 
I guess that goes for the rest of you too
poem apologies, who knew...
and to the girl who worked in Pooja 
I was supposed to show you around the city 
before you went back to India
sorry I didn't
and F, a hundred missed calls
I called you back a few times 
-empty lines-
-strange times-
and to all others who I may have 
I'm sorry. 
I hope you don't care
but I do and I hope I can find a way 
to actually be true and say
(as hard it may be) sorry
out loud. 
you know it's not that I'm proud
It's just, I forgot how...
Most of all
sorry you, truly madly deeply
 if only you knew
how much you mean(t) to me
even though it's through....

not a poet

nah, i'm not poet
i never claimed to be
in fact i started writing poems
relatively recently
because well
there was so much 
i couldn't formulate 
there was so much
i just couldn't say
(out loud)
see somewhere along the line
I forgot how to talk 
how to say the things
that I most needed to say 
and man did it frustrate!
and with no journal to write in 
-and disconnected from the One-
I wrote down a string of words
and called it a poem,
and then I wrote another
and then I wrote another
until life, became a series
of them,
of poems,
 like fragments of old journal entries
lonesome, broken
real emotion
(seeps through)
but more succinct
still indistinct, still only ink-
on paper
back then
I stopped writing
to connect to reality
but now here I am
ironing out this made-up fallacy
words upon words upon words
for I haven't managed yet
to communicate
a single thing inside this mind
i still haven't managed to find 
a way to bridge the gap
between this and that
(experience and art)
the tangible and intangible


they sell all them legit brands
they sells ritz and polos
and jaffa cakes
and I think maybe even rakes
to rake up them leaves
in your back yard
Poundland's the one
they got a sick range of cards
I got one the other day,
for my sister Rae
I got three for a pound, 
yeah Poundland be sound!
that's uncle J sorted
and I got an assorted 
pack of biccies too
while I was there
man they were good, 
Poundland, they got everything 
everything you could possibly need
you know they even got seeds 
for them little garden birds to eat
i think, 
yeah I think I might have made that up
but Poundland, I swear 
they got everthing in there
they got flashwipes, cans of pepsi max
they got stacks and stacks
of pills, pain killers, vits and lax
pound land, 
yeah pound land be da one
no need to waste time 
calculating the sum 
of all your shopping 
one plus one plus one
-poundland be da one-

don't -

no i don't talk about it any more, 
no I don't, I no longer store
away sad poems in my unread drafts
rather I distract myself with these 
colourful crafts
with work, with words, with images
in thirds- I just endure silently 
yeah, I just pretend everything is okay
when in actuality I'm still suffering 
when in actuality it's hard to get through the days
sometimes my eyes, they betray
this reality, that somehow I managed to create
(elsewhere) they glaze over
they reveal
what my sealed mouth would never say
it's hard yeah, I hafta say, honestly 
sometimes I wish I could lay 
down all my defences and just be
but every time I try, 
my scars begin to bleed
every time I try
I almost forget how to breathe
-another unpublished draft-

wanta be

i wanta be a freedom fighter
and fight for our 
collective freedom
i wanta be an urban planner
and mend the broken streets 
of my asia
i wanta be a park ranger 
and wander for days and nights on end 
i wanta be a teacher 
and teach them how to bend 
their tiny minds, mind you.... 
they already know how to...
i wanta sing the blues, 
I wanta bellow out soulful tunes
i wanta be a travel photographer; 
and capture life from the dune
or from the bottom of a valley
i wanta rally,
up the animals of farthing woods
would you believe me....
would you believe me....
would you believe me....
i wanta build a hot air balloon
 maybe float away
I hafta say,
this isn't everything you are. 
you're so much more
than you believe yourself to be
me, I (still) just wanta be free...
i just wanta be an ascetic
and give up all wantings
(i think, it's hard to say for sure)
i wanta be nothing, i want to be nobody
yeah i think I wanta disappear, 
i think I wanta forget I was ever here
on planet earth
though my stay has been 
nothing short of miraculous... 

Saturday, 27 April 2013

waiting for conviction

yeah man i hafta say 
that despite tryna' make 
the best of each and every day 
I'm bored, man,
I'm bored
in so many different ways
I'm bored, man,
I'm bored
of everything everyone has to say 
except maybe you
but you went away 
a long time ago
and so... and so... and so... 
I guess 
I'll just continue to be bored
yeah I know
I know I can't afford 
to mess up again, so I won't 
I just wish that I could pray 
that I could pray 
that I could pray
I just wish that I could say
that I could say
that I could say
-those foreign Arabic words-
with that same familiar conviction
that same conviction
it came so easy
once upon a time....

river and i

see every day
as I walk by the river
each weighty trouble
does slowly wither
away into thin air
and so do I
I guess that's 
the reasons why
I walk so much
river healing
river revealing 
certain secrets
river, it's between 
you and I 
all that we are 
we cannot deny
when we connect
I connect
river, I can see
yeah I can see
into another
watery reality
-river and i-

where we are

still in jail
still i fail
to engage 
with a thing called 
for I cannot force
myself to feel
a certain way
I can only pray 
that one day, we heal 
I can only pray 
that one day, we learn 
to better deal 
with the consequences 
of our actions
and our inactions

getting there, finally

finally, yeah finally
after a long hard road
finally a heavy load
is lifted and finally
I feel so happy
I feel so free
yeah finally
for the first time in forever
I feel like me 
I feel like me
yeah, I feel like I could be 
anyone I want to be
I want to be free
and so I am 
yeah, I'm already here
and so are you 
so are you my dear
I swear, finally, I dare
you and me
and everyone we know
to get through
-life is beautiful-
yes rough and yes tough
troubling, doubling in madness
but beautiful
-yes, life is beautiful-

Friday, 26 April 2013

make belief/ what a relief...

donar entry guy
what keeps you amused
is what keeps me bemused
a boring job, you say
day after day
training, on entering 
numbers into machines
yawn, but you choose to use 
interesting examples
yeah, through inserting 
provocative titles
into your database
like: miss(?)
yes what a miss,
that nearly was and asking
for a phone-number, top-notch
...innocent, maybe, maybe yes
maybe I'm just bored
of all, but your example
your request, for an address
haha donar entry guy
what kept you bemused
kept me amused
you made a grey day 
almost tolerable,
donar entry guy
pretzels on the table
olives and hummus too
life be weird, through and though
the things I mentioned, 
some how you already knew
guess I just like talking sometimes
to different people,
to people like you
can you tell I'm bored?
man I'm proper bored

they gone

lots of lost scribbles:
poems that once were

-ten thousand

ten thousand words
to write 
ten thousand demons
to fight (off)
and there's still
no end in sight 
-for I am, but
battling eternity- 
i shot the sheriff 
yeah I did it
I shot the sheriff 
before heading to Erith 
to be with
that one shackled
gypsy horse
they be horsing around
them other bandits

urban wanders 10# 11# 12#

pure magic 
indescribable beauty
the urban wanderer
against the sunset sky
in the twilight,
at nightfall
over a silver bridge so high
tracing the glowing orb, that hovers 
beside the towering shard
ours is a city with heart
a city with soul
just scroll, through the streets
watch as they greet
the ancient statue figures, it figures:
the river reflections 
the light deflections
emanating from the protruding
and there stands proud, yet humble
the great cathedral
and so there I wandered, I watched
the sunset sky 
and then I lied 
on the grass outside 
the Tate:
I looked up at the sky 
the leaves belonging to the
thin silver birches
fluttered and glinted
in the goldshine
and time
time ceases to exist
and Barry White, he sounds in my head 
the busker sings david bowie
-hours pass-
the saxaphone in the distance slows
the outline of st pauls grows
ever more distinct, ever more ethereal
pure magic 
indescribable beauty
yeah, indescribable beauty
and big ben at night fall, another day
another wander 
those dotty lights, still shining so bright
I crossed another bridge
and another bridge  
and then another 
I crossed the gardens too 
and then another garden
 and then another
 neat and prim, the gardens 
of victoria embankment seem
so tranquil and tranquillizing
gold light fades into twilight 
hours pass, another wander
another wander, south bank 
the london eye, even in the silent night
circulates, edges upwards 
majesty (not beauty you say 
but beauty, in every way 
is in the eye of the beholder)
Blackfriars, weaving through
no I don't believe its a construction
the gold haze surrounding tower bridge
on a warm middle eastern evening 
(even though its a construction sight; blackfriars)
but no, I don't believe it's a construction
used to lure in the tourists
-romanticism: pure magic: indescribable beauty- 
Byron, Wordsworth, Shakepeare
even Blake, these are my compatriots.
Yeah I admit some days I mark on every face I see
marks of weakness marks of woe
but most days I believe 
Earth has not anything more fair to show
yeah, I believe its my city 
its a beautiful city
real and pure
colourful, supernatural, to be factual
it is the best and as I lie, 
on the grass a smile on my face
music in my ears
eyes cast upwards at the clear city sky
I know I'm right
where I'm supposed to be.
Here. Not there, not in the mountains.
See me, I'm in awe always,
I marvel at the marvellous
me the born and bred londoner
the eternal tourist 
for london is something different every day
a thousand things to see,  
always in awe of this beauty
always in awe of
this fine city, so pretty 
the harmonies, the melodies
the faces, all different
ahh, what better thing
what offers more healing
than to lie on the grass for a thousand hours
and to feel at home in this city
by the silver birches of the tate
see while you wait 
I'll be here, just breathing 
smiling, witnessing 
the merging of day and night 
what a great spectacle to behold
I was sold
from day one-  
the peaceful glorious union
the oranges, the reds and yellows and golds
and then the blues and silvers that follow
breeze throughout
urban wanders, urban slumbers 
no bag, few belongings
belonging to the city 
i belong to you london
since sixteen, I been wandering
your city streets
in moonlight, in goldshine
i love you london

Saturday, 20 April 2013


.................hmmm, dunno...................

finking of throwing it out
my samsung GT e810
ma gangster mobile, 
finking of goin' mobile

yeah man
im finking of chucking it out
chucking out ma phone
yeah man
 im finking of maybe perhaps

goin' it alone

but not really alone
just out of dis zone
of un-reality 



maybe I just 
wanta be free

maybe I'll also

dese dumb internet pages
dese lonesome virtual spaces

where I post random tings
which bring 
...........about nothingness........
(no change)


hmm so listen yeah,
if i do disappear
and you wanta find me
I'll probably be, 
out dere roamin' da streets 
yeah, I be searching

or maybe yeah
(more realistically)
you'll find me
drinkin' flower tea
under ma old pine tree
(in tooting common)
tryna find da old me
tryna let ma soul breathe....


maybe, maybe, maybe

-we'll see-
........ ........hmmm, dunno.....................

let me just ask...

can I just ask
what the hell
are you doing here?!
when you could be
when you could be doing
just what is it
that makes you think 
that you're okay, to be where you are
no clever repertoire
not now;
let's just be straight.
let's just get to the bottom of this, 
what makes you think
what makes you think
what makes you think
that its enough?
-here and now-
look, I don't mean to be tough
with you dear,
but it makes me fear
for humankind, 
I mean, if someone like you can't find,
or at least understand 
the truth, 
that your human potential
your god-damn human potential is
then what hope 
is there for the rest of us?

yeah, I'm talking to you

Friday, 19 April 2013

how long, I wonder...

how long, I wonder 
before I lose interest in you...

how long, I wonder
before you lose interest in me too...

how long I wonder,  
before I move onto someone new

how long, I wonder
 before we both remove

each other

from our two separate lives


isolated atoms
-drifting apart-
how long before it happens?

losing interest
I confess, it happens often
often, I imagine...

how long, I wonder, 
how long before we do the thing 
we human-beings
must do

-part ways-

it happens
how long, I wonder, how long...

bin juice

a trail of
bin juice 
to drag
the trash out 
early morning 
eyes pronounced
still shut
not ready 
for the wind
the smell of garbage
that it carries
lashes flutter
stay closed

found love in a trippy place

dem mellow highlands in far sight
dis pterosaur gliiiiiide right by
smoked tobacco in the neon lime
what makes the fox so deprived

(It’s da way I’m feeling I just can’t deny)

-but I’ve gotta let it go

we found love in a trippy place

da little mouse, yeah it licked my face
da stinkin' cat looked on disgraced
we found love in a trippy plaaaaace

riggy, figgy, siggy

we three sisters
riggy: figgy: siggy 
we three sisters
it's a little bit tricky 
-for the outsider-
to understand
the way we are
when we're together,
we're forever
bouncing of walls

early amitabh bachan

dear mr subway dude
don't worry about them yeah,
you weren't rude
you just had an attitude 
problem, the good kind 
-sort of undefined-
-more than unrefined-
like a bombay superstar
in the making
(a smile from afar/ from india)
you brought it with you, 
packed it in your suitcase
then took it out and wore it on your face
when you left the airport
-since when did I resort-
(to making stuff up)
borrowed perhaps
(your indian smile)
from the early
amitabh bachan
(remember leg 'o mutton) 
I don't even know
what I'm talking about 
any more...

mediate- to sedate

with not a minute to meditate; 
with not a moment to sedate
this restless heart, this racing mind
with not a second to find: 
words (words that mean stuff)
like I don't know-
I miss you golden boy 
and your lafungi brother too
like I don't know-
this mind, its paper mache
and I guess I haven't got much to say
yes my mind is mush
but as such I'd just like to say 
what's on my mind
what's on my paper mache mind-
let me tell you a secret
since the age of fifteen
I've be living in this strange dream
I've been struggling with this thing
it's why I can so openly write
with no qualms: 
let me tell you about it-
before leaving, this evening
I found myself in a basement 
an underground basement 
with some salafi sisters 
belonging to a place 
I can never go back to
and I watched 
the otherworldly mufti 
on the screen, 
I wanted to feel something 
so much i wanted to be affected 
but I wasn't.... so I left
I went back upstairs, 
and in the evening light 
I sat on my silly swivel chair
and I swivelled round and round 
round, till I was very dizzy
-it was trippy-
yeah it was trippy 
but then I left...
always leaving

Thursday, 18 April 2013

distillation/ serendipity

so entrenched now
that I can barely see
the latitudinal beauty
of it; of every pre-written connection
of every otherworldly synchronisation
distillation; impossibility
 an aching arm
cool yeah, 
I already knew that.

to absorb

funny how you just have
this vague idea in your head
and by some strange twist of fate
it becomes real and you get 
a real opportunity-
the law of attraction
the secret: they say
I just hope one day
I can absorb this stuff into my brain
and actually make the best of it
and achieve what I know I can
and do my best, I know I am
lacking right now, but still
I hope I can make the most
of being where I am
-I've got a long way to go-

is wasn't edgware

end of the line
a promise we made that time 
post fireworks 
we saw it through-
we travelled the distance
we travelled all the way to
is that where
we ended?
no it was high barnet
I remember now 
it was high barnet
-what carnage!-
that fizzy weirdness
that antique shop
that winters day
we went astray, 
we walked the whole way
yeah we crossed that log
in the suburbs, over a stream
yeah it was in those empty fields 
we shared our empty dreams
and secrets too
what a strange day 
and at nightfall
we found ourselves 
back in tooting
Yeah tooting
watching CCTV footage 
in chicken licken
traipsing to the police station
man sixteen, that was a weird year
from then on, I been well-geared
for weirdness
what you up to these days? 
drop me a line,
maybe we can go back in time
and travel through that empty field
once more. 

dat poet boy

da other boy
dat one from da past
da poet, his name
it keeps apprearing too
like his name on the database,
 in my inbox, 
no not my inbox
actually the info inbox
at work
dat poet boy
he was a poet long before me
long before we
ever crossed paths
now, years later, his name
everday it appears before me
in the info inbox at work
that’s what happens, I guess
when all the shadows of your past
are high flyer, do-gooder
wanta change da world types
yeah, dat poet boy, 
I remember him- vaguely
just like I vaguely remember
that name on the database
I never see your face
anymore, anywhere
I never think about where
we could be...


yeah safe I got a lot of contacts
yeah safe, I’m pretty good at networking
but this networking, man I gotta say
its notworking: 
this networking is notworking
cos well see, I keep un-networking 
myself and starting again from scratch
scratch that- words upon words
maybe its just the circles i travel in
see they all intersect: see they all just reflect
each other (certain similitude)

waterloo scribbles

yeah, life- it begins after five
here i be sitting under the london eye
knees up, writing away 
in the post-storm sunshine
it hits me, those cosmic rays
the early evening glow 
bathes puddle reflections 
a cool spray of fountain breeze
wandering still, wondering still 
and smiling and whistling 
-it's uplifting- 
reciting wordsworth in my head
what a beautiful life he must've led:
oh waterloo!
if only you knew
how much I wanted to live this way before 
back when I was so bored
of it all.... I just hope you're making 
the most of this unearthly weather
what are the odds we'd be here together 
in Waterloo. Nil. We weren't 
but I've learnt 
to enjoy it alone, 
post-storm: that glittering gold! 
light on the tower, 
the sight never gets old
it just gets more ancient; more refined
it just grows ever- sublime

Wednesday, 17 April 2013

urban wander #7

a bit of conversation 
in the afternoon 
outside the british museum 
under the sun
i'm finding it hard to type
ma brain is melting 
but let me keep telling
you about my urban wander
yeah maybe i'll apply for
that one way ticket
to mars- nah I'm already there
yeah blad, I'm already there
on mars, from where I am
I can see through da stars-
I can see right though them
and he works in a meat shop
that young lad with squiggly hair
but he said he could be there 
sun, sat, fri, thurs, wed, tues, mon
in that order
come then, come kill some time 
-are you interested in science-
-are you interested in the sublime?-
loud and creative you say
come then, come kill some time
you made it, you wrote it
-yeah I'm more than a bit confused-
so I wandered again
yeah I wandered 
-I w(A)ndered, bemused-
-I w(O)ndered, confused-
Aww bless, I wandered though
Covent Garden, the back ends of Holborn 
Leicester Square too, 
the streets were alive with old memories
of you (not you, just no-one)
the after 6pm crowds
appeared, this time I had company
yeah I had some beautiful company
-still livin' in some vague dream-
a smile here and there
(yes there be healing)

einstein afro

a mop of white hair
or was it an Einstein afro
I can't say I really know
I can't say I really know
 for sure, but surely
he was there
one arm trapped in the train door
with the other he waved, 
yes he waved 
in order to save 
his limb from being torn away, 
he waved
he waved in jovial horror
-the tube-

Tuesday, 16 April 2013

flashback tuesday

.....i watch.....
(in a daze)
the three small mice
and thier funny micy ways
on the platform of the station
-I watch as they elude patience-
scurrying scurrying scurrying
hurrying, hurrying, hurrying
to get to the place they need to be
-patience, little mice, patience-
...i watch (in a daze) i look to see...
everything, for everything be trippy
to this odd urban hippy
especially these
three tiny mice
so thrice, I breathed
and then and then and then
then a stranger, she came up to me
-from nowhere-
and she hugged me
and then and then and then
slowly I realised 
much to my surprise
 that it was her
yes it took some time, 
for it to register
-patience little mice-
names upon names
I sifted through my mind
until I did find
it, yes I remember! 
....we shared a room one September? 
or was it a December? 
or maybe is was a July?
-time, it doesn't lie-
in Switzerland was it? 
yes, I remember
flashback tuesday, the pieces 
they barely fit, if only I writ
it down, but wait I did
but wait 
I can't find that notebook  
and you know the archivist too
and you wrote an article about her 
in the newstatesman, yes the hard poet, 
I knew her well, 
a soul so true, a true freedom fighter
a voice of power, 
we'd chat for an hour, each time
we met in the prayer room
yes, small world and morad, you knew
her too? If only I knew
small world, 
flashback tuesday 
flashback tuesday
-where did the mice go?-
(into the dark tunnel)
-into  the abyss of uncertainty-
......i watch.......
then on my way home,
yeah on the tube
Francesca dude, 
I saw you, you were right there in front of me 
I said nothing, I just watched 
as you clasped the yellow bar
with both hands, muttering, I think
on our northern line train 
you looked so distracted 
so troubled: so maimed, 
inspecting your orange fingernails 
-dear, are you turning to rust?-
are you going off the rails 
again? I've spent too much time away 
and there are no words for me to say
so I remained silent
so I averted my gaze, so I looked some place
else, though i remember that time we spoke
about requiem for a dream, you lent me the dvd
when I was sixteen, or fifteen 
or maybe fourteen 
you were ghosting, when we met again 
by chance, in this same way,
on another train.
The questions remains
are you in the same place? am I?
back then, we'd both hit the back roads
now here you are a lady
now here I am a hobo 
I wonder do you still recognise me
probably not- who knows? 
I knew, you would get off at clapham south
when the train alighted. yes I knew, 
and you did, you ducked under a strangers
arm and gosh you reminded me of her
of my old best mate 
of your old best mate
of T,  she rubbed off on me 
maybe she rubbed off on you too. 
Ahh flashback tuesday 
flashback tuesday
flashback tuesday
Hmm I don't know what to say 
just another weird day 
in the life of sy
ah it could have gone awry
but it didn't, because I bagged her shopping 
and shared my biscuits
and watched the young ones, just laugh.
flashback tuesday
flashback tuesday
flashback tuesday
(three small mice)

urban wandering #4

I carried on wandering
past china town 
the patterned letters and neon lights
what was that? 
a duck in the sky, a duck taking flight?
now here, in Leicester square
where the tourists wait
where the serpents glare
the past; the timeless statues
they still keep watch 
the smell of butterscotch 
still fills the air, I forget
where I am? and then I wander
past St-Martins-in-the Field
and Trafalgar Square
that same lion continues to stare 
in the same direction (a million years
have passed)
-a crook in his iron neck-
just keep to the trek!
just keep trekin'

urban wandering #5

hmm but then I saw something 
something quite new,
something candid
something almost true
a man, from Vietnam 
in awe, sheer awe
at the beauty of big ben
that's when 
it clicked! 
but then it un-clicked for a
tourist clicked 
the button on his camera
and in a flash it was gone
so I stared back 
once more
at the houses of parliament
like life, like london, like this poem
as I crossed the river
as I travelled back south
those familiar mountains
those estate blocks
appeared on the horizon
bounding! invisible, yet confounding
-the imperial war museum-
the roundabouts:  
dem hotel workers be havin a smoke
under a dark bridge
away from the river boats
away from the suits
I carried on wandering 
my feet did not touch the ground
though once or twice, I ground
to a halt and just stared up
at the sun and I wondered
nothing. I wandered nothingness. 
a few countless more steps. I ended up 
where? Hmm I don't care
neither do you
still this beauty: it's nothing new
-discolour your life, with madness-

urban wandering #3

row after row
of tree trunk cut outs
 mismatched benches
on them
the same people reading
the same book,
over and over:
again and again
and the same kids are
running in circles
wondering and wandering
when and when
playing in water
-everlasting fountains- 
paper mountains, 
surrounding the city
-blocks: south london: blocks-
and the same elderly folk 
are caught up in forgotten dreams,
musing on times gone by
 (or so it seems) 
wasting time and
just waiting to die
yes, they're just waiting to die

urban wander #2

so I wandered past, I floated by
a string of music shops, 
a hundred shiny guitars 
they told me to keep to the stars
they told me to avoid empty reservoirs
they told me to paint over my scars
with bubblegum, hubba-bubba
or to take a rubber
and rub them out
(denmark street)
trippy beats
-yet, I can't see so much; 
yet, it's quite blurry-
I don't know why 
I keep trying to explain
the way things are
because the way things are 
are so far -so far- so far 
from your reality
gradually, I'll stop trying...
but I wandered
yes i wondered

Monday, 15 April 2013

urban wander #1

a million things
to (re)discover
so I left to go
 for an urban wander
so I left the office
and made for the streets
I left them there,
the pile of sheets 
(on my desk)
-i let them rest- 
for a while
for they can wait
for another day 
so I walked away
so I wandered
into the world 
into the strange world 
of London
-a thought with each step-
reflecting/ musing
spacing/ choosing; 
to wander, but not to wonder
certain things
-this is not me-
reader: I can't make you see
that I can't see, not really
(how to disappear completely)
the song: the story of life

Sunday, 14 April 2013

spring sunday

beautiful sunshine 
breeze on a spring day 
the goldfinches, they sing 
their courting melodies 
as we lie on tall grass-
the hearty remedy:
the healing:
left-over sadness
for laughter with sisters
-instils a weighty gladness-
to be alive 
on this one spring Sunday
to just lay:
to look to the sky
to feel truly alive 
is a beautiful thing
-so smile-
-so just let go-

victoria coach station

different faces
heading to different places 
different bags
 slot in- between
empty spaces
changing letters 
on the screens
scattered all around:
torn magazines
changed again
scattered destination
(the coach station)

different faces
heading to different places
nuns on sojourns
the student on his return
young man in a daze
a pair of forgotten runaways
with nowhere to go
(the coach station)
victoria coach station:
where time does slow

especially for the elderly
on day trips
putting up with dodgy hips
and aching knees
awaiting the promise of sunshine
and cool spring breeze,
in a seaside town like Clacton 
-the coach station-

coach station dreams:
we're all just killing time
we're all just waiting to die

old friends

lucy, special soul
you inspire me 
to be the higher me 
and dear bruce
lets make a truce
to stay connected 
for lately
i been resurrected
you'll see me around
now i vow,
to stay visible
i won't hide any more
not like i done before 
i'ma just keep sailing 
though this one life 
silently ima continue 
to battle out this strife
ima shrug off the mess
that won't allow me rest
in peace, yes till i cease
ima shrug it off
and ima just be
-so free and so happy-

where's wally in westfield

so some how, 
on boxing day
I found myself 
in the most unlikely place
(well unlikely, 
for a vagrant like me)
a vagrant who'd rather be 
in the wild
the wilderness of
in Stratford
it was something else
-completely absurd-
(to be there)
man, I swear
I'd never seen so many
folk in my life
my oh my!
as we traipsed
we planned for an escaped
and so we escaped
to a quiet place, to the top floor
and like a pair of wally's
we played where's Wally
as we looked down
at the crowds
at the swarms of people
they looked so small
to be part of the surreal-
to be part of the unreal
I didn't at all feel
like we were 
the same species
were we?

Saturday, 13 April 2013

woof : pitter patter

the rain 
the park 
the sky, a dark 
grey: another day
under the same shelter 
-a dwindling dweller-
-keeping from getting ever wetter-
in the background
the same black wolf dog
-recites his ever-familiar dialogue-
barking in the rain
trying to regain:
with drops of rain-
woof woof
woof woof
-barking rain
it does scatter-

stay blessed

i suggest 
you make the best
dear friend, you are
so so so so so blessed
entirely and completely 
for all those around thee 
are beautiful; 
they give you strength 
they make you smile
when times are hard
they make you forget 
for a while

from above

-a gust of wind
broken scaffolding
fell from above
high above, it landed 
a few inches before me
'that was close!'
she said as she flit by
her blond ponytail 
swished side to side
-spaced out-
woah man, 
I was about to die!

thing called hope

in time 
i hope palestine
will remind you 
of a thing called hope: 
through words you showed
me everything; the olive trees 
the arid valleys, lush green villages
Bethleham's cobbled quiet alleys;
stars so bright
against the night
sky, the gold dome 
and tears in the early morn
the weary complication 
of a dire situation
so many stories 
so many lessons 
to be learned
so much I yearned 
to be there with you, to see- 
though I live vicariously 
through you and though
every character 
I create, 
for every story that I make 
up in my head
see I've already led 
a million lives, 
I've already journeyed 
through a million different times
the beauty of imagination 
the joy of fascination
-the practise-
(you: the storyteller)
(me: the writer)
in time 
I hope palestine 
will remind you 
of a thing called hope
-beauty and love-

Friday, 12 April 2013

certain east african brothers

east african brothers
man, dey got swagger
all your pre-existing 
resist all your fallacious
da ones dey be feedin' you 
on da box,
see dese east african brothers
dey be in da mosque
prayin', while you be sayin'
shit about dem
-engineered falsity-
(d'you get me?) 
cos what I see, to be true
man, it ain't nothing new; 
dese east african brothers
dey pursue
something out of dis world
-something ancient-
-something learned-
dey posses a certain kindness
minus, da arrogance; dey possess
a certain humility and truth, 
yeah dey be true
dey be real, I never knew
much about dem before 
I never really saw
da way dey were, 
-absent pirates-
stiving and righteous
dat east african swagger
upright, frank, valor
seeking worth
dey ask no questions, 
dey gone' be dere
always ready to volunteer
I gotta say 
man, dese east african brothers
dere mothers,
sure raised dem right 
I'd like, yeah I'd like 
to know more about
dese east african brothers

to tarry

you got married
while i tarried 
the street corners
for a little too long
happy for you now
happy that you
finally belong, 
some place. 

torn teeth: twins

I heard a story today
that I wanted to share
a story so simple,
but at the same time
a story so rare
so I made a cup of tea
and I wrote down some poetry
I wrote down this poem
girl your  
simple but rare story
it was
incredible; but highly credible
using some words 
I'll turn your story into a poem
-the story: the poem-
of that time
your foolish twin brother
dived into the shallow end
and his braces, they got caught onto a tile
while you were somewhere else
and to save his own life
he pulled away 
torn teeth hung from his mouth
 blood flooded the pool
and you recieved a call
from your cousin
'take him to a&e'
you said before you returned home
by then your mother, she already knew
something was wrong
but you said nothing
instead you bit into your sandwich
and your two teeth started bleeding
'wash your mouth' your mother said
before that you admitted you never
believed in twin
but now to this day,
you say
you get sick, whenever gets sick
though where he is
you never really know
these simple stories go
a long way, in teaching us lessons
beautiful lessons
the kind you'll never learn

baited breathe

did i already know? 
that you were in so 
deep. did i weep?   
when I found out
where you were?
where are you? 
what did you do?
the past few nights  
i've dreamt of all the 
places you could be
locked up, I await 
on baited breathe
the past few nights
it's been hard to breath
that your someplace
no one ever wants to be.

fried chicken and ice cream

chicken cottage
tea and ice cream in the office 
with a mate: a good mate- 
was it fate?
those shared jokes
laughter so true
days like that I knew 
I made the right decision; to leave,
still sometimes I grieve:
on all that never was...

queen of malmö

cascading waters
the atlas mountains
thousands and thousands 
of charging bedouins; shouting
that lost their way
they never truly fade away
and I hafta say 
it's more than 
that his blue house stands;
there, yeah, I hear 
he be smokin' hashish; 
without a care
in the world, 
for soon the dark skinned
queen of Malmö
the strong Swedish warriar
will restore order
-draw lines -
cross the border
for they're coming.... 

Thursday, 11 April 2013

another dream day

another day of
living in this dream of
living in between 
two places
another day of seeking 
God's graces
(thoughts abrasive)
-this soul: vegetative-
another day of seeking 
new ways 
to face, each and every
shiny piece of trouble
instead of burying it in rubble
i'm seeking new ways 
to face; life
and glossy pieces of trouble 
polished and pummled
by the devil himself

another day of
living in this dream of
living in between 
two places
-one chases;
the other-
-fiction: reality-
(certain duality)
i awoke in the early hours 
of the morning
i'm still mourning 
the loss of the one 
who's behind bars
some place far- far- far 
away from here:
some place:
I don't know where
too many unpublished poems
too many thoughts unvoiced
too many secrets to keep 
too many times-
I made the wrong choice
i never had a choice,
the choice was never mine
now I've got half a mind 
to expel (the entirety)

another day of
living in this dream of
living in between
two places
(hidden traces: of eternity
of heaven and hell)
exist-can't you tell?-
man, can't you tell?!
I awoke in the morning
to the sound of troubled voices 
outside and outside I thought 
am I asleep? am I awake?
am I alive? have I already died?

so i stuck my head out of the window
half dazed, they looked up at me, 
un-fazed, they looked away 
another day of
living in this dream of
of living in between 
two places 
funny and strange
for the day- it hadn't even begun 
spiritual malaise; hadn't even sung 
it's oh so familiar tune. 
you're right, ima loon.


give her a few years
she'll be gone
you'll find her 
in the place she belongs-
riding her bike 
through the valleys
surrounding hargeisa
im'a go see her 
when she finally does 
settle down there
with her guy
well, I'll try 
at least to make it 
for life is what you make of it
know that, yeah
just know that fact
even when the odds are stacked
against you.
life is what you make of it

a somali and a pakistani

a somali and a pakistani 
walk into a bank with a suitcase
ahh man, 
I can never keep a straight face
when I tell this joke
ha! the joke is; there ain't one'
let me just run
with this a little longer
-I know, I know; I'm right plonker-
where was I? 
oh yeah,
a somali and a pakistani
walk into a bank with a suitcase
full of coppers, 
and the coppers;
they looked bare suspicious
you kind of had to be there

an option

the option appeared before me
-manage your inmate list-
I ran the risk 
of crying out laughter 
at the sheer ridiculousness of life
at the sadness of the option
the option that appeared before me
-manage your inmate list-
perhaps the option exists
for the lonely gangster 
for tribesmen behind bars
for lowly outlaws 
from that faraway planet of Mars
-manage your inmate list-
this life man, 
it does consist
of a whole lot of crazy-ass shit!
and man I hafta say 
a part of me is actually looking 
forward to judgment day 
when all this insanity
makes sense, when things fit,
when clarity is finally made clear 
yeah by then I fear, 
it'll be too late
-to dissipate-