Monday, 17 September, 2012

The feet.

Little feet, crawling
Mouth, the only reception
Eyes watching, witnessing lies
Ears listening cries
Little feet learn
For they let them.

Not so little feet, escaping
Hiding in the dark
Too much light, too real a reality
Succumbing to their way
Not so little feet walk over
Pulling down anything between their path
Not so little feet have learnt
For they let them.

The old feet, at rest
No zeal, no time, no place to run
Old feet, make patters in the dust
Old eyes look, introspect
Of wasted miles, of wasted suns
Old eyes shut, they won’t open
The old feet unlearn
And they let them.

The old woman, the old man.

Held his petite fingers
They kissed his forehead
Filmed him take his first ever steps
At around their knees he would prance
Pulling on grandma’s hair
With grandpa’s glasses he would play along
‘Ride me on your back grandpa'
And the old man would kneel
'Sing me a sleep song granny'
And her breaking voice sung melodies

Today it’s his twelfth birthday
All his friends are home
The old man, the old lady though would sit alone
In a place un-cherished and unknown
Holding on to a knitted sweater
With the grandson’s name sewed in blue
She wipes a silent tear
Trickling down grandpa’s cheek
Holding his arm, just being there
Looking at the broken wooden door
In a rickety old harbour for aged
They wait for their son to pick them up
For the place which was once their home

Winter, the only season their life understands
Whilst they sit and wait to transcend
To a world where there is no place
To a world with no time
Where they can watch down from the skies
Their grandson singing the rhymes
They once sung to him
Before the transient nature of time
Turned the ones they raised
Forgetful and unkind

Friday, 14 September, 2012


Warm feet,
arms, hands, those wanderers 
Breath, collide
A face, beautiful, seductive
Moist lips, skin radiating, pristine white
hair, darker than the night
A blanket covering the uncovered
darkness overwhelmed senses
lights needed no more.

Winter, stay.

Cold feet, a pair
arms rolled, a pair
No collision of breath
A face as cold as ice
melting into the crimson fire of pain
Cracked lip, raw skin
Upon an abandoned body
a blanket covering the uncovered, still
darkness overwhelming the senses, still
lights needed no more, still.

Winter, stayed.