Category: Reflections

54. Do not be Crowned in Terror

My Daughter… Do not wipe the lonely tear as it rushes down your face in fear No! Let it yield to gravity’s pull I know it does not make you look cool!   My Agemates… Ask me why my daughter’s

Soft Footsteps of Memory

53. Death – what is it, one last time?

Is it a forced divorce of familial and familiar neural marriage, earlier wedded at the altar of mutual human recognition, and occasionally consummated through mirror-activity? Is it a forced remembrance of tomorrow’s Absence? A forced re-education of memory? Death: I

52. Death – what is it again?

Is it a retreat from a conscious coherence into an unconscious incoherence? If so, will death, even as the finest ash, not slip into the quantum world of wave-particle duality? And if so, what is death but a continuous existence?

51. Death – what is it?

Is it a song sang as a quivering question to summon answers from scared spirits? Listen carefully: feel the frightened instruments; taste the tremble of the drums on dazed eardrums; hear the slingshots of sounds hurled towards the gods… Death:

50. Thoughts

Of mute drums and snarling sheep Of thunder in tummies and cowing ears Of coiled thoughts and happy fists Of tumbling eagles and sleepless tunes And above all, thoughts of homeless thoughts! The seeming homelessness of my thoughts: They make

Violence

How it is that, in the quantum tango we call life, Mercy can tackle and mock Cruelty’s efforts to entangle, breaking its icy, clawing hands on the rocky shores of love?! And yet, in this random universe, seen from whichever

50. Mum

What do I remember? Slippery certainty, and the solidly of a suckle on a teat; a slap to snap my mouth out of the attempt to toy with it,all efforts to draw out milk from mum’s breasts having yielded nil.

49. Grandmother

What makes me wonder? My grandmother, Africa a fleeting fragment of faith in a memory in full flight; a summoning of sad sounds and shocked silences: a sobbed question: ‘Oh Africa, why have you left me, why?’ Death, a silent

48.Violence II

  What makes me wonder? How, in peering deep into Deep Time, we tiptoe on the wings of escaped light, into the heart of ancient violence. How, through the past prism of present heat, we peer into promised pain; for

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