Tuesday, April 21, 2009

All ink is indellible.

Its the typeface
And computer print out
In their harsh permanent etching on the paper

That are temporal.

The project plan
And the concept note
Armed to the teeth
Sending them out for votes.

Client and departmental head
Anxiety as we go to bed

Will it work?
Does it fit the bill?
Who is the TG?
Do I have the skill?

And all the brouhaha
Around the block
Dancing to the puppeteer
The mice upon the clock

And then you google search a poet
Who wrote with ink on page
With no sense of permanance
With callous disdain for age

And the words remain
Rippling water paint

Impressionist art.
Indellible ink upon the heart.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

The Post and the Host

I realise, blogging, and doing a radio show, have one thing in common.

You ALWAYS do it for one particular set of eyes. And ears.

No, no, no, no, noooo. Please don't tell me it isn't like that. I refuse to believe it. If you weren't doing it for one specific set of eyes, you'd not do it at all. Just like if you're not on the radio for one specific set of ears, you won't be much good at it.

That pair could belong to anyone. A friend, a parent, a teacher, a mentor, a competitor, an enemy, a lover. But subconsciously there is that one person we ALWAYS keep in mind.

So who's yours? Identifying who one is posting, or hosting, for, can be quite an insight into one's own personality. Sometimes a nasty shock. Sometimes a hilarious realisation. Often a smiling dawning.

So then? Who's yours?


No approval required
No validation sought
No truck with sentiments
Sold or bought

No 'you love me more'
Or, 'I couldn't care less'
No 'I did this for you'
Or, 'Is it over yet?'

No singing for your supper
No heartbreaks before lunch
No dinner-time passion
No morning-after hunch

This is the space
So white, so right
This is a smile
That hides no fears

This is the place
They call unconditional
This is joy in itself
And simplicity in tears

For all of us neurotic, chaotic, psychotic, frenzied
Half formed, half validated, incomplete, expressionless, valueless, schizophrenic
Underconfident, incontinent, half hurt, half mad, half crazed,
delusional, illusional, self obsessed, self glorifying, self worth hunting,
seeking, peeking, meek and beseeching, wondering, fearing,
hyper-sensitive, hyper-ventilating,
book-keeping, score tallying, sentiment spinning, value seeking hordes

I recommend the simple therapy
Of the love that is parenting.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

It Became Me

I don't quite know when
It became me.

The choices, the voices
The silent regrets

The spoken, and unspoken
The miasma set

I am uncertain yet, but the writing was loud
In bold purple, behind a scarlet cloud

It became me
When I claimed a hiding place
It became me
When I made my out-there face
It became me
When I stopped running and got out of breath
It became me
When I began worrying about death

It became me
When I began to ignore that it was a misfit.
It became me
When I stopped looking for it.

It became me.
A semi-person that I did not wish to be.