Wednesday, 23 September 2020

Society is sick

Time melts, stalls, blinks, and flashes
I am drawn to your soul
Magnetic and energising.


Society is sick -

It lost a tactile sense.

Touch is now discomfort 

Empathy withers away with comfort

Fear of viral connection -

Does not drive this sickness

It is rooted in individuality

Stripped of community -

Driven by insecurity,

Starved, longing souls remain.


I am drawn to your ease

The warmth of your way

The sense of rhythmic beating.


Society is sick -

It lost a sense of being

Obsessed with the cult of appearance

Awkward eyes meet - a moment

Then quick downcast,

A smile to a fellow human

Becomes a shameful thing.

This sense of being -

Stripped of human connection

Listless, unengaged eyes remain.



Friday, 11 September 2020

A Dry Season Rupununi Day

Slow, quickening brightness Damp, sweet dew dripping. Aerial orchestra as the sky yawns - Yellow, reaching through blue Blending light with earth colours. Blazing fury as time stands still Shaded conversations and gentle sips Cool breeze, like heaven's blessings The hum of heat's heartbeat Blending hazy rhythms of hammock swings. Silky silence settles On Rupununi sunsets Sun-kissed golden grass In that magic hour - Blending beauty and possibility. Slow, steady breeze Whispering through trees, Ruffling thatched roofs Promising a blanket of night Blending twinkling magic on black canvas

Tuesday, 19 May 2020

Hollow heart

I let it go –
All that hurt you caused me
I let the river,
Take it and finally I feel free

I let it go –
Those moments I felt small
I let the tree,
Dig in and finally I feel tall

I let it go –
The endless nights I cried
I let the rain,
Wash it and finally I feel clean inside

I let you go –
Because you needed me to follow
And my love,
You drank from my heart till it was hollow

Monday, 9 March 2020

Guyana Stories


Guyana –
A country born of their sacrifice
Heirs of their pain –
Where do I end, and you begin?
Why do we stand apart?
Can you not see our colourful threads?
A tapestry woven through time –
A million stories tightly bound

There is danger in a single story.
Can you not see our histories intertwined?
Written on the land
Control the narrative – control the nation.
Can you not see what the fear does to us?
Hacking at our tapestry –
Setting the threads ablaze
Distorting our woven story
So – that the main rhetoric remains
Telling us a single story –
Is this or that.

Well - my Guyana is not this or that.
My Guyana is choice.  My Guyana is everything.
My Guyana got nuff gaff and laugh
My Guyana is made of little stories
Of resilience,
Of joys,
Of pains,
Of freedom,
Of histories,
Of myths and legends,
Of nature,
Of dreams and hopes
My Guyana is not a single story
My Guyana is made of love
Of daily heroes unrecorded
Of invisible struggles
Of silent devotion
My Guyana is woven with –
rays of sunlight,
reflecting at sunrise and sunset
Woven with earth colours, blended.
My Guyana is not a single story
My Guyana is a living painting.

Monday, 16 December 2019

Attention to Intention

You knew I was wild
But you wanted to play
You liked my attention
When I started to dance
Only for you -
You had another intention

Danced with me for a while
Knowing I was wild
Pulled me down - fed me your dreams
Till I let my vision drift
But you liked to play
You liked my attention

I made you feel special
Cause I danced for you
You let me think it was real
When I helped you heal
But you liked to play
You liked my attention

You've broken my heart
Taken me apart -
I know it was not
Your intention -
But you liked to play
You just liked my attention

Sunday, 15 December 2019

Gleaning meaning

Some like sanitised meaning
Never truly gleaning
The mystic soul-
They lock their beating hearts to ideals of cold and measured moments
Wildness without relent-
Torments the narrow mind
How can fire be kind?

Decisions based on proven facts-
Fear-driven tacts
And man's unnatural care -
Lacks courage of a soulful tear,
Two beats locked in arrythmic sway
Yearning to cut/ and break away
Tied in hypothetised metric steps
The cost to cut and run too steep

Thursday, 12 December 2019

No hope, no witness, no reward

You've gotta love it through the grime-
Even when no glory is to be had
There are those who like to shine
When other lights are on
But those that twinkle-
When the darkness overwhelms
With no hope, with no witness, with no reward
Well-
They are the ones who love through time

You've gotta love it through the grime-
Even when no glory is to be had
There are those who love to boast
Only when they know they're heard
But those that whisper-
When the silence rings
With no hope, with no witness, with no reward
Well-
They are the ones who love through time

Society is sick

Time melts, stalls, blinks, and flashes I am drawn to your soul Magnetic and energising. Society is sick - It lost a tactile sense. Touch is...