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.

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

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

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.