Tuesday, May 31, 2011

We all secretly long to be adored, to be given bunches of roses, to be gifted with mindless little whimsies, to have our barmy imaginings listened to. But most of the time we go through life shut up like a clam with a wound festering inside waiting to be healed.

Picture: A bit of a ferris wheel that I once glimpsed from my window when a fair came to town.

Sunday, May 29, 2011


Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world,
for I would ride with you upon the wind
and dance upon the mountains like a flame!

- William Butler Yeats

Once upon a time I promised a little pine tree that I'll one day take it to the mountains and plant it there. I promised I'll take it out of its flower pot, its existence in the hot tropical heat and drive up the misty roads to where clouds are being born each moment. There I'll plant it among other trees and watch it grow, putting out shoots and roots as each year goes by and grow old under its green shade.
One day I will become one with it, with the clouds, the wilderness, the undulating peaks and that splendid stillness.

Photo: Tail end of the Wagamon hills, shot in March 2011.

Saturday, May 21, 2011


Sometimes when present stops, dries up,
the past opens its flood gates and
overwhelms you with your own strangeness.
Your tongue tasted things differently then
but now the air outside tastes of habitation
of quick meals and torn wings.

I can never stop dreaming of the mountains
of the future that is being played out there
over and over, as the present rolls away
January becomes May
a crease becomes a wrinkle.
but I still work out the details
each night toying with a split, wiggling toe nail
like a lingering memory of a nightmare.
I am my own waking dream.