Are you a bird that flies in formation?
Or are you an individual of your creation?
Do you yearn for others and structure?
Or do you hunger for endless adventure?
I know what I am, coasting on clean clouds,
Flung high in mid-air far from the crowds.
The skies are oceans for my discovery,
These wings will keep beating my reverie.
The sky was pink-turning-mauve, shaded clouds and the sun’s last kiss as dusk rises to taste it. The city stares on, weaving and shaping below and I, walk.
Here are the boys on the corner smoking weed and eyeing women. Here’s the unclaimed person cursing under their breath or at the top of their lungs. There are the school kids messing around before dinner. There’s the business woman powering past with tormented precision. Here is the zombie, the screen slave, walking into you and never knowing you’re there. There are the pub-goers, the belchers, the football followers. Here’s the exhausted shop-keep who always smiles but never for himself. There are the young pros, lapping up the after work drinks and pretending they only smoke when they’ve had a few, prancers and posers, with all the optimism of unchecked youth. Here’s the proud new owner of a pizza place, that’s already sick of the smell, rethinking his hopes and questioning his dreams.
There’s my door, my wooden door.
So, one last glance at that perfect sunset, that unique skyscape and life flitting on below.
The utter wonder of it all: the transience, the fragility, the unending diversity and the wry predictability. What could possibly be more beautiful than that; the multi toned splendor of all those faces and stories, the simple beauty of the sky at sunset and the grey, ground, grit of this city. London.
Les Médecins sans frontières
N’ont pas peur des barrières,
Sont là pour nous aider,
Nous rendre et nous protégér.
Les sauveteurs en guerre,
L’enfant blessé crie pour sa mère…
Les médecins, nos sœurs et frères,
Réparent les cœurs parmi les pierres.
Au nom du bien de l’être humain,
Dans ce monde parfois malsain,
Apparaissent nos vrais anges gardiens,
Mes héros et les tiens.
It was a balmy, sunlit day when she and ship set forth,
Knowing nought but the stars and the bearings of the compass’s course.
Away, away, to shimmer on the silken sea.
Away, away, from man and society she did flee.
Off she took to the valiant, vast oceans,
To encounter flying fish and dolphins.
Alone and determined aboard her trusty vessel,
Happy and smiling as the south winds savor the sail.
Adventure and discovery far from earthly ties,
Just like Thoreau, below the unending skies.
Words trip down the page…
Healing the hurt of an age,
Poetry above all can save,
The brokenhearted brave.
Whether its that song,
Or a quote from bygones,
Those words, that saying,
The melody of piano playing,
Poetry in all its forms,
Sweet solace, glory-born.
The passing of peace,
Rejoice in the soothing,
The delicious oozing,
Of unctuous words musing
The thrills of our choosing.