i love you in tamil

50 shades of love in tamil

Anbu: all encompassing love

Paasam: love between parents and children

Nesam: love between friends, affection 

Kaadhal: romantic love

Tamil has shades 

No need to lean into simile

To describe how i love you 

Like the sea loves the sky

Or a mother loves her child

Or how i love a friend

Or what it means to show love to all

For this one word

Tamil has shades 

Kadhal for romantic love

Paasam for between mum and child

Nesam for between friends 

With Tamil

So inllll

Parivu: compassion

Kaamam: lust

Aravanaipu: care

Sakhi: friendship

Yekkam: yearning

Akkarai: concern

Piriyam: affection 

Pattru : devotion

Virupam: like

Luvu

recent poems

1. When there are no rules

2. Grief is

3. The stories we tell ourselves

4. I see a photo of my father in law

5. Subtaraneean world

6. Simile poem

7. I shall write of tiny things

subterranean worlds

The subterranean world waits

Biding its time 

For earth to collapse on itself

Under the weight 

Of the cruel mindless foolish 

The rex thought itself mighty 

Never saw the trajectory 

Of the ball of fire 

Until it seared its feet its brains

Now we can see 

All.of us Cassandra 

Still unable to stop it

Earth pulses near its core

Maw open to suck us all in

Disgorge us into the pit of space

Start again 

subterranean thrust to the light 

Maybe we will be kinder wiser 

For a time

#jemstones #plscrit #spwm26day11

#SubterraneanPrompt

When there are no rules

you can sit down to pretend peace talks

then rain bombs on your conversation partner the next day 

You can kill school girls in a primary school,  

and the more and say oops

You can bomb a defenceless ship, guests in another country, 

watch them drown 

and broadcast it on big screens with beaming smiles

You say only the US can do this, 

you say it with pride,

 

We say it with horror

that only the US could be so morally bankrupt,

to sink an invited guest 

in another's home in international waters,

and boast of it as a victory, 

not the act of a spineless cowardly bully

When there are no rules

you can start a world war

because you are bored

or to make more money

or to distract voters from your fraud,

the fact you supported a man who sold children for sex 

or for no reason at all

We hold the American public responsible

For trump has never been false 

He proclaimed who he was

through words, through actions

You thought a man 

boasting of grabbing pussy 

wouldn't be different in other contexts?

And you vote him in not once but twice 

even after his thugs rioted in the capitol? 

You are responsible America

You who supposedly saved the world in world war two

are now leading us bright into world war three

together with your best buddy in blood, Israel

So the chief heroes and chief victims of WWII gang up to become the chief villains in WWIII

And this cycle

will only spiral to the inevitable

when we blow up the one planet in this galaxy 

that supports life as we know it, 

laugh in glee as we drown our selves, our bodies, our souls, our homes, 

our gift 

in self-destructive fumes

simile poem

I am blue

Of oceans and skies

Expansive

I am not a tortoise

Ponderous, wise

Rarher I am a dragonfly

Darting from one idea to the next

I am a brook bubbling

Some think me shallow

But i can smoothen rocks to pebbles

I am winter at times

Cold harsh brittle-voiced

The wind weighing my limbs down

But winter doesn't last

So I wait out the black mood

Look to the sea and sky

Admire the tortoise and dragonfly

Dip my toes in a brook

Till I feel like spring again

fathe in law ad a young man

I see a photo of my father-in-law

the moment before the rest of his life, 

a shy smile playing on his face,

the bridegroom

With a chin, cheekbones that could chisel 

he is dazzling even in black and white

His turban rests gently on his head

A feather rises jauntily from it

He is gazing slightly to the

right

as an uncle adjusts his garland,

about to marry the woman 

with whom he will live 50 years, 

without whom he is now bereft

dinner with jack inspired

Dinner with Sham

A couple 

go scuba diving and by accident,

get left behind in the water. The boat roars off.

And there they float, in full gear and disbelief,

tanks low on air, stranded in a seamless blue,

deciding if they can survive until the next day, which,

of course, they cannot, because the average person

can only tread four hours without a life jacket.

The couple bicker: Why did we go on this vacation?

Why did you choose this company? Why did I choose you?

And even when it’s too late, with fatigue building

in their arms and waves buoying their bodies

like a whipped dessert, they make their case of a soulmate

gone wrong. Because a real love story would never end like this.

Eventually, the couple must choose their deaths.

One removes their suit and slips into hypothermic sleep,

and the other cuts and spills blood to entice a shark.

Both choices tell us something about our protagonists,

who are maybe not even our protagonists since

they are so bitter one cannot fully root for them.

See, the logic of a couple is like a Beckett play.

Facing the end, you don’t want someone with you

for comfort. You want someone with you to blame.

Jesus, I reply, and cut my steak like a heart.

stories 4

The stories we tell ourselves 

Not lies

but lifelines 

so we do not drown

How else could we bear the weight 

that drags the heart to the foot, 

manacles it with iron ball and chain? 

When our lovebird flew away, 

we told the story of how a bird must fly, 

It came to rest, it became well 

then it flew, how it flew,

it even came back to say farewell 

before it flew right away, 

so we did not lose it,

rather it wanted to be free.

When the blood cells in my mother-in-law's brain burst

we told her story of how she wanted to pass,

quickly, without pain or trouble to us,

(but how could her passing ever not trouble us?) 

When she was on breathing tubes for five days 

we told of how she lingered just long enough 

for us to wish her well,

for her soul to fly free.

We continue to piece together a story 

of all her moments leading to the last breath, 

to show how it was all meant to be 

for that is the end of all stories we tell 

that what came to be 

was always meant to be 

so we can cleave the ball and chain, 

feel the heart float back up 

through blood, veins, tissues

pulsate through our shuddering body,

scarred yet ready 

to churn out new stories 

for grief that is yet to come

stories 3

The stories we tell ourselves 

Not lies

but lifelines 

so we do not drown

How else could we bear the weight 

that drags the heart to the foot, 

manacles it with iron ball and chain? 

When our lovebird flew away, 

we told the story of how a bird must fly, 

It came to rest, it became well 

then it flew, how it flew,

it even came back to say farewell 

before it flew right away, 

so we did not lose it,

rather it wanted to be free.

When the blood cells in my mother-in-law's brain burst

we told her story of how she wanted to pass,

quickly, without pain or trouble to us,

(but how could her passing ever not trouble us?) 

When she was on breathing tubes for five days 

we told of how she lingered just long enough 

for us to wish her well on her journey. 

We continue to piece together a story 

of all her moments leading to the last breath, 

to show how it was all meant to be 

for that is the end of all stories we tell 

that what came to be 

was always meant to be 

so we can cleave the ball and chain, 

feel the heart float back up 

through blood, veins, tissues

pulsate through our shuddering body,

scarred yet ready 

to churn out new stories 

for grief that is yet to come 

stories 2

The stories we tell ourselves 

Not lies

but lifelines 

so we do not drown

in the grief of the moment

How else can we bear the weight 

that drags the heart to the foot, 

manacles it with iron ball and chain? 

When our lovebird flew away, 

we told the story of how a bird must fly, 

It came to rest, it became well 

then it flew, how it flew,

it even came back to say farewell 

before it flew right away, 

so we did not lose it

rather it wanted to be free.

When the blood cells in my mother-in-law's brain burst

we told her story 

of how she had said she wanted to pass,

quick, without trouble to us,

(but how could her passing ever not trouble us?) 

When she was on breathing tubes for five days 

we told of how she lingered just long enough 

for us to wish her well on her journey 

We continue to piece together a story 

of all her moments leading to the last breath, 

to show how it was all meant to be 

for that is the end of all stories we tell 

that what came to be 

was always meant to be 

so we can splinter the ball and chain, 

feel the heart float back up 

through blood, veins, muscles, 

pulsate through our shuddering body,

ready to churn out new stories 

for grief that is yet to come 

----

The stories we tell ourselves 

sustain us through grief 

whats a good weekend

Some baking

Some reading of poetry 

Some free writing 

Some tea and cake with a friend

Pray at the Temple

Immerse oneself in a dance performance

Some yoga

Some walking in forests 

we must do better

Children dying from gun wounds

From hunger 

Thirst 

We must do better

stories we tell ourselves

The stories we tell ourselves 

Are not lies

But lifelines 

so we do not drown

in the grief of the moment 

for how else can we bear the weight 

that drags the heart to the foot, 

manacles it with iron ball and chain? 

like after our lovebird flew away, 

when we told the story of how a bird must fly, 

it came to rest, it became well 

and it flew, how it flew 

it even came to say farewell 

before it flew right away 

so we did not lose it 

rather it wanted to be free 

or how when blood cells in my mother in law's brain burst

we told the story of how she herself had said she wanted to pass 

quick, without trouble to us, 

(but how could her passing ever not trouble us?) 

and when she was on breathing tubes for 5 days 

we told of how she lingered just long enough 

for us to wish her well on her journey 

We continue to piece together a story 

of all her moments leading to the last breath, 

to show how it was all meant to be 

for that is the end of all stories we tell 

that what came to be 

was always meant to be 

so we can splinter the ball and chain 

feel the heart float back up 

through blood veins 

to its place deep inside 

the pulsating wall of the body 

ready to churn out new stories 

for grief that is yet to come 

----

The stories we tell ourselves 

sustain us through grief 

the us plan

They have no plan

But maybe this is the plan

Sow discord among middle east

Then waltz in for oil

But what have they done

They took out their holy leader in a holy month matyring him

Iran is attacking all the countries around them to attack US and UK bases there. But other buildings also getting hit

Saudi has been hit

The influencers descended upon them have been warned not to take videos and post negative content 

How soon things can crumble

Facade of safety can crack

Exposing us to explosions

Bombs missiles 

Fires flames 

the us plan

They have no plan

But maybe this is the plan

Sow discord among middle east

Then waltz in for oil

But what have they done

They took out their holy leader in a holy month matyring him

Iran is attacking all the countries around them to attack US and UK bases there. But other buildings also getting hit

Saudi has been hit

The influencers descended upon them have been warned not to take videos and post negative content 

How soon things can crumble

Facade of safety can crack

Exposing us to explosions

Bombs missiles 

Fires flames 

when there are no rules

When there are no rules

you can sit down to pretend peace talks

then rain bombs on your conversation partner the next day 

You can kill school girls in a primary school,  and then two more, and move on

You can bomb a defenceless ship,  guests in another country, 

watch them drown 

and broadcast it on big screens with beaming smiles

You say only the US can do this, 

you say it with pride,

 

We say it with horror

that only the US could be so morally bankrupt,

to sink an invited guest 

in another's home in international waters,

and boast of it as a victory, 

not the act of a spineless cowardly bully

When there are no rules

you can start a world war

because you are bored

or to make more money

or to distract voters from your fraud,

the fact you supported a man who sold children for sex 

or for no reason at all

We hold the American public responsible

For trump has never been false 

He proclaimed who he was

through words, through actions.

You thought a man 

boasting of grabbing pussy 

wouldn't be different in other contexts?

And you vote him in not once but twice 

even after his thugs rioted in the capitol? 

You are responsible America

You who supposedly saved the world in world war two

are now leading us bright into world war three

together with your best buddy in blood, Israel

So the chief heroes and chief victims of WWII gang up to become the chief villains in WWIII

And this cycle

will only spiral to the inevitable

when we blow up the one planet in this galaxy 

that supports life as we know it, 

laugh in glee as we drown our selves, our bodies, our souls, our homes, 

our gift 

in self-destructive fumes

 

aging wellness

No life story 

Let's put up an exhibition 

Intergenrational 

Trying to make a life in singapore

We need a space for an exhibition 

Acwp

Processes 

Tiny things! 

Tabla player. 

Make music set poem to music 

Yst? 

Mark Cheong dramaneducators 

Sound. Decibels 

Om . Sound scape

Fluxes 

Sound. 

Tiny things as poems in public or in businesses 

Google doc.  All of us keen 

Jarly has poems. After song for song from little things big things grow and 

And a response to runi

Akanksha's dad

Each person in charge of providing or leading inspiration 

Like bring canvases 

And take us on a nature walk

And me? Books? 

No holds barred

Everything is Tiny if you stand far enough

Sound waves are tiny 

Star light is Tiny 

tiny things 5

I shall write of tiny things

like the conch that fits in my palm, 

into which the ocean longs to leap

like the flame at the end of a match,

the second before it swallows a forest 

like the pollen of a sunflower,

powdery dust that blossoms into a field

like a grain of sand pressed into a footprint,

along an endless shoreline 

like the snowflake at the end of a branch, 

gathering courage to melt into the river

like this tear drop in the corner of my eye

that holds the weight of your passing. 

-------

Little things that hold big things

Little things that are part of big things 

tiny things zoomed in

I shall write of tiny things

Like the conch that fits in my palm, into which the ocean leaps,

waves painting whorls on the shell

Like the flame at the end of a match illuminating the world in its glow  

the second before it swallows a forest 

Like the pollen grain of a sunflower 

powdery dust that blossoms into a field

Like a grain of sand pressed into a footprint

along an endless shoreline 

Like the snowflake at the end of a pine branch 

gathering courage to melt into the river

Like this tear drop in the corner of my eye

that holds the weight of your passing

-------

Little things that hold big things

Little things that are part of big things 

Like the first stroke of the pen

In a letter to you

Like a grain of sand pressed into a footprint 

on an endless shoreline 

Like the snowflake at the end of a pine branch 

that melts into the river below

Like the rock shot from a black hole 

colliding, merging to solidify into Earth 

Like the primoridal rock shot from a black hole 

Colliding, merging to solidify into Earth 

 

Like a grain of sand pressed into a footprint 

on an endless shoreline 

Like the snowflake at the end of a pine branch 

that melts into the river below

tiny things 3

I shall write of tiny things

Like the conch shell that fits in my palm into which the ocean leaps

Like the flame at the end of a match 

the second before it swallows a forest  

Like the pollen grain of a sunflower 

That blooms into a field

Like a grain of sand pressed into a footprint 

on an endless shoreline 

Like the snowflake at the end of a pine branch 

that melts into the river below

Like this tear drop in the corner of my eye

That holds the weight of your passing

-------

Little things that hold big things

Little things that are part of big things 

Like the first stroke of the pen

In a letter to you

Like a grain of sand pressed into a footprint 

on an endless shoreline 

Like the snowflake at the end of a pine branch 

that melts into the river below

Like the rock shot from a black hole 

colliding, merging to solidify into Earth 

Like the primoridal rock shot from a black hole 

Colliding, merging to solidify into Earth 

 

world at war

Another day another bomb

People's lives mean so little 

Book boom bash

And its all gone in smoke 

tinynthings 2

I shall write of tiny things

Like the conch shell that fits in my palm into which the ocean leaps

Like the flame at the end of a match 

the second before it swallows a forest 

Like a grain of sand pressed into a footprint 

on an endless shoreline 

Like the snowflake at the end of a pine branch 

that melts into the river below 

Like the pollen grain of a sunflower 

That blooms into a field

Like this tear drop in the corner of my eye

That holds the weight of your passing

-------

Little things that hold big things

Little things that are part of big things 

Like the first stroke of the pen

In a letter to you

Like the rock shot from a black hole 

colliding, merging to solidify into Earth 

Like the primoridal rock shot from a black hole 

Colliding, merging to solidify into Earth 

 

tiny things

I shall write of tiny things

Like the conch shell that fits in my palm 

into which the ocean leaps

 

Like the flame at the end of a match 

The second before it consumes a forest 

Like the snowflake on a mountain

that melts into the river

Like this tear drop in the corner of my eye

That holds the weight of your loss

---------

Like the tail hair of a bull

That you hold on to go to the great beyond

Like the crescent shaped nail I bite off

With calcium passed to me from my great great great grandmother

Like the grain of sand at the bottom of the marina trench

That will one day sit on the top of a mountain

Like your palm in mine 

Holding all

what is life

What makes us alive? 

A beating heart 

A working brain

Eyes that dart

Ears that bend to the sound of butterfly wings? 

The breath we draw

The space we take up on earth, 

in the memories of others

The words and dreams we whisper to the air?

Our Aatma animating our bodies despite the Paramatma's magnetic pull

So we linger after our desires?

When we leave this world 

will we depart with a song in our heads that we continue humming 

our way on? 

impending grief

Grief

sits with us at the table

rides the bus with us 

snuggles up in bed

presses on our eyelids

shackles our feet

so we move 

as though underwater, .

wading towards 

the moment

we remove the tube

and wait.

---‐----‐--------

making sense 

of our days with her,

now without her.

-----

Focusing on the happiness of her end

The joyful union

of her soul with the great soul

towards the moment

we remove the tube

and wait

-----

Slowly pushing through 

The thoughts memories 

Making sense of our days with her

Now without her

Focusing on the happiness of her end

The joyful union

of her soul with the great soul

We watch 

her heart heave and fall 

for the last time

Pray let us be strong

Tomorrow 

Knowing its the last time we make an archanai for her in her name

I had a conversation with her yesterday 

Told her how often i think of her even if i don't call 

She is indeed a golden spirit

Humble kind loving

I want her blue saree as a thotil saree for my grandkids. 

She buys me the best sarees you know

I am going to miss her so

Slowly pushing through 

The thoughts memories 

Making sense of our days with her

Now without her

Focusing on the happiness of her end

The joyful union

of her soul with the great soul

So these thoughts lift us from the gloom

Towards the day we remove the tubes

 I think  we never.        

a dream come true

Im in India now with aravith sir on tour

Just not me playing but my daughter dancing

I am so happy

Penang Thaipusam

What a sight what an experience

A whole city celebrates

The coconut breaking! Chinese especially.  All join in breaking cocnuts in glee everyone chips in to help coconut water splashes the scent of coconut water fills the air the water splashing on us feels like theretham

The cleaners are bobbing to the music, rolling unbroken ones to us to have a go, we break some too

Its a release a fiesta a celebration a coming together of community 

Then the clean up almost immediately. Such efficiency with no fuss no impatience.  Cleaners sweep the coconuts to one side the trucks come with lifting machines that lift and dump

A sweeping machine comes to sweep up the remains. Road is clean in minutes! 

Ratham stops every 10 meters for this joyous celebration.  Once it passes the thaneer panthals all wrap up shop ans are done. No extensive road blocks nothing

At another stop lion dancers await, dancing before hindu deities, 

A few meters away, karagaatam with live drums

At one spot devotees can buy tiny birds to release after prayer watch them flap their way to freedom

Bulls pull the silver chariot, 16 pairs swapping out every 500 meters. 

Thaneer panthals with folks giving out water buttermilk paanakkam and soyabean! Thaneer Panthals sponsored by individuals, small families and also big companies and organisations like the police (!) and so manu Tech Companies like ASL and Micron... really something else! 

A game where the charioters have to catch a flying angel swung towards them

Music divine music all along, old and new, slow and fast

There's a crowd but doesnt feel crowded what a miracle.  Coz there are ample stops. Anyone can pass their offerings at any point. A long journey over two to three days and nights so lots of time and opportunities to meet and greet god! And the super clean up means no closed roads for long. Traffic police also respectful, helping to keep things irderly without controlling

Never knew it can be like this. 

Arohara! 

do not disturb dog at work

doofidity

My sister sets the rules 

Says 

lessons from the dead

Prayers today for the departed soul 

We sit in the hall.

Her photo garlanded,

she is smiling, natural

Fruits and flowers are laid out for her

Incense fills the air

The centre of attention, 

she must be happy.

Family and friends join hands in prayer

raise voices to chant

relish her favourite dishes served

cheer the crow that caws during prayers as a good omen, 

her good soul accepting the day's devotion,

then whisper amongst themselves

of how she laughed and walked 

in their memories

recalling her words of praise

her zest for life.

She lived to pray, 

thought of God at all times

before and after spewing ungodly words 

that tore through 

skin muscle ligament veins 

to the very soul of those she lived with.

She always welcomed people with a smiling face 

wished good things for loved ones overseas, 

wrote in her book all their names everyday, so devout  

but sat stony-eyed at home 

to greet the family, 

mouth ready to contort, unleash curses,

fill the air with sulphrous words, 

suffocate them in her fumes

 

She'd never fail to have a cup of tea ready for visitors,

then berate the grandson

for not offering her a sandwich 

telltale, and watch blows rain upon him,

drive wedge after wedge in a fragile nest

Swirling in contradictions

much is left unsaid.

With all respect driven towards the dead

what do they do with the treacherous thoughts in their heads?

The ones in her shadow

bore the brunt of the weight 

of the cloak of decency 

she shed upon entering home,

the dreaded battlefield 

where she shredded the family 

as commander in chief, 

a heavy presence

waiting to be waited on,

only ever unhappy and 

and ever ready to show it,

but only to sum total three,

who'd never be believed, 

who would have to bear the taunt

that they must have behaved heinously

to provoke a saint,

the self she showed the world.

So how do we mourn

this angel to the world

witch to the few,

compounded by the good death

she was granted:

speedy,

almost painless,

in another country

surrounded by loved ones, 

invoking the name of God in her last breath

granted a beautiful service,

air filled with prayer,

hallowed words that ring hollow

to the three who had quivered under her wrath,

wondering 

what went wrong with them?  

Maybe, all her prayers did help her,

even if her words and actions slashed, drew blood

Maybe, God was looking out for them,

taking her away when she was away,

so they could do their duty 

more guest than host,

lifting a burden off their bent backs,

freeing them after 15 years.

Maybe they were her safe space 

to be her true self,

and He judged better them than the world.

There is hope she is happy now

the three need feel no guilt, 

just accept that angels are devils too 

with some,

know they have permission to feel 

this uneasy mix at her passing, 

that it is okay to celebrate

her ominous presence lifted 

from their home forever

Unburdened,

maybe 

they can breathe, 

find themselves again, 

there is hope.

And there are lessons here for us too

How easy it can be

To become the millstone around the family's neck

How we need to practice gratitude and seeing abundance 

All too easy to live in constant disappointment 

sad on so mamy counts

I am feeling sad about many things 

But am a beach now

The sound of waves in my ears

Birds

Blue green waters 

And i tell myself

This too shall pass

Think abundance and gratitude

Fill the heart with love for all

No expectations

See the good and the gift in all things 

For all the work we do is for god

bereavement 7

Prayers today for the departed soul 

We sit in the hall.

Her photo garlanded,

she is smiling, natural

Fruits and flowers are laid out for her

Incense fills the air

The centre of attention, 

she must be happy.

Family and friends join hands in prayer

raise voices to chant

relish her favourite dishes served

cheer the crow that caws during prayers as a good omen, 

her good soul accepting the day's devotion,

then whisper amongst themselves

of how she laughed and walked 

in their memories

recalling her words of praise

her zest for life.

She lived to pray, 

thought of God at all times

before and after spewing ungodly words 

that tore through 

skin muscle ligament veins 

to the very soul of those she lived with.

She always welcomed people with a smiling face 

wished good things for loved ones overseas, 

wrote in her book all their names everyday, so devout  

but sat stony-eyed at home 

to greet the family, 

mouth ready to contort, unleash curses,

fill the air with sulphrous words, 

suffocate them in her fumes

 

She'd never fail to have a cup of tea ready for visitors,

then berate the grandson

for not offering her a sandwich 

telltale, and watch blows rain upon him,

drive wedge after wedge in a fragile nest

Swirling in contradictions

much is left unsaid.

With all respect driven towards the dead

what do they do with the treacherous thoughts in their heads?

The ones in her shadow

bore the brunt of the weight 

of the cloak of decency 

she shed upon entering home,

the dreaded battlefield 

where she shredded the family 

as commander in chief, 

a heavy presence

waiting to be waited on,

only ever unhappy and 

and ever ready to show it,

but only to sum total three,

who'd never be believed, 

who would have to bear the taunt

that they must have behaved heinously

to provoke a saint,

the self she showed the world.

So how do we mourn

this angel to the world

witch to the few,

compounded by the good death

she was granted:

speedy,

almost painless,

in another country

surrounded by loved ones, 

invoking the name of God in her last breath

granted a beautiful service,

air filled with prayer,

hallowed words that ring hollow

to the three who had quivered under her wrath,

wondering 

what went wrong with them?  

Maybe, all her prayers did help her,

even if her words and actions slashed, drew blood

Maybe, God was looking out for them,

taking her away when she was away,

so they could do their duty 

more guest than host,

lifting a burden off their bent backs,

freeing them after 15 years.

Maybe they were her safe space 

to be her true self,

and He judged better them than the world.

There is hope she is happy now

the three need feel no guilt, 

just accept that angels are devils too 

with some,

know they have permission to feel 

this uneasy mix at her passing, 

that it is okay to celebrate

her ominous presence lifted 

from their home forever

Unburdened,

maybe 

they can breathe, 

find themselves again, 

there is hope.

bereavement 6

Prayers today for the departed soul 

We sit in the hall.

Her photo garlanded,

she is smiling, natural

Fruits and flowers are laid out for her

Incense fills the air

The centre of attention, 

she must be happy.

Family and friends join hands in prayer

raise voices to chant

then whisper amongst themselves

of the good soul she was

of how she laughed and walked 

in their memories

recalling her words of praise

her zest for life

She loved to pray, 

thought of God at all times

before and after spewing ungodly words 

that tore through 

skin muscle ligament veins 

to the very soul of those she lived with 

She always had a smiling face 

to welcome people  

but sat stony eyed at home to greet family, 

reay to crush them beneath her feet

She'd wish good things for loved ones overseas, 

write in her book all their names everyday, so devout

then fill the air with sulphrous words, 

pour curses rising from her belly

to suffocate in her fumes 

the ones she lived with

 

She'd never fail to have a cup of tea ready for one grandchild

then berate the other 

for not offering her a sandwich 

telltale, and watch blows rain upon him,

crow beating black wings 

scattering a sparrow's nest

Swirling in contradictions

much is left unsaid

With all respect driven towards the dead

what do they do with the treacherous thoughts in their heads?

The ones in her shadow

bore the brunt of the weight 

of the cloak of decency 

she shed upon entering home,

the dreaded battlefield 

where she shredded the family 

as commander in chief, 

a heavy presence

waiting to be waited on,

only ever unhappy and 

and ever ready to show it,

but only to sum total three,

who'd never be believed, 

who would have to bear the taunt

that they must have behaved heinously

to provoke a saint,

the self she showed the world.

So how do we mourn

this angel to the world

witch to the few,

compounded by the good death

she was granted:

speedy,

almost painless,

surrounded by loved ones, 

(who actually loved her,

divine as she was

to these folk she was visiting), 

granted a beautiful service,

air filled with prayer,

hallowed words that ring hollow

to the three who had quivered under her wrath,

wondering 

what went wrong with them?  

Maybe, all her prayers did help her,

even if her words and actions slashed, drew blood

Maybe, God wss looking out for the three,

taking her away when she was away,

so they could do their duty 

more guest than host,

lifting a burden off their bent backs,

freeing them after 15 years.

Maybe they were her safe space 

to be her true self,

and better them than the world.

There is hope she is happy now

the three need feel no guilt, 

just accept that angels are devils too 

with some,

and know they have permission to feel 

this uneasy mix at her passing, 

that it is okay to celebrate

her ominous presence lifted 

from their home forever

Unburdened,

maybe 

they can breathe, 

find themselves again

There is hope

bereavement 5

Prayers today for the departed soul 

We sit in the hall.

Her photo garlanded,

she is smiling, natural

Fruits and flowers are laid out for her

Incense fills the air

The centre of attention, 

she must be happy.

Family and friends join hands in prayer

raise voices to chant

then whisper amongst themselvs

of the good soul she was

of the ways she laughed talked walked in their memories

She loved to pray, 

thought of God at all times

before and after spewing ungodly words 

that tore through 

skin muscle ligament veins 

to the very soul of those she lived with 

She always had a smiling face 

to welcome people  

but sat grim at home to greet family, 

ready to crush them beneath her feet

She'd wish good things for loved ones overseas, 

write in her book all their names everyday, so devout

then fill the air with sulphrous words, 

pour curses rising from her belly

to suffocate in her fumes 

the ones she lived with

 

She'd never fail to have a cup of tea ready for one grandchild

then berate the other 

for not offering her a sandwich 

telltale, and watch blows rain upon him,

drive wedge after wedge in a fragile nest

Swirling in contradictions

much is left unsaid

With all respect driven towards the dead

what do they do with the treacherous thoughts in their heads?

The ones in her shadow

bore the brunt of the weight 

of the cloak of decency 

she shed upon entering home,

the dreaded battlefield 

where she shredded the family 

as commander in chief, 

a heavy presence

waiting to be waited on,

only ever unhappy and 

and ever ready to show it,

but only to sum total three,

who'd never be believed, 

who would have to bear the taunt

that they must have behaved heinously

to provoke a saint,

the self she showed the world.

So how do we mourn

this angel to the world

witch to the few,

compounded by the good death

she was granted:

speedy,

almost painless,

surrounded by loved ones, 

(who actually loved her,

divine as she was

to these folk she was visiting), 

granted a beautiful service,

air filled with prayer,

hallowed words that ring hollow

to the three who had quivered under her wrath,

wondering 

what went wrong with them?  

Maybe, all her prayers did help her,

even if her words and actions slashed, drew blood

Maybe, God wss looking out for the three,

taking her away when she was away,

so they could do their duty 

more guest than host,

lifting a burden off their bent backs,

freeing them after 15 years.

Maybe they were her safe space 

to be her true self,

and better them than the world.

There is hope she is happy now

the three need feel no guilt, 

just accept that angels are devils too 

with some,

and know they have permission to feel 

this uneasy mix at her passing, 

that it is okay to celebrate

her ominous presence lifted 

from their home forever

Unburdened,

maybe 

they can breathe, 

find themselves again

There is hope

bereavement 4

Prayers today for the departed soul 

We sit in the hall

Her photo garlanded,

she is smiling, natural

Fruits and flowers are laid out for her

Incense fills the air

The centre of attention, 

she must be happy where she is

No easy words 

for this grandmother 

who is all and more 

of the memories of those 

who mourn her, miss her, 

feel secret relief

She loved to pray, 

thought of God at all times

before and after spewing ungodly words 

that tore through 

skin muscle ligament veins 

to the very soul of those she lived with 

She always had a smiling face 

to welcome people  

but sat grim at home to greet family, 

ready to crush them beneath her feet

She'd wish good things for loved ones overseas, 

write in her book all their names everyday, 

so devout, so holy

then fill the air with sulphrous words, 

curse the ones she lived with 

for lacking consideration for her grace, 

She'd never fail to have a cup of tea ready for one grandchild

then berate the other 

for not offering her any food,

telltale, and watch blows rain upon him

The ones in her shadow

bore the brunt of the weight 

of the cloak of decency 

she shed upon entering home,

the dreaded battlefield 

where she shredded the family 

as commander in chief, 

a heavy presence

waiting to be waited on

only ever unhappy and 

and ever ready to show it. 

Ever strategic 

she showed this side to sum total three

who'd never be believed, 

who would have to bear the taunt

that they must have behaved heinously

to provoke a saint,

the self she showed the world.

So how do we mourn this being,

angel to the world

witch to the few,

compounded by the good death

she was granted:

speedy,

almost painless,

surrounded by loved ones, 

(who actually loved her 

for she was divine to these folk

she was visiting), 

granted a beautiful service,

air filled with prayer,

hallowed words that ring hollow

to the three who had quivered under her wrath,

wondering 

what went wrong with them?  

Maybe, all her prayers did help her,

even if her words and actions slashed

Maybe, God looking out for the three,

taking her away when she was away,

so they could do their duty 

more guest than host,

lifting a burden off their bent backs

freeing them after 15 years

Maybe they were her safe space 

to be her true self,

and better them than the world

There is hope

she is happy where she is now, 

the three need feel no guilt, 

just acceptance 

that angels are devils too with some,

and know they have permission to feel 

this uneasy mix at her passing, 

that it is okay to celebrate

her ominous presence lifted 

from their home forever

Unburdened,

maybe 

they can breathe, 

find themselves again

There is hope

bereavment 3

Prayers today for the departed soul 

We sit in the hall

Her photo garlanded,

she is smiling, natural

Fruits and flower are laid out for her

Incense fills the air

The centre of attention, 

she must be happy where she is

No easy words 

for this grandmother 

who evokes such different feelings 

in different people

Maybe she is all and more 

of the responses of those 

who mourn her, miss her, 

feel secret relief

She loved to pray, 

thought of God at all times

before and after ungodly words she spewed 

that tore through skin muscle ligament veins 

to the very soul of those she lived with 

She always had a smiling face 

to welcome people  

but sat grim at home to greet family 

ready to crush them beneath her feet

She'd wish good things for loved ones overseas, 

write in her book all their names everyday, 

so devout, so holy

then fill the air with sulphrous words, 

curse the ones she lived with 

for lacking consideration for her grace, 

She'd never fail to have a cup of tea ready for one grandchild

then berate the other 

for not offering her any food

telltale, and watch blows rain upon him

The vulnerable ones in her shadow,

bore the brunt of the weight 

of the cloak of decency 

she shed upon entering home,

the dreaded battlefield 

where she shredded the family 

as commander in chief, 

a heavy presence

waiting to be waited on

only ever unhappy and 

and ever ready to show it. 

She could only feel great 

by thumbing others down,

but ever strategic 

she showed this side to sum total three

who'd never be believed, 

who would have to bear the taunt

that they must have behaved heinously

to provoke a saint,

the self she showed the world

So how do we mourn this being,

angel to the world

witch to the few,

compounded by the good death

she was granted:

speedy,

almost painless,

surrounded by loved ones, 

(who actually loved her 

for she was divine to these folk

whom she was visiting), 

granted a beautiful service,

air filled with prayer,

hallowed words that ring hollow

to the three who had quivered under her wrath,

wondering 

if something was wrong with them?  

Maybe, all her prayers did help her

even if her words and actions cut

Maybe, God looking out for the three,

taking her away when she was away,

so they could do their duty 

more guest than host,

lifting a burden off their bent backs

freeing them after 15 years

Maybe they were her safe space 

to be her true self,

and better them than the world

There is hope

she is happy where she is now, 

the three need feel no guilt, 

just acceptance 

that angels are devils too with some,

and know they have permission to feel mixed at her passing, 

that it is okay to sigh relief 

her ominous presence is lifted 

from their home forever

Unburdened,

maybe 

they can breathe, 

find themselves again

There is hope

prayers for the departed 2

Prayers today for the departed soul 

No easy words 

For this grandmother 

Who evokes such different feelings 

in different people

Maybe she is all and more 

of the responses of those 

who mourn her, miss her, 

feel secret relief

She loved to pray, 

thought of God at all times

before and after ungodly words she spewed 

that tore through skin muscle ligament veins 

to the very soul of those she lived with 

She always had a smiling face 

to greet people  

but sat grim at home to greet family 

ready to press them beneath her feet

She'd wish good things for loved ones overseas, 

write in her book all their names everyday, 

so devout so holy

then turn, fill the air with sulphrous words 

curse the ones she lived with 

for lacking consideration for her grace, 

living to be disappointed

She'd never fail to have a cup of tea ready for one newphew

then berate the other mercilessly

for not offering her any food

The vulnerable ones in her shadow,

bore the brunt of the weight 

of the cloak of decency 

she shed upon entering home,

the dreaded battlefield 

where she shredded the family 

as commander in chief, 

a heavy presence

waiting to be waited on

only ever unhappy and 

and ever ready to show it

With whiplashes that slashed the air

she'd claim credit for everything begrudge the love others bestowed on them whom she scorned

Longing to be the centre of the world 

she'd take offence at every turn

Helpless seeming, yet so cruel

she roasted those under her 

lording over them to feel good

Smallest of small

who can only feel great 

by thumbing others down

She showed this side to sum total 3

Who'd never be believed 

Who would have to bear the taunt

That they must have behaved heinously

To provoke a saint,

the self she showed the world

So how do we mourn this being,

angel to the world

witch to the few,

compounded by the good death

she was granted - 

speedy 

painless almost

surrounded by loved ones, 

ones who actually loved her 

for she was angelic to these folk

whom she was visiting, 

granted a beautiful service

air filled with prayer, 

hallowed words that sounded hollow

to me who knows of her other side

and the three who had quivered under her wrath,

wondering if something was wrong with us? 

Maybe all her prayers did help her

even if her words and actions cut

Maybe it was god looking out for the three and the son,

taking her away when she was away

so they could do their duty 

more guest than host,

lifting a burden off their bent backs

freeing them after 14 years 

cut the weight that broke their back

Maybe they were her safe space 

to be her true self

and better them than the world

I'm glad her shadow didn't 

fall on the blessed baby born 10 days later

and pray she is happy where she is now and can truly bless all

not just the few 

and hope those who live on here

can feel no guilt, 

just acceptance

that angels are devils too with some,

and they have permission to acknowledge their mixed feelings after her passing, 

that it is okay to sigh relief 

that her ominous presence is lifted from their home forever,  

Find themselves again

Unburdened 

That maybe now

They can breathe

bereaving house

Prayers today for the departed soul 

No easy words 

For this grandmother 

Who evokes such different feelings 

in different people

Maybe she is all and more 

of the responses of those 

who mourn her, miss her, 

feel secret relief

She loved to pray, 

thought of God at all times

before and after ungodly words she spewed 

that tore through skin muscle ligament veins 

to the very soul of those she lived with 

She always had a smiling face 

to greet people  

but sat grim at home to greet family 

ready to press them beneath her feet

She'd wish good things for loved ones overseas, 

write in her book all their names everyday, 

so devout so holy

then turn, fill the air with sulphrous words 

curse the ones she lived with 

for lacking consideration for her grace, 

living to be disappointed

She'd never fail to have a cup of tea ready for one newphew

then berate the other for not offering her any food

The vulnerable ones in her shadow,

bore the brunt of the weight 

of the cloak of decency 

she shed upon entering home,

the dreaded battlefield 

where she shredded the family 

as commander in chief, 

a heavy presence

waiting to be waited on

only ever unhappy and 

and ever ready to show it

With whiplashes that slashed the air

she'd sneak into their rooms

when they were not around 

rage if they locked up valuables,

that they think her a thief

raise her voice if her grandson bought food for himself not her

Help herself first to any food

Claim credit and love for anything and everything 

Longing to be the centre of the world 

She was ready to take offence at every turn

Helpless seeming, yet so cruel

she roasted those under her 

lording over them to feel good

Smallest of small

who can only feel great 

by thumbing others down

She showed this side to sum total 3

Who'd never be believed 

Who would have to bear the taunt

That they must have behaved heinously

To provoke a saint, the self she showed the world

So how do we mourn this lady 

Angel to the world

Witch to the few

compounded by the good death

she was granted - 

speedy 

painless almost

surrounded by loved ones, 

ones who actually loved her 

for she was angelic to these folk, 

whom she was visiting 

granted a beautiful service

air filled with prayer, 

hallowed words that sounded hollow

to me who knows of her other side

and the three who had quivered under her wrath,

wondering if something was wrong with us 

Or maybe it was god looking out for the three and the son,

taking her away when she was away

So they could do their duty 

more guest than host

lifting a burden off their bent backs

so after 14 years 

they could be free

Maybe all her prayers did help her

Even if her words and actions sometimes cut

Maybe they were her safe space 

to be her true self

and better them than the world

I'm glad her shadow didn't 

fall on the blessed baby born 10 days later

and pray she is happy where she is now and can truly bless all

not just the few 

and hope those who live on here

can feel no guilt, 

just acceptance

that Angels are devils too with some

and they have permission to acknowledge their mixed feelings after her passing 

That it is okay to sigh relief 

That her ominous presence is lifted from their home forever 

Find themselves again

Unburdened 

That maybe now

They can breathe

can cabbage kill v2

Can cabbage kill? 

My son certainly thinks so

It nearly killed my cousin brother too

who was babysitting him at a picnic once

and had to pick out every stray strand of cabbage

entwined with strands of the noodles

he was feeding him

or have the toddler gag and spew 

all over him

Today I found out 

there are cabbages that kill

Not the whites and purples 

we crunch in salads

but Skunk Cabbage and False Hellebore,

such helpful names to keep us away 

My son finds all cabbage

stinky, hellish, boring

 

His primal fear of them makes me wonder

if perhaps he did get poisoned once

in a previous life 

as a baby rabbit 

fed then by a clueless 

but well-meaning uncle rabbit

and has came back now 

avowed against all kinds of cabbage

much to the terror of my cousin

who even now shudders when he sees

cabbage and my son 

side by side

van cabbage kill

Can cabbage kill? 

My son certainly thinks so

It nearly killed my cousin brother too

Who was babysitting him at a picnic once

And had to pick out every stray strand of cabbage

Entwined with strands of the noodles

he was feeding him

Or have the toddler gag and spew 

all over him

Today i found out 

there are cabbages that kill

Not the whites and purples 

we crunch in salads

But skunk cabbage and false hellbore

whose names help keep us away 

Then again my son finds all cabbage stinky and hellish

 

His primal fear of cabbage makes me think 

Perhaps he did get poisoned once

In a previous life 

as a baby rabbit 

Fed then by a clueless 

but well-meaning uncle rabbit

And has came back now 

avowed against all kinds of cabbage

Much to the detriment of my cousin

Who even now shudders when he sees

cabbage and my son 

side by side

chick 7

I'm walking to the bus stop 

cutting across the green

listing in my head 

the things I plan to do at work

when a small movement by a tree catches my eye - 

a chick 

round brown perfection

I tremble to see it, 

so close, alone,

pecking unaware 

of me, my camera

I take in the arc of its yellow beak,

the black mask across its eyes,

the brown, black feathers overlapping

cupping the bird like two palms

as it picks up a morsel, swallows, 

and turns on delicate twigs 

each with four tender claws

I can almost feel walking in my hand,

but it is earth that holds it, 

not I

Stay safe, I pray

Stay safe little one

When I finally walk off 

I spot the family, 

a good fifty meters away, 

red junglefowl rooster, hen,

two chicks darting in between their feet

scraping at the ground together, pecking 

I want to shout

don't lose him,

now unseen in the grass,

just because he tends to get lost 

in his own thoughts, 

following a tune we cannot hear

like my son 

wandering off on his own

in a foreign airport, entranced by donuts

The moment hangs in the air

like the seconds before chaos

high-pitched cheeping

feet pattering

wings flapping

hearts hammering

choking on unspeakable fears 

Stay safe little one

Stay safe

Status update 

A week laterI walk the same path

Hear a red rooster crowing

See a brown hen by its side scratching 

No chicks in sight 

Let this be a new, dating couple 

Not the parents I saw last week

Whose three chicks may be safe 

still under their wings

chick 7

I'm walking to the bus stop 

cutting across the green

listing in my head 

the things I plan to do at work

when a small movement by a tree catches my eye - 

a chick 

round brown perfection

I tremble to see it, 

so close, alone,

pecking unaware 

of me, my camera

I take in the arc of its yellow beak,

the black mask across its eyes,

the brown, black feathers overlapping

cupping the bird like two palms

as it picks up a morsel, swallows, 

and turns on delicate twigs 

each with three tender claws

I can almost feel walking in my hand,

but it is earth that holds it, 

not I

Stay safe, I pray

Stay safe little one

When I finally walk off 

I spot the family, 

a good fifty meters away, 

red junglefowl rooster, hen,

two chicks darting between their feet

scraping at the ground, pecking 

I want to yell

don't lose him,

now unseen in the grass,

just because he tends to get lost 

in his own thoughts, 

following a tune we cannot hear

like my son 

wandering off on his own

in a foreign airport,

entranced by donuts

The moment hangs in the air

like the seconds before chaos

high-pitched cheeping

feet pattering

wings flapping

hearts hammering

choking on unspeakable fears 

Stay safe little one

Stay safe

world affairs

Not even a year since Trump has taken on power

Jan started with his take over of venezuela 

Captured the president and wife

Declared themsleves interim rulers

Helping themselves to their oil

Happy new year folks

1 week later his ice goons shoot down a lady in her car

The media spin on these oh my

Venezuela: he says what they did was correct non selfish in effort of peace

Ice murder was self defence 

Just had to write these down

chick 6

I'm cutting across a green corridor 

In the city centre at peak hour

from the bus stop 

to the train station, 

listing in my head 

the things I plan to do at work

when a small movement by a tree catches my eye - 

a chick,

round brown perfection 

pecking all by itself,

no bustling mama in sight

I tremble to see it, 

so close, alone,

sauntering unaware 

of me, my phone, my camera

I take in the arc of its yellow beak,

the black mask across its eye

the brown, black feathers overlapping

cupping the bird like two warm palms

as it picks up a morsel, swallows, 

and turns on delicate twigs 

each with three tender claws

I can almost feel walking in my hand

But it is earth that holds it, 

not I

Stay safe, I pray

Stay safe little one

When I finally walk off 

I spot the family, 

a good fifty meters away, 

red jungle fowl rooster, hen

two chicks darting between their feet

pecking diligently 

My eyes yell

don't lose him,

now unseen in the grass,

just because he tends to get lost 

in his own thoughts, 

following a tune we cannot hear

like my son 

wandering off on his own

in a foreign airport,

entranced by donuts

The moment hangs in the air

Like the seconds before chaos

high-pitched cheeping

feet pattering

wings flapping

hearts hammering

choking on unspeakable fears 

Stay safe little one

Stay safe

chick 5

I'm walking to the bus stop 

cutting across the green

listing in my head 

the things I plan to do at work

when a small movement by a tree catches my eye - 

a chick 

round brown perfection

all by itself,

no bustling mama in sight.

I tremble to see it, 

so close, alone,

pecking unaware 

of me, my camera

I take in the arc of its yellow beak,

the black mask across its eyes,

the brown, black feathers overlapping

cupping the bird like two palms

as it picks up a morsel, swallows, 

and turns on delicate twigs 

each with three tender claws

I can almost feel walking in my hand,

but it is earth that holds it, 

not I

Stay safe, I pray

Stay safe little one

When I finally walk off 

I spot the family, 

a good fifty meters away, 

red junglefowl rooster, hen,

two chicks darting between their feet

scraping at the ground, pecking 

I want to yell

don't lose him,

now unseen in the grass,

just because he tends to get lost 

in his own thoughts, 

following a tune we cannot hear

like my son 

wandering off on his own

in a foreign airport,

entranced by donuts

The moment hangs in the air

like the seconds before chaos

high-pitched cheeping

feet pattering

wings flapping

hearts hammering

choking on unspeakable fears 

Stay safe little one

Stay safe

chick 3

I'm walking to the bus stop 

from the train station, 

cutting across a green corridor 

in the city centre 

when a small movement by a tree catches my eye - 

A chick,

round brown perfection 

pecking all by itself,

no bustling mama in sight.

I tremble to see it, 

so close, alone,

sauntering unaware 

of me, my phone, my camera.

I take in 

the arc of its yellow beak,

the brown, black feathers overlapping

cupping the bird like two warm palms

as it picks up a morsel, swallows, 

and turns on delicate twigs 

each with three tender claws

that I can almost feel walking in my hand.

But it is earth that holds it, 

not I who can only hold it in my gaze.

Stay safe, I pray

Stay safe little one.

When I finally walk off 

I spot the family, 

a good 50 meters away, 

red jungle fowl rooster, hen

two chicks darting between their feet

pecking diligently 

My eyes yell

don't lose him,

now unseen in the grass,

just because he tends to get lost 

in his own thoughts, 

following a tune we cannot hear

like my son

wandering off alone

In a strange airport,

entranced by donuts

I slip away 

from the stolen moment

seeing, hearing in my mind's eye 

the panic

high pitched cheeping

hearts hammering

fear bellowing 

Feet thundering

through the arrival hall

choking on unspeakable fears 

Stay safe little one

Stay safe

purpose of visit

I am asked

When i enter the office

To work is too obvious

I decide to tell the truth 

To see if the mango tree has fruited 

So i can watch the squirrel at play 

To catch the kingfisher in midflight

To see orange leaves rain on the pavement 

To see bees dart  between the pink and yellow flowers 

To see how big the jackfruit grows

Place bets on when it will fall 

To pick up a book for the weekend

To catch up with friends over lunch

To hear the woodpecker trill

The hornbill sing

To watch the chickens play catch

To thank god for this oasis of green 

My pen remains poised over the form

This could take awhile

chick alone 2

I'm walking to the bus stop from the train station, 

cutting across a green corridor in the city centre 

when a small movement by a tree catches my eye

A chick

round brown perfection 

pecking all by its small self

no protective hen in sight 

I tremble to see one 

so close alone 

blissfully unaware

I take in 

the arc of its yellow beak

the shades of brown and black feathers overlapping

cupping the bird like two warm palms

as it picks up a pale morsel, 

swallows and turns on delicate twigs 

each with three tender claws

that I can almost feel walking in my hand

But it is earth that holds it, 

not me 

who can only hold it in my gaze

Stay safe i pray

Stay safe little one

When i finally walk off 

I spot the family

A good 50 meters away 

Red jungle fowl rooster, hen

two chicks darting in between them

pecking diligently 

I want to yell

What about the other,

don't lose him,

now unseen in the grass,

just coz he tends to lose his way

like my son

wandering off on his own 

distracted by food friends green grass

Stay safe little one, stay safe

When i board the bus 

I slip away from the stolen moment

before panic

Of a baby cheeping high-pitched

Of parents running back and forth frantic

Of the youngster in the jaws or claws of a predator

Anything could happpen

Stay safe little one

Stay safe

chick alone

I'm walking to the bus stop from the train station, 

cutting across a green corridor in the city centre 

when a small movement by a tree catches my eye

A chick

round brown perfection 

pecking all by its small self

no protective hen in sight 

I tremble to see one 

so close alone 

blissfully unaware

I take in 

the arc of its yellow brown beak

the shades of brown and black overlapping feathers cupping the bird 

like two warm palms

as it picks up a yellow morsel, 

swallows and turns on delicate twigs 

each with three tender claws

that I can almost feel walking in my hand

But it is earth that holds it, 

not me 

who can only hold it in my gaze

Stay safe i pray

Stay safe little one

As I walk on to the bus stop I spot a rooster and a hen

pecking together a good 50 meters away,

two other chicks darting in between their feet, 

The loner chick is now unseen in the grass

I want to squawk at the family

Look out look out 

Do not forget the one with a mind of its own

Like my son

Wandering off on his own 

Distracted by food 

So god has to work overtime 

to shield him 

Stay safe little one, stay safe

I step away from

The stolen moment

Like a picture before panic

Of a baby cheeping high-pitched for its parents

Of parents running back and forth frantic for their missing chick

Of the chick in the jaws or claws of a predator

Anything could happpen