The Troubles

A lost time not long ago.
The streets burnt,
homes razed to ground,
the rubble remains.

This Brutalist architecture
not by choice sustains.

A crying woman,
her son walk with the TV set in hands.

Immortalised in a photo,
the sadness remains.

(Immersive writing inside Ulster Museum, Belfast, UK. Based on the troubled past of the city)

Museum

Timelines are hazy,
the place a melting pot.
No land, no borders,
No cultural barriers.
Everything is merged here.

The space holds it all.

But what about its own identity?

The Brutalist and the Egyptian inspired.
They hold it all,
finding a new identity,
in a new place.

A new name hiding the old concrete,
the glass enclosing all.

(Immersive writing inside Ulster Museum, Belfast, UK)

Vivaldi's Spring

Off she goes,
taking quick strides along the river.
Look, there she goes,
crossing over that bridge.
Hopping and skipping,
Spruced up in her red hat.

The little miss Red Riding Hood
is off to meet her granny.
But there is someone watching her.
Cautious she must be,
her life is in danger.

The crafty fox
flips through the woods.

Granny is lying still in bed.
Eyes wide open.
Rigor mortis it is.
A long, peaceful sleep.

Miss Red is helpless and alone.
The fidgety fox is closeby.

I see a shining blade of steel,
suddenly leaping from the door.
His shining armour is strong.
The fox scowls and writhes in pain.

There is red everywhere and
it is peace again.

Haunting soul

She haunts the dark manor,
waiting to be free.
Walking up the stairs,
the empty soul is she.

Taking slow strides,
her white dress glistens in the moonlight.

The feathers rustle.

Haunting she is,
the empty soul.

(Immersive writing with music)

The Palm House

I bring a piece with me.
A piece of the world that belonged to me.
The Fern my uncle grew,
the Fern I didn't care about.

I smile when I see it today.
A piece it is from the world that belonged to me.
The beads of sweat on my brow,
the heat I used to run away from.
Sun beating down through the glass.
It's all here.

I see a Croton growing quietly.
Grandpa planted these.
The seeds from my land were planted here.

They are free,
from the red soil to the blue skies now.
The journey to freedom was long
but they flourish now.

These greens stand here
Witness of time.
Time that changed everything,
and nothing.

This is home now.
I take what I get.
The laughter and the chatter is happiness.
I am at peace with my home now.