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.

Run away

Let's run away

Run away to the forests,

To the wild world with birds and bees.

Let's run away

Run away to greener pastures,

To the skies clear and water that runs free.

Let's run away

Where love is in bounty,

And there is no hate no crime.

Let's run to a place where our souls shall meet, with our bodies intertwined.

Let's run to a place with eternal beauty.

Roses

Pink and happy with a hint of dew,
the colour reminds me of you.
Sitting on a bed of thorns,
it would cut and hurt
yet sway around.

You loved its bloom,
its colour a bright red.
Others would envy
the sight of rouge.

A faint perfume fills the air,
a cool breeze sways it more.
And each petal opens its door.

Then it turns brown
like the mud beneath,
Making way for a bud to bequeath.

Your hands grew the bloom to its youth,
I now wish to take the watering can from you.
Bloom a flower as bright as you,
miles away under a Sun anew.

 🌹🌹🌹

Privilege

What it means to be privileged?

Privilege is when you can read this post,
Like it, despise it, comment or share it.
Privilege is when you have food on your table and of the variety you like.
Privilege is when you can comment on the economical and political events of the day,
Without suffering their consequences.
Privilege is when your kith and kin are safe in beds,
And you feel sorry for the workers in the factory with long hours everyday.
Privilege is when your health is hearty,
While a part of the world compromises theirs to break the bread.
Privilege is when your only complaint is to go to work every Monday,
While some worry they may lose their wages tomorrow.
The world is full of these privileges.
A man on the road fears the dark,
While we complain of the sunrise.