Tell Me No More of Enchanted Days

Sugar Like flowers in the breeze, just like coming down on a swing, the wetness in a mouth, the churning of a stomach, and the gradual awakening from a beautiful dream. Then the rising up, looking at the sky, feeling one's fingers almost touch the white clouds. The sudden shoot from a whisper to a touch, Leaving a lingering haunting, melodious feeling that the world is a folk song and a mortal soul the slow strumming of a guitar, picking off lost pieces, creating a masterpiece, in seconds, then lost in time. (I owe this one to my friend M, who I have mentioned in my blog before, and who lends me strange moments of inspiration on the terrace! M asked me that if I didn't know sugar was meant to be 'sweet', and one didn't know what sweet meant, how would one describe it how it felt to eat it? This one is for her.)

(From the Loggia di Raffaello, Vatican City) The Sun Speaks Give me the power to be strong, I prayed. Give me the courage to sustain. Give me wisdom, And all pervading sight, Show me the path from darkness to light. Give me endurance to believe in dreams. Give me faith, the multitude of beams. I need to be like you, I need to know not just to love, But to know when to accept and To know when I’ve lost. Almighty Sun, the giver of life, I live today, but I’ve given up the fight. Sitting in the afternoon, It shone down back upon me, And spoke in a voice only I could hear. If you want to be like me, You must learn to never cease. You must learn to give, which you do, But where you fail, is when you ask in return, From those lesser than you. I make the stars, I bring the seas, I drive the birds, I nourish the green. The planets dance around me, The Gods live in my womb, The seasons laugh in my feet. The clouds move to my tune. Can you be the strongest, the one who sustains all? If you learn

Catharsis Look once, and turn away that glance. Some of the living can be invisible. See her matted white hair, the torn clothes, and the limp, dragging on the burden of her ageing body. Does it make you sick? Guilty, sad or angry? Do you agree it's unfair, that while you sit, in your cushioned car, smoking your cigarette at a signal, she, half nauseous, half crazy, begs around for a glass of water? You, the one who gave her a shove, spat at her, and told her to get lost, I'm sure you treat your mother the very same way. With sadness, anger and guilt. And you, the one who watches her, from the corner of your eye, shedding uncontrollable tears, under your designer glasses, and chooses to write about this despicable world once again, your words lack courage, for you choose to see, and do nothing, Except to go back to your air conditioned desk, and redeem your soul, hoping once you let it out, her face will disappear, and you shall drown in your futile words, coming up clean.

Night Voices It came in a dream yesterday. These words. Don't remember who said them to me. It was as if it was an omnipresent voice, looming large. Maybe it was my consciousness: "If you teach someone independence, they will assert their independence against you. If you teach someone loving, they will use your loving against you. If you teach them how to give, they will teach you how to take, and regret your giving." These are important words, and I wonder how my brain even came up with them, that too in my sleep. The first is applicable to children, and their rebellion against their parents. Somewhere my own guilt for not staying with my parents speaks these words. The other two are related to a man I loved, somewhere still do. He took my love, and left me a little jaded. But my faith is unbreakable. I will never say this to anyone, 'You broke my faith in people'. As Dylan sings, "You say you lost your faith. But that's not where it's at. You had no