Saturday 13 May 2017

layers of life

/sometimes/
all of real life
feels like fiction
tears at the janazah prayers
     searing pain, lasting affliction, 
a lingering embrace
a lingering embrace
in a holy place
in the house of the Lord
your reward
resides in jannah, with Him
the children's laughter, echoes
in a room full of broken hearts
the end the end the end
the boys in white
will grow up too fast
       tears fall,              
                         i stall
               in prayer
tongue tied
 we're tied, to dunya
until the day we die
and death will come to us all 
how long will you stall, sy?

 all of real life 
feels like fiction
              
                  the wisteria
birdsong, the towering pylons
the underpass 
the lonesome paths
maybe I should ask
something of you
    but what 
all of real life
feels like fiction

             bob geldof, nick mason
                             a crowd of strangers 
I wear patience
                    like a cloak
I close my eyes and
                                I float
towards the light......
                      but then
 clinking glasses and adult laughter
      bring me back to a world  
                                                       not mine
the boys in white will grow up to fast

the reeds blow in gold, the water 
reflections waver
all these places, I savour
the freedom
the millstone fell on the rat in 1703
300 years ago, it's hard to believe
the wishing wheel
swallowed up our wishes
and left us bereft
the rest
(who knows if they came true)

all of real life
feels like fiction

that ethereal night 
the view from the top of the building
there at a gathering, 
was it a cult, was I at fault,  
                  for not arriving  
              I lost my card
                too busy striving 
to make it some where

all of real life
feels like fiction

following that old canal 
that old canal 
talking to the nuns from belarus
talking to stanley francis 
about history
in a secret garden 

all of real life
feels like fiction
the chandelier at africa house
the mouse

meow caught
/////it got away

it got away
all of real life

feels like fiction

the everyday

the everyday
sitting in the cemetery office at dusk
the doors are locked, and we're at home
sipping on tea and talking about the past
in a house surrounded by death
and what's left what's left what's left

the everyday
sitting in the old english garden
listening to the sound of water hit the surface of the pond
watching the birds, flit through skies of gold
writing down stories in my journal
and what's left, what's left what's left

the everyday
wandering by the canal
pass door ways shrouded in wisteria
through a garden centre
by the old church;eerier
than before, a thousand thin mirrors
belonging to a gas tower
and what's left what's left what's left

the everyday
wandering around the museum
waiting for my shift to be over
staring at stone men
watching women in sari's
and boys in kimono's
and what's left what's left what's left

the everyday
bus journeys that never end
thoughts that trail on forever
a pair of lungs on fire, legs that often tire
a waning will to aim higher

what's left what's left whats left

(perhaps, everything)

alhamdulillah
for the everyday