It was in Tel-Aviv
awkward at first but
the trust grew with time
the searching of bags
scanning of bodies
not trusting
only to keep us safe
I saw, finally.
Today again
in Paris on a
sunny day
the searching
the scanning
I did not even flinch
I know now
the world has changed
without return
to safer days
this is it
the future ahead
the days may be sunny
but the ruin of man
has begun
if you want to
know me
do no listen to what
I say
.no.
do not listen to what
I say
…
take heed of what
I write
as
my poetry never
lie
on occasion
I ask myself
what purpose serves
my writing
the answer invariably;
none and nil; as such
yet I carry on
in equal measures
boredom with
wrapping of hope
needless desire of
wanting where lust
wobbled and ability
faltered…
no mortal combat ensues
as Baba Yaga crashes the party
“that is how the cookie crumbles” she says
between mortar and pestle
no combat required
is it wrong
the attraction I feel
the women I see
are kindered
their youth
carried proud
not young but
young at heart
young as am I
though the clock
is winding down
with every day
the closure comes
closer than
I ever will
acknowledge
is it wrong
the attraction I feel
and by feeling
the wrongs I
am doing will I
ever find belonging
among those I
do find close at
heart
If you know someone who’s depressed, please resolve to never ask them why. Depression isn’t a straightforward response to a bad situation; depression just is, like the weather. Try to understand the blackness, lethargy, hopelessness, and loneliness they’re going through. Be there for them when they come through the other side.
It’s hard to be a friend to someone who’s depressed, but it’s one of the kindest, noblest, and best things you’ll ever do.
it stood at the end of the road
the gallows
the sign read: “casting tomorrow at noon”
I felt the urge
to attend
There was darkness until
I opened my eyes
Beholding the beauty that
Lay before me
I saw that of which
The poets write
The essence of songs and
That which make our
Hearts beat.
N.B. The title was unapologetically stolen from a line from a poem by @wordswritteninsilence
The probable cause is
I was born a tad late
A few centuries earlier
On a rural farm I would
Have fitted right in
No worries about who to
Marry or where to live,
What to do today, tomorrow or
Even next week
That would not have been
My worries and
I would have been happier
I think
