A writing portfolio
Once I felt your breath on my neck:
warm, quiet, unassuming and I realised
I had forgotten how soft you are. I remember, you
asked for the time and I, unable to speak simply because
you exhaled,
mumbled something about missing an analog.
Now, on a weekend, I try not to think about your lungs, your mouth. Endearing
to many people, you carry on, innocently unknowing of your deep,
deep magnitude.
about art that makes you freeze, reconsider,
your position on the world today, our politics, our society.
a loudly proclaimed statement and a definate “So there!”,
shouting at you, catching your attention, forcing a second look.
and in the quiet gallery this piece seems so out of place. Where can it make its statement?
naked walls: Faithfully and unwittingly holding keys to independent thought.
is like a race that you are dying to win
but you eventually find that your shoes are in tatters
and the gold medal you were trying so hard for was
behind you all this time, waiting patiently
for a second look, a realisation that they are
no real prize, but simply a state of mind that makes everything lighter,
happier and harder.
It’s okay:
We can do this, we can hurt them,
We can be as ignorant, as blind, as we like,
Because in the end we
will all
go to
paradise.
(If God was a person he would be a child, his fists in tight balls, his eyes wet with tears,
Throwing a tantrum over his new toy that he quickly and swiftly
broke.)
Katrina, now you are suspended between earth and sky.
Tubes feed you glucose intravenously. Naked you lie
In your special room in Ward Fifteen. Is your life
Opening again or closing finally? We do not know, but fear
The telephone call from a nurse whose distant sympathy
Will be the measure of our helplessness. Your twin brother’s
Two-month-old vigour hurts us, remembering
Thin straws of sunlight on your bowed legs kicking
In defiance of your sickness, your body’s wasting.
Against the black velvet of death threatening
Your life shines like a jewel, each relapse a flash of light
The more endearing. Your mother grieves already, so do I.
Miracles do not tempt us. We are getting in early,
Although we know there is no conditioning process which can counter
The karate-blow when it comes,
No way we can arrange the date-pad to conceal
The page torn-off, crumpled, thown away.
Katrina, I had in mind a prayer, but only this came,
And you are still naked between earth and sky.
Transfusion wounds in your heels, your dummy taped in your mouth.
the sun sets and i, impossibly tired,
wish for one more second of day so i can
paint draw think photograph all those things
that help me breathe, that
are dear to my dazed heart.
