We wake to brew a bitter, roasted bean,
And stare into the screen’s alluring glow,
To curate lives that look so sleek and clean,
For all the gaping void we never show.
The traffic beckons with a crimson glare,
A metal sea where everyone is late,
We mutter curses in the smoggy air,
And quietly embrace our daily fate.
We draft the endless emails with a grin,
And swear we love the grind of nine-to-five,
While hiding all our quiet panic in,
Just to pretend that we are quite alive.
Then midnight strikes, the day is done at last,
We close our eyes and let the worries spin,
Regretting every blunder of the past,
And wait to do it all again, begin.
You can marry 100 women
You can change your brand.
You can work security.
You can curate this fictional persona online.
But I saw you, that night in the dark.
Where I deserved protection and you beat me.
You beat me with no words. I trusted you.
If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.
~The Notebook
If you’re a bird, I’m a bird, wing to wing
as we fly feathers synchronize and sing
a simple melody only two hearts never apart
can hear as under bright morning sun
we find filigree breezes finely spun,
as if god and angels take delight
in nature’s orchestrated pavane flight.
We curate sunrise and sing sunset lullabies
with hearts as free as dancing summer butterflies,
then resting in Luna’s soft midnight tympani,
whose notes may even charm the wetlands garganey*~
sleep easily tonight my love,
tomorrow flies the golden dove,
flying high with our true love.
* Small and unobtrusive, often described as shy, duck of reedy and vegetation-fringed wetlands.
Lovely cottage
Once full, once love
Standing lonely.
Curate, restored
Back in full bloom
Ready for use.
Lovely people
Come, enter in
Stay, enjoy.
Once in your life
Stay awhile
Embrace rural.
What a luxurious question I wonder,
Or is it ?
To take a pause leave the day unclaimed
No ticking of clock,
Over your head-
Unbothered by other’s agenda,
No login on time,
Or leaving the house on ungodly hours,
I get to choose,
To curate my day-
I wonder-
If I am found by this question,
Would I treasure it?
Or would I procrastinate my life away?
letting the time slip through
like a water through cupped hands.
Our minds so conditioned,
to dance with the tick and tok of the clock.
Suddenly, unrestrained.
Dumbfound,
Like a drunkard lost in a room full of time.
So I ask again,
what do I do today?
Do I seize, create, become?
Or simply linger in the beauty
of having the choice to wonder?
Curious chrysanthemums curate chances;
Crack crazy cases creatively;
Climb creepy cliffs;
Conquer crafty creations;
Compete competencies;
Challenge complexities;
Crown
Complete
Cascades.
Veggies cut at swirled shapes,
Meat which could meet the fire of hunger,
Spices which could feast hearts
Could combine to create culinary power.
Fruits cut at random slices,
Sugar bought from the sweetest lands,
Can mix and grind to overcome the crisis
Of the earthlings' favour for juicy clans.
Neem leaves received from the tresses of nature
Blend with herbs to curate stories of natural cure;
Bitter but carves better lives
For sweeter cells and sugary bites.
Any taste
Without any haste;
Sprinkle the heaven-driven blessings
To baptise humanity with foods of blessed names.
Fresh and flavourful organic strawberries
Ground with the berries of our hearts,
Do blend with majestic creams
To celebrate this sweat-pouring afternoon
With a nice dish which feasts tongues.
This dessert is both life-giving and life-threatening;
She strengthens our heartbeats
While touching our taste buds;
And kills our precious lives
When she reaches only our eyeballs.
She is the landlady across seas and lands
For the children of sweet minds and tides;
Everytime I curate an icy day,
I believe in the right culinary recipes of her way
To carefully craft each scoop with her gorgeous grace.
Let me tell you all about the cathedral cat
Thought by many as tubby but definitely not fat
Her fur is black and in cat years she's ten
Loved by the ladies and admired by men
Part of the cathedral is this feline beauty
I'm not into cats but she's certainly a cutie
The expressions she gives are a joy to behold
Will always be there come warmth or cold
Who I wonder does this lovely cat belong to
Maybe a choir boy or curate is possibly true
The cathedral cat makes your visit complete
How I expect she's missed the walking feet
Risus. Curate. Doloris.
Laughter. Heals. Pain.
Risus Curare Doloris!
Queen of Sorrows!
You cure my pain!
When I am mere mortal without a name.
You have me hope,
Yet you give me know name?
So I choke down the laughter
To take away the pain!
I laugh at my own insecurities
Without nothing to gain.
Such a Sweet Angel Lady
To feel such pain!
To laugh at my impurities
Locked within my brain.
I’ve questioned my sanity,
Yet you hug me readily,
As if my only purpose was to love...
I’ve come from nothing, asking nothing,
For I am am just another insecure, insignificant, bug!
But such a dear heart, beautiful Queen heart of sorrows!
You are still able to laugh!
Through such incomprehensible sorrows!
If one could only ask to borrow, such strength, dignity and
Sweet grace, to make it unto tomorrow.
Laughter heals us through the pain,
It make one heartless want to feel love again!
With just enough love to laugh at our Sweet and innocent
Sorrows!
With just enough love, to feel at peace,
So I can put on a brave Smile and face Tomorrow!!!
It starts its dance,
shifting and spiralling
and then...
the suspension game.
Absolutely not!!!
Precariously balanced above my bed.
I do not desire the predator
to become my snuggle buddy,
and reach for the DOOM!
It's one thing to hang around,
and create a spectacular web,
it's another to drop...
falling into my bed.
I spray.
Drenching the creature in a toxic blast,
as it scurries back to its place,
now a place of rest.
Caught in its own sticky silk,
it stays.
A roof ornament
for another to curate
at a later date.
Standing on the crossroads
When a choice you make
The roads that go far
The voyage is at stake.
You could just stroll
You could procrastinate
Until you lose track
Lose faith in 'fate'
Walk a lane on whim
Cede to 'the unchaste'
Steer the ship yourself
Better you than Him to curate
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