ice wine on the moon

 

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and one day soon

i will go to the moon

take a quick break

one  wednesday noon

between meetings

writing two-page briefing notes

i will pay with bitcoin

for my ride and root beer floats

in a faraway place

where the standard time is gmt+10

a stranger lives (alone?)

my angst he seems to understand

together we may go to the moon

with ripped jeans and purple bandanas

have a picnic lunch

with ice wine and mini bananas

talk about ways to get around

with compass cards

from 1100 chestnut st

watch the summer stars

and then to darling harbour

we will fly away

have cake and coffee at soul origin

one stormy day

reflect on maya and the sorrow of androids

laugh about collecting dreams and getting through life

i will get the blueberry jam and brie

you get the sparkling champagne and ceramic knife

together for the first time

we will have dinner

until dawn talking about spirals paired

there’s no saint and sinner

will you reach out

never…or soon?

a break with me perhaps

one wednesday noon?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

coffee, ​please

 

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clay mugs

cold shrugs

many miles

no friendly smiles

muddy stairs

nobody cares

for the man with no six-pack

or a shirt on his bruised back

just colorless tears tricking down his white cheeks

people rush from the sky train onto the streets

our eyes meet

hearts beat

i give a cup of coffee

a plain croissant with no toffee

he bites his snack and his trembling lips

takes a few sips

as i walk away

done with the kind deed for the day

he sits on the cold concrete floor with young aching bones 

remembering the years when he laughed and played eating blue ice cones

i sip my assam tea and eat my toast as sunday morning rolls in

i hope he was warm last night and gets to sleep in

and when he wakes up soon

brunch will be served for him at noon

multigrain bagel with avocado and whipped cream cheese

a cup of hot coffee and a gentle afternoon breeze

for none of us is without honour

everyone deserves to have someone in their corner

The longest night

 

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same voice

same noise

no sense

no repentance

entitlement

without enlightenment

at the door

wanting more

breathe in breathe out

don’t let the demons out

this is a test

just let is rest

the longest night

the toughest fight

all have an end

don’t break just bend

truth can hurt

there’s beauty in dirt

forget and forgive

one life to live

 

 

Photo credit: Pexels

Cinnamon

 

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today

i will make a batch of apple cinnamon shortbread

the kind that will melt in my mouth

without resistance

as the oven warms up

i will watch my neighbors walk their dogs on leash

couples with jackets of the same color walking together

accompanied by the music of their inner resistance

i will place the shortbread

on my favorite blue square cookie plate

with dark brown borders

beside my huge maroon tea cup

together

they make a lovely pair

mismatched

good together

the shortbread melts in my mouth

without resistance i

give myself to the moment

the cinnamon warms my heart

 

Photo credit: Suju, Creative Commons, Pixabay

Conveyor

one word

two meanings

one thought

many feelings

simple message

complicated

caring query

deleted

look out

for the job of a conveyor

to help people

just understand the other

mother and son

father and daughter

why does one say no

to a life of love and laughter

run from oneself

and the other

choose to be a cruel stranger

when one could be a gentle lover

one word

two meanings

one thought

many feelings

 

 

 

 

Conversation

my favourite kind of conversation is one

where two are silent and connected

not the kind where two are together

unhappy and disconnected

my favourite kind of conversation is one

where we can stretch our legs across a comfy chair

listen to bocelli reading poetry

then share

what’s on our mind

with no fear of judgement, no strife

just a meaningful conversation

about life

 

 

 

 

 

Proclivity

When I was a teenager living in Kerala, I remember standing at the bus stop with my father one day. My father and I loved to take the bus and head out to town, leaving our scooter behind. An elderly woman stood beside us. It was a hot day and she looked rather tired. My father started a conversation and soon we knew where she was going and much more. As the bus approached us, my father asked her to take care. I remember her looking at us and smiling.

During our bus ride, I asked my father, why he always talked to strangers. He replied, “A stranger could be God in disguise…always be kind and good to people, what does one gain by being the opposite?”. Over the years, my imperfect father taught me many valuable lessons. The one that has impacted me the most is – when in doubt, be kind.

I cannot understand a person’s proclivity to see the worst in others…what does one really gain?

 

Almost over

when i am seventy seven

i want to ride a train

cross rivers

watch the falling rain

take a walk

on the streets of Vancouver

listen to Bocelli

when the Christmas night is almost over

 

when i am seventy seven

i want to wake up in the morning

sip a hot cup of tea

and watch the lazy day dawning

i want to welcome the solitary nights

sleep like a child

dream of tealights

and baby elephants in the wild

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Torn

was told i had lost

felt like a winner

was told i was a saint

felt like a sinner

when asked to stay 

chose to leave

when asked to celebrate

started to grieve

for all those moments

a smile was worn

when my heart 

was torn