She. A concept.
She stands over yonder. So far away.
I. A mystery.
I sit waiting by sparrows. So close.
We. Our reality.
We stand and sit in different places.
Poetry | Stories | Photography
She. A concept.
She stands over yonder. So far away.
I. A mystery.
I sit waiting by sparrows. So close.
We. Our reality.
We stand and sit in different places.
crystal clear water
They long to see Lake Baikal
vast in her beauty
The goal was to hear the ice
and to feel and to hear peace
emotional clouds
heavy with the grey of now
hiding the sunset
issues faced on Sunday night
The dread falls within the rain
heavy falling snow
serious solemn faces
outside the old church
gentle, pushed into the hearse
transported to rest awhile
the falling droplets
they increase in their number
the windscreen a blur
neoclassical engine
sounds of heartbreak and the sea
The house no one notices is where the person they call the witch lives.
Quiet, yet uncomfortably loud. That is how the world outside describes ‘the lady’.
Uninterested in the limelight, the shadows of home become her friend.
Surrounded by Literature, she is herself.
studying ancient civilisations
dreaming about being Nefertiti
a Queen with unprecedented power
reading about the god men of great worth
their glorious reigns with women behind
watching the stories told in His Story
I look at you
sometimes when you don’t notice
I stare at you
Rarely, when you are oblivious to my presence
I wonder if we, the two of us, would have spoken
if you were
famous when we met over 24 years ago
The falling Spring rain
comes with the sound of thunder
to stop and ponder
to have an education
to see our nation changing
Fatigue has found me
Through my resting elbow and
my head on my hand