Bearing Fruits

The bird is eating,
the green yard is flourishing.
How fast does Spring move?

The soil is waiting
to be replenished by April rain.
How fast does life move?

The tree is eternal,
even with its limbs sawed off.
How far does the apple fall?

Life begins,
then it bears fruit,
then it matures
and then
it dies.


Strong bones,
kind eyes.
Steel bearing hips,
curls alike.

The oracle of transparent lies,
starry skies
and strawberry pies.

She was a queen.

Magical fingers,
brisk at times,
plucking chickens,
solid enterprise.

Watching our backs,
knitting or folding,
her touch, toasty.

We miss her still,
her peaceful faith.

In fate she trusted,
in love she trusts still.

Love never bending,
to the darkness of fear.

Far or near,
doesn’t change a thing.
We love and celebrate her,
awake or asleep.

One of a kind,
a spectacle of alchemies,
folded into a knowing mind,
and dark, watchful eyes.

She knew.
Just one look.
It never ever died.

The Great Pause

Earth, 2020.
A sinister virus came along,
wiping out the weak,
and exposing all that’s wrong.

Nature shook us up,
urged us to be kind.
Hushed us and questioned
the way we lead our lives.

Dispatches from the frontlines:
“Numbers rising, many don’t survive,
help us please – stay home, be selfless, be kind”,
so, within these walls we stay confined.

But even if we listen, old habits die hard,
and survival fears are on the cards.
Pointing fingers and shifting blame,
the Man in the High Castle plays the game.

Emergency! Emergency!
We scramble, push and shove.
It’s hand sanitiser panicked urgency
and toilet paper wars.

Beach, please!
We’ve never cared to flatten any curves,
other than our own:
abs tight, bums high, but never satisfied.
But little did we know –
we’ve been beach-body ready always,
from head to toe.

And look at how our bodies yearn
for the sea breeze,
and hugs,
and dancing with strangers
to loud music,
and getting lost
in unfamiliar places.

This is it!
The Great Pause.

9am, city centre.
u-bahn/urban warfare
replaced by sprawling concrete.
9 am, still in bed.
Bed, couch, desk.
A kaleidoscope of emotions.
How could you say it’s Groundhog Day,
when every day is different, a leap of faith?

Familiarity has gone astray,
we’re grieving for the old ways –
paralysing at times,
but exhilarating all the same.

Death and life,
So closely intertwined.
We’re history in motion.
Our rebirth has arrived.

Collective trauma, collective grief –
Are we shifting or are we drifting?

Trauma begets healing,
If we so wish.
But the only way out
is within.

How painful it is,
to shed this old skin!
To move harmoniously with the tide,
together we must swim.

The question is: if gone tomorrow,
what legacy will we have left behind?

Flashes of solidarity beam
Through the fixtures on the glass ceiling –
may this virus thwart lying,
tyranny, and disingenuous living.

Let’s make it a new beginning.
No longer about greed and speed –
but one of presence, intention
and unconditional giving.

This is the point of no return:
no more hiding from ourselves.

A Lifetime of Being Misinformed and Miseducated

On this long, silent day
I unearth
the Truth.
I release
the big lies
I have been taught.

That there is only value in doing,
not in being;
that enjoying stillness is a sin,
not a virtue;
and that happiness is outside,
not within.

When I stopped chasing happiness,
and I stood still,
and found value in “just” being,
I understood:
Surrender is not weakness.
Acceptance is strength.

Then, I used to carry the weight of the world.⁠
Now, I carry the world inside me.


The Sakura stands before me.
“Ebb and flow” the petals hushed,
dancing in the warm breeze.
Pay attention, Samurai —
Battle may come at any moment,
winter shall return in a heartbeat.
Is your heart permeable to the present
as your soul is permanent?
If you fall, fall graciously,
like soft pink petals swaying.
Stay open.