We fought so hard for normality:
To become the norm,
To embrace conformity.
Now we are devoid of empathy.
We tie the noose around the neck of those that do not adhere to those values.
We instead sit on summer lawns musing on water jets — as the sunlight reflects off the diffused particles of water droplets; this, alas, was what the struggle was about — the desire to conform.
Wearing shades in the dark, we seek to minimise the glare.
We have no sympathy — or time to care, drinking mojitos in cool designer bars — designed by Philip Stack or some other design guru…
Like the red rose in the night
Illuminated by the moonlight
Haunting sexuality paints a baroque canvas of sensual delights: bold colour pallets, vivid sheens, the contrast of dark and light hues create pictures that are bold and striking.
Reflecting on an image of an eroticise Christ, one imagines the smouldering passions conveyed by the paintings of Caravaggio,
dark sensualities, striking sensuous tomes, contrasting vivid colours smoulder with eroticism.
They enharbour friction and tension.
He loved. He was the Son of God.
Raw animal urges tears at the sacred heart, one that is grounded to the earth and not to an imaginary heaven. He…
I have listened to you for far too long.
You are on a continuous loop.
You, my inner critic,
I wished that your criticisms did not stick.
But, they perpetually prod me like swords.
Your words penetrated my cranium and became implanted in my brain.
They tell me that I would not amount too much, so who is to blame?
You said it was in my DNA, embedded into my genes;
From an early age, this was something I had gleaned.
You placed me on your stage with the spotlight shining on me. …
Bosom heaving, dress a shimmying, body rolling.
The woman is bowling over…
‘cheeks’ moulding and bruising the air.
Tonight heavy souls are falling.
She sees no eyes
Hears no spies
Listens to no cries.
She is lost inside the rhythm devine:
Full of the joys of life,
Feet a stomping,
Pounding the wooden floor.
Legs moving like the rail wheels on a track:
Click clack, clack click, clickity clack: a rhythm is composed.
She is heaving, stands proud, a figure to admire… ‘Rolls like thunder.
Standing tall, with prowess, arms stretched out.
Eyes closed, she knows every step rehearsed.
Broken GLASS smash
Against her FACE,
Proves that you are A MAN.
Held in your HAND,
This is your WEAPON.
An EXPRESSION of your mind.
The Bottle strikes against THE FACE,
Knocking at the door
As she falls to the floor.
Watch the BLOOD
cling to the surface of the GLASS.
to represent YOUR RAGE.
The blood is on ONE SIDE.
To prove that YOU ARE A MAN.
Is this how YOU MAKE A STAND?
a child holding YOUR HANDS
you chide him.
He trembles with FEAR.
But you do not hear HIS…
What is it to feel love? Is it to be enthralled by beauty, to have one’s feelings overwhelmed, to feel joy at the sight of another? Alas, it would be rash of me to utter this word.
An encounter in Amsterdam and again you transcended my wildest imaginings: a timeless beauty: a cut so rare. Encapsulating finesse: elegance, gallant, the words from your lips dripped.
My eyes saw the gloss on ice cream on hot summers’ days melt away and the gentle rivers of treacle flowing into tranquil liquorice lagoons. My only wish was that day I had not felt…
I thought of you as a nation.
waves rolling from a raging storm.
You were warm and moist,
as temperate as the climate.
The scent of wet moss.
As dank and foreboding
as the rummages of the bleak landscape.
You inspired, to tire.
Forever you went.
Overwhelming the senses.
You were the blanket
hiding to reveal.
The mist, a shroud
covering the landscape of the mind.
A vale to conceal.
No ground or sky to fall from.
The peat - the goodness of the earth
brought forth from decay,
To be reborn.
Comes forth life, the fire that burns so bright and warm.
The taste savoured from your…
‘ am no longer afraid of looking in you in the eye.
Walked the miles
toiled the soil
from a child to a man.
‘ was your slave
servile for a while,
sang your songs
now I sing my own songs of liberation and freedom.
Bathing in the rain
called me insane,
electrocuted and hanged me,
say I was primitive of mind
one of a kind.
All the same,
played your games
of comme ci comme ca.
now I am free.
no longer are you pulling the string.
Found me a name.
Telling me how to think
no longer part of your scheme.
I am free, walking against the strain,
No longer playing your games.
Free in my race,
You enchant me.
Some might decry this as sentimental words,
The words of an uncultured man.
I thus stand accused.
But my heart speaks.
My feelings I will not refute.
I will not become an emotional recluse.
As an adult, I should be in control of my emotions
but have not the desire to surrender.
I feel the pulse of joy and sadness as the seconds reverberates to the oscillations of the pendulum.
I watch the hours drift as I descend further into the abyss of time.
Inside, the adrenaline spurs my heart.
The pang rushes up my throat. …
Interested in people, nature, science and technology, and history. MSc in Research Methods (Birkbeck), MA Industrial Design (UAL)