Learning to love

One of the most important things that we came into this world to learn is to really open ourselves to love. I’m not talking here about loving one another as friends, but of learning to love humanity. 
We are here to understand that love is not an energy that says, “I love you, my child, because I benefit from you; because everything you do in this world is mine; because through you, I can expand myself.”  

Nor is love an energy that says, “I love you, my husband, because you give me so many things. I love you, my friend, because you like me; because you are part of my same social status; because you like the things that I do; because you appreciate who I am.” 

These sentiments (and their agendas) are not a part of the energy of love that we have been put here to generate and share. Love does not discriminate. Love does not calculate. Rather, love is the energy that connects us all. It is the energy that gives us the ability to have care for all people.

Karen Berg

Conscious words

“But the greatest cause of verbicide is the fact that most people are obviously far more anxious to express their approval and disapproval of things than to describe them. Hence the tendency of words to become less descriptive and more evaluative; then become evaluative, while still retaining some hint of the sort of goodness or badness implied; and to end up by being purely evaluative — useless synonyms for good or for bad”.

C.S. Lewis, Studies in Words

DeJavu++

Alarm sounds twice only by a minute
Eyes wide shut
Body rising
Setting off
Voice at Bethnal Green Station
Drives me mad with laughter
My incessant crave for coffee and muffins
Password logins
Same TV series on Channel 4
Constant meet with the lady at the bus stop
Mum’s call goes on voicemail
Never see cash in my wallet
Triple occurrence of entries while hovering
I trip at the same spot

Cell phone rings from my object of affection
Everything I do on the PC
He mentions exact same thing as another
Thoughts battle
As ambitions rattle
Modifications of a routine
Daily conscious experiences
Or interpretations of repetitive occurrences
I have already seen all these to last me a lifetime
I am not deluded
It’s not illusory
What do I call them?

Dejavu media

Dejavu thoughts
Dejavu triggered sights
Dejavu occurrences
Dejavu mornings
Compelled to say
As my senses seemingly think
Routine and dejavu
Could be just a definition
Quite similar by the skin of my teeth
I know its an explicit familiarity
One of unending weird occurrences
All as a result of routinely habits
And a regression of my supposed psyche
And I kissed my teeth

Where are the safeguards?

So one faithful  p.m 2013, I was conducting interviews with other managers at work for our summer student interns, then I hear what sounds like pretty aggressive screaming coming from the window of our board room. Luckily for us, we were just finalising.

As soon as our last candidate walked out of the room, we jumped up towards the window and there is a man from Asian background;(in the interest of full disclosure, this is by no means a story stereotyped against any race neither does it reflect any racial discriminate inferences) man is screaming from across the road. I stand there by the window trying to find who or what he may have been shouting at for the last couple of minutes. His son is by his side, should be about 8-9 years old. I realise on the other side of the road,is a woman who seems to be his wife with a little girl in a buggy. I am assuming, her daughter. She is standing by a car. He is shouting and swearing at her in a language I couldn’t understand, pointing in a warning and threatening manner towards her. The next scene I watched will live with me for some time. He grabs his son’s hand and runs towards her, still screaming, even now, more vehemently. He grabs her by the neck, literally twisting her neck, grabbing her hair, hitting her, pushing her and eventually, the loud impact of a slap on her face.

This frenzied attack was happening right in the presence of their son and daughter who I am guessing roughly were around the ages of 8 and 3 respectively. A really insignificant crowd had started to gather at this point. Only then does he realise he could be in danger of someone raising alarm. He runs into our office car park with his son towards his car. Wife walks right behind him pushing her toddler in the buggy, weeping. He gets into the car, with his son who at this point was also screaming at his mum, somewhat in a “veruca salty” manner requesting the contents of the shopping bag she had hanging on the buggy. As she tried to reach out for what seemed like a snack or drink for her son, this man drives off leaving woman and daughter at the car park. Infact, I thought he was going to run into her at the level of speed he took off with. Woman is left there weeping like a child and begins to push daughter’s buggy who at this point is upset as well. The tears of a woman physically and emotionally abused as well as a child experiencing violence from dad to mum left me pretty much jarred and exasperated. She walks away, using the scarf wrapped around her neck to wipe her tears. Drama is over… I had to get back to work. The whole office is conversing about this. Its funny how such dramas gets human beings a tad excited? I am here thinking we live in a civilised society, however, abusing women is still a huge issue in this country. And a very cultural issue as well. Whilst,I commend David Cameron and his government for tackling online pornography and encouraging online search engines to ban child abuse images as well as other associated child safeguards measures, there is still a lot of work to be done around protecting vulnerable women who have developed a 100% tolerance and acceptance of physical abuse because of what I call “stupid cultural influences”.

No culture should permit a man hitting a woman, more especially in a 1st world nation. And to think that he walked away? He will do it again and again just as he has been doing. That couldn’t have been the first time. How does the society protect such women and ring it into their heads that men abusing them is as a matter of fact NOT acceptable? Yes, our laws prohibit abuse of any sort and generally prosecute offenders. Is it sufficient for women as vulnerable as that poor lady I watched get battered and humiliated in public? Whilst I rant about a single ill in our society which is significantly culturally driven, I shall not stop this story without an outburst of emotions. That man was a raving, filthy, barbaric, crude, abusive and viscous coward and so is any man who does what he did. I feel sorry for his son too who has grown up and began to act the exact same way towards his mother and possibly towards other females. This man was lucky he drove off just before shock made me realise I had to call the police. It saddened my heart…

The Eternal City

I met him Friday night
I thought he liked my friend…
Saturday evening, the penultimate day…
We went for one drink
Cabbed to the most sensational garden I have ever walked into
It was magnificent
I was short for words
He kissed me, I melted to ice
It was beautifully serene as he held me

We talked about our past, growing up and our future
We walked the Spanish steps
He could have carried me through
I said no
I wanted him to come away with me
We walked back to his hotel room
I soaked in a moment – one full action and inaction
The moment of truth but I walked away
I left sadly alone to my hotel room
Thinking how real this could have got
I could easily love this man

Sunday, Sunrise
He meets me for breakfast
Reception rings to say “your guest is here for breakfast”
I didn’t have any appointments – I knew no one in Italy
Couldn’t wait to have this breath of fresh air behold my sight
He could see it written all over my face
At noon
We are in the presence of the Holy See at the Vatican
My feet crossed across his
In what seemed like a beautiful summer day
We received his Latin blessings
Had brunch at ‘Ginger’
I smiled at him so sweetly

My heart slowly gave in to him
I sadly return to England, don’t know why stay was inevitable at this time
Catching tear drops in my hand
A lump in my throat as I kissed him goodbye in the taxi
He would be in my mind for a long time
Driving down the road to the airport
I felt sorry for myself for what I loved but could potentially not have
And more tears flowed down my eyes…
Feeling so empty and deflated
Feeling like a little girl who had lost her sense of belonging

I adored him
Not one man has ever made me feel this way (well, so quickly)
It could have been false intent from his part
It could have been ordinary and meaningless
Well, I made it and framed it into a beautiful picture of love

We talked
Had got to know each other
I thought what we shared was a masterpiece. It’s still very much in my head. He made me fall for him.
I remember it too well.
Time went by quickly with him
I became emotionally paralysed
As he reminded me that I could love again
Well, maybe not love but I could share bonds of joy again
The Eternal city brought us together
As I wondered, why do things happen if there turned out to be zero possibilities?
Oblivious to him, he stole my heart
I thought about him all the way home
Whispered to myself that I wanted him to be mine
He seemed like my expectations of a perfect man

But he won’t give me his heart
Then I lost M
She escalated a fantasy in her head
I sensed jealousy and resentment
She relived this nonsense
Turned it into a reality
Threw away a friendship, chucking it into a perceived world of betrayal
Perhaps she was right
I may had fallen for this man
It was a fucking fantasy
It’s almost like he was ten different people

Cynical about what I have made him become to me
As I always seem to do
My complexities probably chased this one away
I gave him an expression of my heart
He gave me a wide berth
My poor heart, miserable since my Roman encounter
An overwhelming sense of guilt, confusion and delusion enveloped me
I think of how he could lay close to me
I wonder whether I could have made love to him
Whether a seal could have drawn him to me

But it’s now nothing but this empty gap between us
Distance it seems has created impossibility
I created this fucking problem
Like a school kid in the winter waiting for the spring
I am just sitting here waiting for that day of the uneventful
To hold my hands like that night
Kiss my lips
Make crazy love to me
Capture my heart and whisper to me saying “I have been thinking of you all the way”
And whilst I recognise how possible I could escape from my assortment of this (in words)
I also do embrace a reality that it now seems that I was destined to fall in love with a man I could never have

And again whilst I lay in an admiration of him, I form an elimination of this
But I do know what we shared in two days is enough to last
If tomorrow never comes
The man who shares the same name as my father and brother
The highlight of my trip to Rome
The one American yet to live in my heart forever x

Unrest

Look at my thumbnails
See the sea gulls
I have an aquarium of beauty
They have an affinity of reasons
I love these dynamics
Spell out those names
They hate the winters cold and dark nights
I recognise a season of love
Heart and pulse races
In my nudity and thoroughness
For my episodes and presentations
My judge cannot protect me
They throw spasms of reluctance
Absurdity surrounds birth
Music, she says must continue
I hold my charm bracelet
I watched the doctor spank the newly born baby
Grandfather clock rings from its profile
Time definitely of the essence
Lights and accessories in contrasts
Blasphemies in his heart of hearts
In actuality our lives flash in our eyes
She could dwell in eternity on her soft Moroccan sheets
My dialect of interpretations was his
Out of reach was immediate thought
In photography and graphic
Art transits images
I hated the silence
Hissed for a kiss
Which of them was the chosen
My hands play the piano hysterically and lyrically
Spontaneity and versatility described him
The realist
The pianist
A birth
Beauty of my aquariums
The punning
Was all a random collection of my me time

Florida’s Waters

It’s Sunday morning
Dreamt of my walks on the silk beach sands of Neptune
I wake up at Eleven
A picture of my footsteps on these sands seem uneven
Looking on
Wondering what’s at the other end of these waters
An instant recollection of one of my fave tracks by Stone Mecca ‘A walk’
I love that song
My sense of admiration of this place had almost had enough
Wishing I had my iPod
I hum the chorus almost loud in my head
A little smile at myself as I snap my fingers to the unsung rhythm
He gazes at me from a long distance across the shore
I look up feeling the rays of sun hit my face
I realise the depths of my my dips
The soothing warmth of these waters
I am wet from calves to feet
A moment of distraction from my bliss of peace
I only hear the waves and his thoughts
It’s quiet, calm, beautiful
The skies almost in hues of color between gold and blue
As if in anticipated clarity
We both walk in parallel directions towards the wooden beach house
I feel a moment of epiphany
Seated next to each other on the derelict steps of the porch
We hold hands
He takes my beach wicker hat off and puts it on
I smile at him
He winks
Oh my little heart sinks
We watch the waves go
The sun set
The skies camouflage
He lifts my feet
Dusts the residue of white sands off
Puts my sandals back on
We walk back south
Down the path through the shack
Drove Upstate
Into a happy place
One filled with people such as us
A little whisper and smile again within
Embellished in the pages of my heart’s diaries
I engraved:
“I loved this escape
All I needed was to be here forever”
He gave me the picture
I colored a 1000 words

Eileen

She is a friend, my neighbour, a lady who I admire. She hasn’t got children of her own (not out of choice) so she always tells me she considers me ‘a daughter’. She tells me everything. We share a floor. She is number 15 and I, 13.

She would bring me red, fresh cherry tomatoes which she plants at her in-laws. She never misses to buy me presents on my birthdays, Easter eggs at Easter and more presents at Christmas. She receives my parcels when I am not in. She invites me in for tea frequently and Terry, her lovely husband entertains me with the Harmonica I ordered off Amazon for him. He plays to entertain when they go on cruises. She holds my keys when I travel and takes my posts in. They are both in their late 70s and live alone. I enjoy doing most things for them, clean, sort out their new gadgets because they don’t understand modern technology, make complaints on their behalf, call maintenance when something isn’t right in their home etc.

She fell recently, I cared for her. She was traumatised like many older people are when they have a fall…
When I used to go into crisis in the middle of the night and the ambulance came – she would hear the noise from the hallway and lifts or the voices from the paramedic crews and come out at 3:00am and say comforting words to me. She loves to pour her milk first before her tea and so every time I invite her round for tea and cake, I would serve her tea in her fave tea set because she is so cultured and I would pour her milk first!
She loves cakes too. She would tell me stories of her youth and how she grew up in a Catholic Covent. Some of the stories are just simply mind blowing but often times, horrendous. She grew up post 2nd WW in a Covent in Hillingdon and never met her mother until she was 15. She was tortured by Catholic nuns and when these nuns go to prayer sessions, the “bigger girls” would torture her further. She got boiling hot water thrown at her and sustained burns, she drank their urine, she got hit daily. She got hit, she was broken, abused, damaged.
My disgust as a Catholic for the Catholic Church sometimes knows no bounds. But who am I to judge eh? She has her beliefs but doesn’t practice anymore. Why blame her?
I am looking at a woman who ‘RESILIENCE’ is too small a word to describe…’STRENGTH’ is an under-estimated word to describe her.
Anyway, on a lighter note, she has travelled the world so we talk a lot about travel too. We would watch many BBC and ITV programmes together when I am not at work and then analyse world events and people.
…So, she brought me a card and a gift on June 1st and asked me what I did on my birthday and I said to her I had lunch with a special friend at Harrods (with lots of cake). She exclaimed “June, that’s amazing, I used to love going there when I was younger – for tea. It’s my favourite place in the world for afternoon tea. The last time I was there was about 20 years ago and I have always asked Terry to take me there but the f***ng bugger just sits on his bum all day ordering me around…”, and then she would roll her eyes. I laughed so hard. I laughed, laughed and then said “Eileen, you are just a handful”. Stories about Terry is for another day.
She is a typical English traditional lady who loves to curse and I love that we can curse together when we make conversation. I said to her… “20 years is a long time not to visit for a place you loved to hang out…I will book us a table for tea, Eileen…”. She was elated and her face shone with so much light and excitement. She told me “I would absolutely love that, I will look forward to that June”.
I made a reservation. I did. It was a month later.
On that faithful day, I took her in my hand, we head to Knightsbridge, we were sat there having afternoon tea at the Georgian Restaurant at Harrods, Eileen’s favourite place in the world. The waiter poured her milk first! She is a happy girl. She beamed from ear to ear. I am glad I brought back beautiful memories to her heart. We had a great time. Love this lady, Eileen Caesar. x

The Mad Man

Fingers point at him
Children laugh at him
Spotted on a spot
He looks tattered and haggard
He is crazy
He is insane
He says to himself, “No I am sane”
Looking at everyone
He thinks “they are all mad
There is mutual ridicule
He knows there is an existence of discontinuity
He knows there is an exhibition of false cues
He understands his disorder cannot be masked
He seats in the market square yelling
Speaking incoherently, with huge distortions
Gazing hard at his subjects
He seeks for vulnerability in their eyes
To assault impulsively
With marvel, the climate, he disregards
They all stare at him
He is misguided
Pathological reasoning undetected
Realisations of his society’s norms are gone
Even of accepted simple structured behaviour
He looks at the world amused by his acts
The housewife who nags her husband like the pain in his soul
The unruly kids who are hyperactive with an embryonic attention span
The man who returns home every night drunk as skunk, staggering and vomiting
The young lad sniffing and smoking drugs and acting weird as him
The lady in her mid life crises with no clue of destinations
The market men and women negotiating trade on the top of their voices
His feelings all very precise
Premonitions concise
He says to himself defensively- “Are they not all mad”?
What differentiates us are standards of acceptance
He laughs hysterically at this thought
He then withdraws pensively
He opens his dirty torn sack
Cries hard while searching for a tabard he picked up from the streets
He puts this on in utter disbelief and displeasure
Covers his exposing torso
Goes through a process of self deprecation
Slaps his head continuously
And mutters something evidently
Again in disbelief, runs east bound
And never returned
In retaliation to madness
In conformity to his psyche
Whatever the drive
My imagination points it as a riddle
It could only go thus far

At London’s El Street

I smiled
Shook my head
My air full of happiness
Sat the exact spot on the tube
Where an exchange was graced to a well smooth cube
In endurance, Like dejavu
Gazing back into time
A day before Friday
Thinking behind my head
Smiling before my heart
As realism slaps my face off delusion
But still spot a sparkle

People in their work wear turn their heads
Towards that spot
As I pinged this little piece
On my little keys
Heading to meet precisely the same subject
Heading from when we met
For the same purposes
As I chuckled
Well almost
I wonder at 3:55pm somewhere at L. St
Where the world throws him
While I sketch that chart
Of where I think he be
Or where I glide

My eyes look up
As to be conscious of not been oblivious
A little girl with her dad smiles at me
I smile at her
Dropping my head towards this
Imaging how I walked into his space from the station
With my hair wrapped like a dame from the 70’s
On a typical July summer
Frustrated at the stale smell of sweaty bodies
And the cramped carriage
Coupled with inclinations of fatigue

Yet he is a different space
And maybe a focused pace
Identified as such a lace
Not even
He stares at me silently
He speaks to me
In uncertainties
I smiled but inclined
Not understanding where
But knowing we float about a meadow
And truly in no trance
Was a delicacy of chance

It became as real as the world could be
As unpredictable as having four seasons in a week
What do we feel in our hearts
My emotions as a clock ticks
I wish to hold on something new as this
Gently kiss your insides
As I remain shut in your arms
My world will change
I pray this beauty never dwindles…