Dubai Days manuscript

King of Spades

Jun 17

In your house of hearts,
There are no more king of spades left to torture.
It is the squirming culture
Found in a petri dish
That often flashes more future
and harmony
Then humanity itself.
We shun the disbelievers
And shame the thinkers
Into silence and submission.
Crucify them for their crucial sedition.
Dear dissonance,
Yours sincerely;
Disarray.
Stood at the bay
As the tide wells up and walls in the land,
A king sits hands
Gripping gilded throne.
For he is mere flesh and bone
Against the roar and furious might
Of the sea
And the stubborn schedule of the tide.
A small spec of dust
That death
Has destined to the same soil as all his subjects.

Kingdoms and Empires



Jan 17


A gunshot wedding at a blood tide.

A saint, and a lisping serpent for his bride.

Your empire is a fossil amidst dust and soot.

The ancient forests of your emerald isle

Are torn to shreds under scarred skies.

The pied piper has tweedled the apple of your eyes.
Faded, forgotten furlongs and fathoms.

All your courtiers are mere phantoms.

Oceans drained, mountains mere dust.

Your armoured tanks are heaped in rust.















Labouring for Bread When Man Cannot Live
by Bread Alone


23rd Sep 18


Is this a tear drop
I see before me?
He slips off his tie
And sits down
With his head in his hands.

Is this a sweat drop
I see before me?
She wipes off the make up
And puts up calloused feet.
Outside the grey trees
Wave in the wailing wind.

Is this a blood drop
I see before me?
They draw the curtains
And lie in silence.
There’s nothing left to say.
Lights out. Sleep with eyes open.

Leonine

6th Nov 18

What do I know?
What does anyone know?
I know what you know.
I know
I am
That I am.
And what I am
Is what I will be.
Bring your flaws closer and close the doors.
Your paws upon the stars to the north
Bring forth a new eon
And your claws on the pyramids of Giza,
Don’t frighten me.
The floor’s yours.
Enlighten me.
Why don’t you prance,
Dance like the whore
Of Babylon
For scraps of love for your father in his house of
shadows and chained-up ghosts.
From postern to perch,
Pillar to post,
You’re leonine figure
Slinks across the Egyptian sands
Where the shadow of a winged man stands without

blinking
And nothing seems to sink in
Because thinking
Is no more a must.

Let’s Talk


17th Nov 18


Never mind the splinter in my eye.

Let’s talk about the oak tree in yours.

You want to talk about my tone of voice.
I want to talk about your actions.

Your pattern of questionable behaviour.
Your skewed judgements.

Your love of pandering sycophants.
Your attacks on dissenters.

Your propping up of incompetents.

Your creation of snake nests.
Never mind the skeleton in my closet.

Let’s talk about the mass grave in yours.



























Life and Dead Fish on Sufouh Beach

28th Aug 18


Sufouh beach
Is no secret beach after all!
All have come; Arab children, Indian teenagers,
Filipino families, African mothers and white
fathers.
Indeed, every dog and his man.
A dash across sand, a splash,
A smile, a laugh, play
And a spot under the smiling warmth of the sun.
There on the sand
The crows gorge
Upon a washed-up fish.
They pluck at the eyes and tear at its innards and
claw away the meat off the delicate bones.
Despite our daily defeats,
Despite all our inevitable ends,
Life teems with hope and happiness and the sun
beams
Effulgent
Upon the sparkling waves.
Oblivescence
Is the key.
To forget.
To forget and let go.
To have hope
We must forget

The things and people that plunged our hearts into
despair.
From here to eternity
There is not much time
Before we too
Are washed up like that fish.
While life is kind enough
To let us be in it,
We may as well live it;
To laugh to save our hearts from crying;
To be happy or die trying.

Living Life on the Edge

25th Sep 18

Life in Dubai
Is a walk upon blades.
For all the city lights,
There is much debilitating shade.























Reflections on Nepal on the Bus Journey to
Lumbini



Have you ever been so profusely happy that
sheepishly you catch yourself smiling to yourself
for no reason at all?

This is how I feel right now as I sit here on this bus
to Lumbini, birthplace of Siddarta Gautama - the
legendary Buddha.
2,500 years on from his life and times, his legacy
lives on in the form of peace, compassion,
contentment and humility in the national Nepalese
sensibility.

As the rubber wheels lick the dusty asphalt streets
of Nepal's metropolis, I leave behind the shabby
chic of Kathmandu bristling with the spectacular
woodwork and crumbling masonry of ornate ancient
temples and tiny shrines embedded in the alcoves of
every wall on the corner of every street and smiling
fey powder-blue gods garlanded with mustard-
orange marigolds and daubed in blood-red powder
paint.

The green heart of Nepal opens up and swallows the
bus as the city gives way to the countryside.
Undulating contours of lilac mountains a hundred
miles away appear and the plush pine green boscage

of the steep tiered hillsides of Nepal begin their
breathtaking cascade and dip into valleys.

The people of Nepal have hearts the size of Jupiter.
Always and forever to the end of my days I have
etched in the visceral hinterland of my heart, the
magnanimity and geniality of the Nepalese. Their
gentle smile and calm stoicism in the face of
grinding poverty and natural calamity and so much
adversity, is an inspiration.

Chirpy Bollywood songs piping out of tiny
ramshackle restaurants serving steamed buffalo
dumplings. Marigold garlands adorning doorways
of tall houses painted pastel pink and mint green.
Buddhist monks in saffron and burgundy robes
gently gliding through meandering alleyways to
resplendent, opulent Tibetan Buddhist monasteries
groaning under the weight of their own beauty. The
anodyne taste of lentil curry and the piquancy of
pani puri and spiky delight of samosas lingering
with playful mischief upon the tongue.

All these images and impressions of Nepal will stay
with me today, tomorrow and forever to the end of
my days.