Words and Invisible Cords

Nice to meet you A long-time friend told me After I posted on instagram The visible frequencies of light I have kept hidden Until the wavelengths pushed themselves Past through my teardrops Bending towards an arc Too beautiful to dismiss I wonder why the world for the longest time Looked at that glorious display Of pride and of authenticity With much disgust As if it belonged to the dark side of the universe. Nice to meet you Another long-time friend told me The scales in her eyes enthusiastically falling And her gaze rushing towards me She gives me one long look Straight into my freshly washed eyes Are you happier she asked I did not say a word And she hugged me The warmth between two real bodies Evaporates a hardened familiar barricade. Nice to meet you, too.

As I walk I think of dad Who is relearning to walk A stroke of fate A test of faith I press prayers onto the frothing sand Cemented by the constant pounding of waves Intensive care.

An abomination The shade I enjoy  As I write this, thinking of you Under a fruitless tree While clever shards of sunshine Push thru the canopies of summer leaves Light landing onto my morning eyes They squint As they frame the movement in the branches When a tweeting, almost weightless bird Brings with its swaying motions  The all important message That the world has space for Paradox That two seemingly contradicting propositions May be well founded and true The comfort of a shadow on a park bench And the the optimism of the blades of grass in view  A blanket of glorious green, bare surrendered Before a cloudless Sunday sun The fleeting morning dew on the lawn Rendered useful to a brown spotted labrador As it wades thru the remaining mist on the ground Careless, running free A spectator's delight A freedom not shared Is a daily bread not spared.

 I  look up at the clear blue Easter sky There are no clouds spelled JESUS And I wonder if people in China see CONFUCIOUS Or BUDDHA, or in the middle east ALLAH Do freethinkers see UNIVERSE? The agnostics must be the happiest people today My prayers are floating in the air They don't go upwards Is it because of my constant questioning Fanning the incense of my murmurings? In two minutes my 'church' starts its resurrection Sunday service I have not connected the livestream to my tele  But there is old gospel music playing A band-aid solution to my palpitations Where can I find ammonia balls? - - - Still nothing. I shall wait.  Still expecting. - - - Another uncertain question While the beating of the drums go harder And the chorus reach coda Crescendo. And it ends. But Spotify is on shuffle. Another song begins. For now, that is  Enough.  Always has been. Always will be. Grace period is Grace Period.

Waking up at 7 in the morning On a cold autumn Sunday Is as crisp as the satisfying crunch Of the dried, yellow leaves The full weight of my week Pressing them onto the coldness Of Burwood's pavement Still asleep. Take the train to the City I reckon, and ride the ferry And be tossed at the Harbour To Watsons Bay Walk to The Lighthouse Follow the short trail Spend some time watching the raging waves And thank the ocean For bearing the brunt Of a tumultuous life Now finding the calm In the suspended flight of birds. Journey back to Circular Quay This time staying indoors, upper deck Where it is warm And quiet Only the boat's engine roars -- Noise is necessary For staying afloat.

The southern beaches are quiet Their shores unruffled The sea breeze is thick with the muffled sound Of the scattered rippling of waves And the chirping of birds Of random unfamiliar muted chatters in Mandarin and French And the solid staccatic barking of the moneyed's white boat engines -- I did a little bushwalking, too Passing thru 2000 year-old aboriginal arts engraved in stones Finally stopping by Jibbon Beach Laid down my handwoven mat Pressed my left ear to the ground As I slowly walked my fingers to the sand Holding a pinch and forming circles Until the crystals fall off Shifting my head to the sky Squinting my left eye Followed by the closing of the right The vastness of the curved blue sky Consumed by the pitch blackness Of a quiet sleep By the beach.

Who needs sunshine In the Central Grand Terminal When the light of day Is cannibalised by the round, suspended Bright lights that line the steel roof foundation Your destination is absolute Flashed on the enormous electronic screen With orange and black text scrolling upwards Incessantly, then pauses for a while As if pacifying your beating heart You stop momentarily, scanning for the correct platform to board You breathe a sigh of relief, 3 more minutes to spare I see you As I refill my soy capuccino cup with tap water I tried to process why I chose to read here, of all places I stepped out of the gates an hour ago with no destination in mind So I chose to settle, enjoy some prose Watch people pull luggages, some running, some taking their own sweet time And I see you And I see me Rooted to my seat, joyful in my temporal solitary transient state You are leaving in a snap I am staying Who needs sunshine in the Central Grand Station When we are all guided By our own sense of destination...