Perfection.

Clear sky
24 degrees
Cool breeze
Summer dress
Sun to my back
Perfection.

when the lights dim

when the lights dim in your head

remember, if you can, my name

and if my name becomes too difficult

remember my face and my smile

and if my face becomes faint

remember my voice and my rhythm

and if my voice becomes distant

remember my hand and my touch

and when the lights go off in your head,

and all else fails

remember my love in the deeps of your silent beating heart.

My name is Jose.

‘My name is Jose. This is how it is spelled (J-O-S-E). In the Philippines we pronounce it the same way as in English (Hosay). And the Arabs pronounce it is as do the Spanish speakers (Khosay). And the Portuguese speakers, they spell it the same, and pronounce it (Josay). But all these name variations have nothing to do with my name here, in Kuwait. Here I am Essa.’

‘If I were to be like the bamboo tree, a tree of no belonging.  Break a part of its stalk and plant it, with no roots, in any land. It does not wait long before its new roots break into earth. It grows all over again in a new land. It lets go of its past. It lets go of its memories. It does not even care that people have not agreed on its name – kawayan in the Philippines, khaizaran in Kuwait, or bamboo in other places.’

An adaptation of two beautiful excerpts from a beautiful book. The Bamboo Stalk by Saud Alsanousi.

much more

i prayed for children, i prayed for the right one to have them with, you came,

I got more than i asked for – much more than I asked for.

the red rose

Here. For you. The red rose.

Not as pretty as you. But it will do. I guess.

To say. I love you.

guitar string broken

guitar string broken

that beautiful song lacking

A lost note in love

the white bird

The white bird flew into the setting sun, melted into the orange and the red and the purple, sunk into the sea, vanished into the blue.

And then her cry echoed from the sky.

 

Lullaby

Tweet tweet my birdie, tweet

Sweet sweet my birdie, sweet

 

When your heart does beat

For the love you meet

Give her your golden seat

She’ll be at your feet

 

Tweet tweet my birdie, tweet

Sweet sweet my birdie, sweet

 

Night night birdie.

Santa? You there?

Hey Santa,

I’ve never written to you before. I don’t think you know me. But I know you, through pictures and movies. Sorry it took me this long to write. I know you travel all over the world. But I didn’t care for you to visit, before today. It’s not me I want you to come for. It’s him. My son. He waits for you. He has written you a letter. It’s with me if you want to read it. He expects your gifts under the Christmas tree when he wakes up in the morning. Do drop by.  We don’t have a chimney. But I’m sure you can find your way in. Has he been good? He has been. He’s a good boy. My boy. I love him. Please make him happy.

The mold

‘That girl over there… you see her?’

‘Yeah, what about her?’

‘They broke the mold after making her.’

‘Yeah, I see what you mean. But you know what I think, I think a mold is broken every time a woman is made?’

‘Yeah, true.’

‘How about us, you think we each had our own mold?’

‘Nah,  I think they kept using the same old one over and over again’