Samsara

my mind is restless, 

running many a mile with memories of my last few years' worth of india trips. 

i re-visit my photos, 

and even the map i have, 

hoping that i may apparate to this land that you so luckily inhabit 

currently.

i imagine the smell of wood smoke tinged with bidi scents, 

the rising fogs of the early morning, 

the coughing and spluttering of the race course 5am walkers, 

the mosque, the temple, the gurdwara,

the pressure cooker calls.

it calls me.

but so does the seeded, rustic, summer grass of our garden, 

the melting tar nether my feet on my summer walks here, 

the rattling of the mud guard on franki the bike, 

the tui's call at 5am, the morepork at midnight, 

the flax burdened with nectar laden flower beaks

that iridescent fist sized birds flutter about.

i can have both worlds; one with memory, and one sensually.

got my first christmas card today,

from grandparents

enclosed with two photos of us in 1993.

photos i have never seen/don't remember.

just got back from a dinner at a friend's house

a 3 minute cycle ride under a star lit sky,

and cradle moon.

gentle fresh breeze,

weaving through the balmy, muggy night of 20 degrees.

been uploading photos onto facebook

of various social gatherings and events;

 a habit i am getting used to as my laptop breathes its last breaths.

it is 1am,

and the balmy of the weather has got the better of me,

but so has the music.

my fingers have been unconsciously typing for a few hours,

and i no longer am resisting my eyes wide shut.

i envision ragged skeletal hands, with protusions

and deep purple veins

frantically trying to placate lost friends,

in lost times.

i am troubled to hear that your beautiful house

wedgewood hall

needs so much work on it.

which asks so much of you.

it is really never ending.

i suppose one can understand why some people

spend their whole lives flatting

to avoid money and energy spent on maintenance.

it is a vicious cycle.

but in the end it may be to mental priority?

we do prioritise love.

immaterial as it may be,

it imbibes materiality.

you give off so much love and empathy

that needs to be spread and not isolated

(in a chilled vacuum of apathy)

i just hope it is never taking its toll on you.

how i have sought silence,

and how now my thoughts echo

while my fingers search for the words,

in fragmented plastic keys that will

convey who i am to you on this night.

how strange this detachment is.

how strange, too, that claire mary wood

spoke to me as a body with warmth and love,

only to be ash a few days later 

flying with the pollen,

the atmospheric songs,

the meteor showers,

the twinklin' stars

and the sweetness that is death.

this wind strips me bare.

x