the escape

the escape

The Escape

A man coming home from work saw a shadow like a figure
leaning against

an olive tree it was Death, polishing his hoof and
sharpening his scythe.

The man said no, not me I`m too young to be harvested he then
took a plane

to Madrid in Spain where got employment in lawyer`s office.

At the first day, he knocking on the door death sat in the
chair and said;

from now on you are my helper. Go back home and dispose of
your parents their

time has come, greatly disturbed the man took a plane home
and death stood

leaning against an olive tree a shadow on a sunny autumnal
day. In the house,

his parents said crying the had just buried their son, they
didn't see or heard him,

and the man knew that henceforward he was Death`s little
helper.

This story is based on a Syrian story of a man riding from
Damascus across

the desert in the night to Baghdad to avoid death but a
drone picked him up

thought the horse was a jeep and fired off a rocket, the man
had to walk, to

Baghdad, but without water and dates he died of thirst and
hunger 

the incomprehensible

the incomprehensible

The incomprehensible

The sun was just going behind the westerly ridge

it had been a hot day, and the sun appeared angry

for a cosmic reason, and we don`t even know our

Mind and what influences it. A young man rents

A truck drives down the boulevard on Bastille Day

for a reason, we can only guess at as it has little to

do with Islam a faith he didn`t  strictly follow like

Most Muslims, a simple principle observed because it

is customary the way it is among Christians too.

An overheated brain little of education, reading

books how badly France had behaved in his land

once upon a time, an easy catch for those who

sow discontent for its own good.

You can have gendarmes and soldiers on every

street corner, bombs and helicopters scanning

dark windows with intense beams of light but you

 the cannot read
people' mind or their feelings.

We can reduce this absurd killing of the innocent

by including the disfranchised into our life listens

to their grievances and respect views that are not

sprung from our culture.

It is deep in the night now dogs bark something

has desorbed their peace but soon they go back

to sleep till the sun rises in the east and a coup

is in the making.

a day of recogning

Blog

A Day of Reckoning

Forenoon, it had been raining during the night

the wizened winter landscape was now green

and amongst olive trees long-legged sheep grazed;

their pastor and, on occasions, executioner, sat on

a boulder casting dreams into the future; man and

beast, rustic peace, pity I hadn’t a camera.

On my way to the village to buy the papers, a sheep

had been run over by a truck, with its stomach burst

open and its content glinting in the sun, it was still

alive. Ah, you dumb animal abandoned by everyone  

it looked at me without any hope of deliverance,

so I reversed my car and ran over its head.

As the skull was crushed its eyes popped out, landed

at the middle of the road that now had eyes to see

with, the shock of this made it shudder a long rent in

the asphalt wench black tears trickled. Quickly 

I threw the eyes into the thicket which was instantly

transformed into a field of tinkling bluebells.

From nowhere a road gang of small, denim- clad men  

with big hats appeared, they were badly paid lived

on road kills. Expertly strewing soft sand on blood, filled

cracks with healing asphalt, and off they drove with

their dinner. Empty road it had no knowledge of what

had just occurred, it was up to me to remember.  

the new feminist as she exist in the guardian

the new feminist as she exists in the

The New Feminist

I was watching a TV play; Hercules Poirot was in it, uproar in India and some British officers,

 killed this caused a furore in the English press terrorists had struck again we know the British

are not racists many aristocratic Indians live in London of the type I would call traitors,

as great wealth tend to make the rich collaborators.

 I was writing about the glass ceiling broken by women working in high finance, they too

are turncoats to the cause of equality the press especially the Guardian think they are admirable

 but they only are nothing more than grabbing pirates in skirts.

I`m thinking of the suffering of Palestinian women their glass ceiling is protecting their children

when their job is to resist an occupying army and help their men who fight intruders to their death.

Anyway, Poirot solved that case it was about money and love

i t always is perhaps we have to ban then both and Poirot can look for stray dogs

affection

affection

The Business of affection

When you couple fall in love

and the love is broken and

not following its natural course

to fulfilment and a union of hearts

that sings from the same musical

sheets of harmony

The one left alone will feel a pain

that is physical in it intensity

no one night stand fuelled by alcohol

can assuage a hearts loneliness

In time the person will fall in love again

and again and leave behind

broken marriages should he be a man

we call him a Casanova and if it is

a woman she is feisty.

But they are lonely people trying to find

back to the feeling of the first love

the less important

the less important

The less important

 Every TV channel
carries

the same news it is as it is sent from a news

central Obama is good and is Putin bad

and no one asks about its verity it is just read

by some nice people who look sincere.

I have been overcome by angst it starts from

the inside going out

my skin is grey and pale and sweat drips on

my T. shirt.  

I should know but I can`t find the source of

its conception, but I try something about

eyes and in them I read surprise of the oncoming

I saw him fall

heard the crack of a broken neck

Walking away nothing I could do but

stepping over an inert body and into boisterous life

the less important

the less important

The less important

 Every TV channel
carries

the same news it is as it is sent from a news

central Obama is good and is Putin bad

and no one asks about its verity it is just read

by some nice people who look sincere.

I have been overcome by angst it starts from

the inside going out

my skin is grey and pale and sweat drips on

my T. shirt.  

I should know but I can`t find the source of

its conception, but I try something about

eyes and in them I read surprise of the oncoming

I saw him fall

heard the crack of a broken neck

Walking away nothing I could do but

stepping over an inert body and into boisterous life