Soul Friend

They say each tree grows in its own shadow
But we are strange trees you and me
For I am entwined to you stem and roots;
Someone passing by
Would swear we are one tree
and lose that bet
But my bark is rough and yours smooth
Your leaves are the shape of the heart
and mine the shape of an arrow head

all striving for light

A Dream #1

It was at the edge of day and night

There was dust everywhere

and pieces of objects

with no shape or form

thrown around in no particular order

gathering dust and moisture

and ugly shrubs with leaves like alligator skin

and twigs with the vilest thorns

like vulture talons, and cacti

I would have sworn I heard something moving

Like a waking serpent

Crawling away or towards me I couldn’t tell

Even if it was a serpent at all

Out of this mire of absurdity

Grew a single stalk of daffodil

With such chaste petals

And inner lining of flaming gold

Which I reached out and plucked

And O my undoing

For I plucked too close to the delicate petals

And they crumbled in my hands


I sat back in my new found grief

Mourning my lost price

But the all around me grew more flowers

In the terrible wasteland before my eyes

Or the tears cleansed my eyes to see

 That they had been there all along

Single long stalks of the rarest and most beautiful blooms

Like they were from the paradise that humans lost

Taking all kinds of shapes

Like poppies, anemones and most I didn’t know

With velvety textures and colours rich

And I gathered them each to each

To make a tidy bouquet  

In the middle of my unfinished bouquet I awoke

Still in wonder of their rare beauty

Their velvety texture now beyond reach

And their colours rich

Of Jasmine and Orange Blossoms

The big pretty colorful flowers are for adoration

plucked at every stop by the enraptured lover

presented to young women – stuck in their hair

They spend their short days drunk in vase

Then pine and dropping petals swept off tables

My flowers are tiny , seldom catching the eye

unlike yours attract only loyal bugs and bees

the orange blossoms, tiny but bearing juicy fruit

bitter impregnable seeds spit out to grow back

the jasmine blossoms insignificant to wandering lover’s eye

But their sweet fragrance covers the valley entire

Stopping him on his tracks to resolve thus;

Let the rose pine and the women weep

I shan’t be parted from this mystic vale

Catching Dragonflies

Me and my childhood mates

In the sun filled days

We caught dragonflies in fields

Where the grass grew to our chins

and boasted the most colourful–  

broad winged dragonflies

which we tied on string leashes

to watch them fly in bondage

we were the dragon lords

who ruled those fields

and there marked our territories

claimed every passing car on the dirt road

and played hide and seek

in the overgrown weeds and thickets


I saw a former playmate today

from a distance in the city streets

in the finest array of garments

a car sleeker than those we claimed

and a lovely companion in hand

looking like the true dragon lord

but there are no dragonflies in this city

and no tall weeds and thickets for hiding

since misery has me on a leash

I turned on the next dingy back alley

to hide my torn shoes and faded coat

and in that blind haste I tripped on a beggar’s bowl

Ngong’ Hills

At the foot of the hills

Stray dogs welcomed us

Sniffing our feet in approval

The guardians of these ranges

There were goats up on shrub trees

left to wander by the goatherds

nibbling on tiny leaves unbothered

by our joyous ascend.


Thunderstruck acacia bearing grey birds

And white dry thorns whistling in the wind

Great white windmills firmly rooted

Dot the expanse of these hills

these temples of the wind god  

strong and steady all through

the scanty tufts of stunted pine

have bent their foliage

towards the winds destination

facing true north and frozen in time.


children sell beads and candy

to hikers and wanderers

lovers commune on the soft green grass

under cool shades

nowhere was the sun brighter

yet gentle on your face

nowhere was man and his windmills

so in harmony with the elements

nowhere was the wind stronger and true.


there is a concrete bench by the edge

of the fourth peak

a spot nice enough to fall

in love.

The Party Host

The party host

has set tables in the garden

with white linen covers

and rose centerpieces

he expects the party guests

and a beautiful afternoon

Dark Clouds drift above

lets forth fat drops of rain

crushing down in torrents

the white linen and roses

lie soiled in the mud

the party host woebegone

In my heart there is a garden

in the middle stands a linden tree

I have set a table under it

expecting the soul friend

O Lord O Lord!

Please don’t let it rain!