a world without mirrors

will there be no use for mirrors in a world without
a concept of identity or self-hood?
will there be no myth, nor legends nor gods,
no narcissus drowning in his own
eyes, no sonnets, or odes to personified
entities? will there be no poetry?
no romance without idealized notions
of our 'selves', no I to govern
the totality of our thought?
will there be no fear
of the gaze of the other upon us?
will there be no horror at the reflection of our selves
in their eyes?
will there be no love then, in such a world,
and no fucking in front of mirrors?

soap

i am the bar of soap,
in your mother's stocking,
(the one she wore,
on her wedding day)
the one your father
takes to his hand
and spins spins spins.
the one he strikes
her belly with

26,000

a phone and
twenty six
thousand ruffiyaa
all packed in a bag,
with your little finger
pinned to the strap

beyond

if i am to die young,
as i've often fantasised,
it leaves me with
not enough time
to think
those things that lie beyond
the periphery of my thought
let alone frame
a true question.
it is my belief that
i am at present,
nothing more than
a fragile metaphor
stretched beyond
its capacity to convey
any real meaning

steakout

i happened to catch the last couple of minutes of a cooking program on tvm lastnight. a young-ish man was sitting down at lilly's, in the sun, with the sea behind him, his sparse but somewhat styled hair blowing about in what was presumably a nice sea breeze.
in front of him was a plate with a hunk of overdone meat, blackened in places, which he referred to as an excellent beef steak. the best way to enjoy a beef steak, he said with the lofty certainty that comes with veteran taste-buds such as his, is to accompany it with some rice and chili chicken. and dear readers, it left me feeling quite a bit more horrified than i have felt in recent times.

godhood

if it is an essential feature
of god that He be
a creator, and if
everything (but god) is created
by god, was he god before
he created anything?

aging

it's part of growing up,
i had always thought.
but i was sad when i was
much younger
sad without reason
i am older now.
unhappier.

the butterfly

a flutter of wings
among the early blossoms
of new born spring
heralds the butterfly
out of her cocoon to alight,
upon every flower
in a flash of earthly iridescence

the toad of sultan park

warty little amphibian,
embrasse moi bien
some might find you ugly
yet they dont understand ye
you, with a flick of your tongue
catch the bugs that hum
in the cool twilight air
o toad with thy unblinking stare

through the years

the love we shared through the years,
now time has wrinkled you, made deaf your ears
so my words of love you cannot ever hear
yet you will glimpse it in my tears.

mother

mother, so fair, so sweet.
your eyes tearfully speak,
of love eternal, divine
your memory will last through-out time.

hello

hello dear blog. barren wasteland of my thought. hello readers. it's bin nice seeing u.