Tag Archives: purpose


walked away

I am gone and out so don’t
Gaze at my disappearing silhouette
Smell my fragrant bed sheet
Wait for my returning shadow

May spend years building the house but I
Painfully exit at slightest call
Don’t longingly return at night
Never willfully return to same place

Because once I obsess it
Tirelessly tears me out
Radically redefines my existence
Shamelessly makes me a full-blooded vagrant

Count yourself special if I
Remember to say goodbye to you
Take the pains to warn you in this writing
Send a postcard from any phase of my life

You don’t know or remember me by the moments
Noisy in grooving parties or hearty laughs
Nostalgic over wine with movies, music or poetry
Peaceful around music and dead midnights

And I most certainly did not
Make myself this wild way
Look in my wardrobe one morning and
Pick out this personality to put on

Welcome me with half a heart when you see me
Handle me with one arm whilst I’m around
Smile with your lip through the moments we share
Kiss goodbye with a one-eyed tear drop when I leave


BACKGROUND: This appears to be another tribute to the outcast. It is about relationships and human interaction and loss. I am a scientist still being amused and amazed by the concept of human interaction. Its biological basis alone is something to sit at dinner with.
I should add here that the CLOSER you get to people –just anybody –the more of their uniqueness you get to see and appreciate; and this MAY affect how you’d react to their absence.
No, this is not a tribute to me; but if you feel you must make yourself believe it to be, well I can’t quite help you on that I am afraid.

PS. A few weeks after writing this, Trent of http://www.trentlewin.com whom I met here was planning to make a next step in his writing career and I felt honoured he thought to share his itinerary with me. I would be further humbled if he should remember to send me a postcard from the place he eventually gets to.

From My Veranda: Evening… Purpose

English: Fork in Road The fork to the right le...

They pour along the stretch of the streets
Like dogs let loose on a rabbit chase,
Except that these don’t have
Half the focus rabbit-chasers have.
A man here with steel-rigid gaze
Walking purposely towards my left;
A teenager there critically appraising
Every person that crosses his view.
Half an hour later I see the same man
Return with face still and grave,
A bottle of gin making his hand shake
As he staggers past the teenager;
Whose gaze is now fixed on
The lower part of a passerby lady,
His eyes swearing
They would follow her to the grave.

They are all there:
Flocking to and fro the street of life;
Samples of humanity
Trying to define and achieve purpose.

See this medical doctor
Happily take a break from consulting,
To pour out himself into words,
To make his surgeon’s fingers busy.

As a writer.

From the balcony
Of the second floor
Of his hospital.