Iram

I wish i could turn my blog into a city

And drag any visitor into it through the gaps in the words

It would be a deserted city full of ruins

Some would be majestic

Some would be little more than mounds of rocks

On most days

Or months

Or years

The city would be quiet and still

But come the right wind

One may be fortunate enough

To catch a glimpse of what it once was

Etched in the troughs

Of swirling dust

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My failures often barge in, like annoying clips on TV

They are the little failures,

ungraceful embarrassments in casual conversation

And the big failures

their magnitude matching that of world wars

To make them go away I imagine all those involved

,myself included,

As heaps of bones

Rapidly turning into dust.

First summer wine

Fragrant like the air around me

I tried to remember what I was doing around this time last year, the year before last year and the year before that

I came up blank

But it does make sense.

Perfectly so.

My shoes feel so alien to me sometimes.

When I take them off they look like two pieces of rock.

I just sit there looking at them in disbelief, not being able to accept the fact that they were part of me for so many hours

In memoriam

It so happened that this was my first CD

I was convinced that people who could write and sing something as soul-achingly beautiful as this would be rewarded with at least a chance to live a long life

It’s when news like this break out that make me feel like another small piece of me has turned to dust.