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Thursday, April 14, 2016

This Is Officially A Series Now

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Family Man

I stopped on my way home,
Thought I'd go back to bring you along --
The faithful turn their backs sometimes
So I thought you might be alone;

But no, you'd found a better life --
No gory deaths, no pointless strife.
I must admit it all seems nice,
Health and safety-wise.

I thought I'd climb a tree
Or crouch down on one knee
To get a better look at what it was
That you had and not me;

And yes, you'd found a finer life
The kids, the dog, the trophy wife
And it looks perfectly nice
From up here in the skies.

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Wednesday, April 6, 2016

For Shark and Nushki

[Crossposted from this Facebook note, written in honour of these two very non-trivial people who came together in a very non-trivial turn of events.]

He played basketball in the rain, and I watched with the wide eyes of a novice pupil. I watched him play -- uncaring, inspired, unruly -- and thanked my stars for a coach and a friend like him.
Then one day, he mentioned another old, old friend, the flitting school-bus moments spent with whom in simpler times had, by then, fallen to the fate of all flitting moments and greyed under a film of dust. He mentioned her name with a tremor unlikely of the man I knew him to be, and was oblivious to my eager recognition of the woman he spoke of. He just kept talking: practiced palms guiding the ball through the rain, and a heart habituated to its love being unrequited hovering between hope and resignation; and so thereafter he spoke of our mutual friend: in broken moments of trust in his student and rival spirit. I admit, pruned soul that I was, at times, I tuned out of his babbling, despite the obvious duties of one acquainted with both parties -- hence, I don't remember every detail of what he said or how he said it, and will fail if my old friend ever asks (though, prudent woman she is, I'm guessing she'll surmise) how he used to be before their glory days.
But yes, I remember this: he played basketball in the rain, and every time he made a shot, his heart whispered her name.

Friday, April 1, 2016

Possible Second Part Of A Series

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Locksmith Man

The tempest we allow
Because the streets are too serene,
Because the skies are too pristine,
Because there's nothing else to do;

The clouds that we let in
Because they bring unwelcome rain
That we welcome to change the pain
When the sun is far too low;

They're washed up on the rocks
Because we'd rather hurt a priest;
It's difficult, but they get the gist:
The locks will change today.
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