Home

Circle of LifeA small stoneClasped In my handRipplesOf a lifeDrifting awayIts smooth edgesNever endsA trace of youLingersAs I watch youDisappearOur past submergedClay etched Onto my skinI follow the sun’s shadowAmong the treesChasing our dreamsBetween the stonesUnravelling the threadEntwined in my heartReleasing our memoriesYour soul wandersAmong the stars

Interview with Nisha from The Narrators in India

Post Mortem – BosniaLand, air and seaHand in handJostling and challengingThey listen to the command.The beat of a drumBellows in this strange land,Men at arms, fightingFor another unknown cause.Nipped in the bud,Empty streets and deserted housesScattered across this strange land,Village life surrendersTo the bickering forces,Estranged communitiesLose faith in the diversityOf their culture.Confronted with hatredThey armContinue reading “Post Mortem – Bosnia”

I felt his breath upon my skin the stale scent of yesterday lingering ceremoniously on my bare arms, overcome by his fleeting sensuality I succumb to his radiant smile waiting to be reclaimed.

Hindu lullabies Echoing out, Enthralled By enchanted evenings. Nimble feet dancing With stencilled nails Neatly thread the earth, Enticed by straying glances And aromatic incense Wafting through the air. (For Caroline and Henna, Dublin)

Crisp mornings meandering through trees, ambling along the crooked path, nudged softly, beside the water’s edge, aimlessly wandering, weeping willows drape the winding waterway, as animated figures dot the landscape, lazy swans slowly preening in the urban hinterland

Sweet smells buried underneath the bed clothes they remained there embracing the warmth of this moment, guiding each other to unknow pleasures, Spring brings à new fragrance of rebirth and longing