


WHAT YOU ARE I have paid the price For being what I am, I proclaim with pride. I have withstood icy glances, Burning words, entombing silences; Merciless shutting of emotional doors; Smouldering resentment that flashed cruelly Like bloodstained swords in battle; The sharp knives of induced guilt; The tear bursts of hope denied; The burden of sorrowful resignation. But the path of my convictions beckoned, I set out on the stony road to fulfil Perhaps in part, the grasping tenacity of my will. What delusions did I foster in my blind heart? When did I become oblivious To the call of need in loving eyes? I now look around me and see all those Who have paid the price too – Not for being what they are But for my being what I am. SYMPATHY IS A HALF WAY HOUSE Sympathy is a half way house - A handy retreat for those Who do not wish to be involved. Give me plain indifference any day, The casual shrug of the shoulder, The washing off of hands. This sympathy lies like a burden That can neither be borne Nor thrust away carelessly. It insinuates itself slyly, Lurking around the edges Of your mind like an unwanted suitor. It pretends to show concern, It enquires effusively, All the while looking shifty-eyed away From the gaping wounds of your spirit. Oh, sympathy can be wonderful – For the sitters-on-the-fence, The perhaps-friends, the maybe-family. I know – sympathy is a safety harness For those who fear to crawl out of The cocoon of comfortable feeling And fall off the cliff of security Into the terrifying intensity of commitment. MOTHER The white hair of the ancient sea Is tossed back in defiance of the wind As the waves surge to the shore Ceaselessly like worry; Water strokes the sand rhythmically With the touch of a lullaby The softness of the brown wrinkles Pitted with the footprints of Time; The knotty driftwood washes up Like gnarled fingers worn with caring The delicately tinted earlike shells cherishing The voices of children in their core; The blue immensity embraces the world… My mother smiles from its silken folds. |