Dream House

She worked with architects and saw many houses. First, it was in the looking and in the answering of a question thrown here or there by the lead architect of the group. She wasn’t quite taken with the houses she saw- and once in a while she was stumped by a question asked of her. “What makes the acoustics so good in this house?’? Why don’t the stairs have a bannister to hold onto? She thought she knew the answers to the questions, but wasn’t ready to answer—there was something in each question that she questioned. For instance; “why wasn’t there a bannister for the stairs? She could not (yet) understand why an architect would forego practicality and safety for beauty of line and aesthetics. She mentioned that to the head architect, who erroneously told her she was stupid and if she was going to question a left out bannister, she was nowhere ready to become an architect! She took umbrage to that and decided to leave his apprentice and apply to join another. He was angry, or rather his ego was hurt, that he let her go without writing a recommendation. She left, and in a week, she was snapped up by her former bosses rival architectural practice. That very day after a breakfast meeting of coffee (delivered from Kopi Kade) and donuts: glazed, sugared and in a multitude of colours) he told his students that he was taking them to visit some houses that he had designed along with his partner. Standard practice she thought and on her very first day as well. They drove down the streets of Colombo, until they were in Colombo 3. The driver turned right on Damien place and pulled over to the right halfway down the street. That was the defining moment when Julie saw her dream house. She could tell by the quake in her knees, the butterflies at the pit of her stomach and the goose pimples all over her body. She got out of the car and closed the door and walked slowly to the front door.

 

 

The Vagaries of Time

Time is measured in an
Instant to a lifetime.
There are lessons to be learned
In this — the privilege that is existence.

Do we understand the journey?
We continue till we know how
are able to handle the stresses that set in
And the pain takes off like a rocket

In space — the pins and needles in your body dance
In time, in place. We love our mentors, our parents,
Our friends — we lose them to death these solid men and women
Conquerors. Strong. Resilient.

Pearls before swine they say. There are plenty of both
In this gem of an island. Time is irrelevant
between the lives of the ordinary man and woman. New
technologies have bought places to our homes.

The house, the mortgage, the kids. The wife. the husband.
Take your pick. It’s claustrophobic if your stop to think.
East west where would you rather be? In the city where
Time travels fast or up a mango tree … reading a book.

We grasp at straws. Paper, never plastic, time shows
The scars on the environment, that’s eroding faster than
We care or is fair.

So, we sip on our paper straws and feel worthy
Meanwhile time slips and the earth slips. We all slip.
Slip for not being true. There is no telling what to do?
We are in a mess, parts of which are scary
Where is god, our mother, a disciple, a fairy?

Time is short to live a life
That is exemplary and worthwhile.
I abhor the posing that
We cultivate to get along

Adapting actions to suit the politics of the time.
The zeitgeist is not cool. Kings that rule are fools
it’s time to vote another one in.
One that has vision for country,
women and sin.

Time is of no consequence if the record keeps getting stuck.

Respect for the youth. They sing their original tune.
The young have got it right– they will see us through…
Time is valued. They have things to do.

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asphalt blur car city

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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Nazreen Sansoni September 20 2018.

colombo is changing


cement mixers drive down
narrow roads, manoeuvring
so as not to kill off
the last of the bird life-
the crows will remain
they are our survivors-
as are the people left
in the north and
from the south.
colombo changes
google maps  (have yet) to show
a change in the shape
of our pearl island
physically we are redrawing
ourselves—the new multicultural
restaurants abound
serving fusion meat and veg
who knows what the unidentified
cutlets are. The dog has stopped barking
transformed
the vomit from my stomach
convinces me to become vegetarian
chemical greens disguised
as organic
there is a big country that
looks like a continent–
and,has insidious control
over our city
The car had turned off
on Mary’s street
to be stopped by the
cement mixer, reversing
yet, another building
as we get swallowed up
by outside influences
we want our sovereignty
instead, we have the
hambantota port.

NS June 18 2018

 

NS June 18 2018

Isabella at 21

IMG_9744

Isabella at 21
Is very beautiful
kind and all woman
she nurtures she cares
for everyone.
Her nature from birth

Has been one of
A sunny disposition.
She is also very smart
(she doesn’t think so)
But, we know so.

Her self-depreciating characteristic
Is typical of a Ceylonese
Especially from an Anglican
School
Such as Ladies College.

Isabella is a bella
The belle of the ball
In my book for sure
I would cast her
As the central character
She is unique

Extremely likeable
And resourceful.
21 years old.  I’ve had the
pleasure of spending
quality time
with her in Melbourne
for a week.

I note that she is interested in most things
Especially the arts
After we shopped we sat down and listened
To a musician busking
She then pointed out the MOMA exhibit
And there is one in Brunswick.

She has left me now in Melbourne.
She has gone back to Brisbane
I’ll be leaving on a plane
This Friday. Back to where I came from
Where Isabella was born
CEYLON

Dig deep when you write

Go deep, deep or deeper as you ever imagined the rawness of you bursting as from a ripe open mangosteen. Truth lies there. And Lies. But lies does not stay for long. Truth always has the wherewith-all to come out and play. Sometimes it’s so painful you can’t go on. It breaks up at its freshest—quickly, uninterrupted and after a long time. The pain is so clear at least you think it is, at least you think it is. You are in love and lost him.

 

 

 

Tracy and Naz

This woman. Sitting in front of me, is one of the most intelligent and talented people i know. She is also sexy, very kind, a mother, a dj, a playwright, an actor, an athlete and more.  I am so so glad to know her and proud to be her friend. She is a mentor of sorts, even though I am 10 years older. Who’s counting? We were born in September 3rd and 14th respectively. I love her very much.

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Gwen snippets of memory, as they arise—

IMG_4829The graciousness she showed when the priest came to say prayers that one Sunday.

How she asked permission to sit as she could not kneel. And the way she clasped her hands together in the prayer position, it was difficult for her to make them touch but she did it. And she smiled so happily after the service.

Her howling, obviously in pain and scared. Didn’t understand what was going on… I understood. Feel for her.

 

Doing her exercises with the physiotherapist she was tired!

Always dropping off fruit or some offering on her way down from NE

Mangoes ripe and delicious – the fruit seller holds two in his hands and gestures me over with his eyes and head. A bathariyan dancer could not do better, and I am, as usual fascinated by the endless language Indians have in the nodding of a head, a blink of an eye, a raised eyebrow. Pupils that dart from left to right, a universe of commands in a sea of faces.

 

I miss you.