Frangipani

Where did so much hate come from? How did people become this? Who sowed these seeds of violence? What kind of religion is this? Will there ever be innocence – unharmed, untinged with darkness and blood? They killed innocent lives, young children…and for what? To take revenge? To extinguish their very breath because they were living a normal life? Studying to become something? In a school to learn, play, grow, love… HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? HOW?

Once again…Rape…makes it to the headlines and we fume and fret and offer our opinion and judgment. Once again, no real action will take place. No case will be put up, nothing will happen to the accused. Yes, he’s been caught. Yes, he’s been put behind the bars. So?! He has already been there and done that before. This person was sent to the prison earlier too on the same account. Raping is like a hobby for him; he rapes, goes to jail, serves a short sentence, is out on bail and back at pursuing his hobby. How convenient?! And the girls – they dare to hail cans at night, they dare to step out at night, they dare to wear short clothes, they dare to work and have fun --- in the night. They dare to exist!!! That seems to be the crux of the matter…that WE EXIST! There is no law, no shame for the guilty. The women are the ones to be judged again and again. Their very fault being that that they have two X chromosomes. They have a body structure and shape that is provocative. They happen t...

It starts at the back of the head. Sometimes it is so vivid that it threatens to spill over...over onto the conversations in the room, over and above the music reaching the ears, shimmering over the traffic sounds and lights...over onto the now. Yesterday looking at the symmetry of flowers, Monet came back. The first time that Monet had entered this life. As mundane a surrounding as a classroom, thin wooden benches with uncomfortable backs. Strong sunlight streaming in and forming designs on the floor. Little sounds of the birds outside. Larger sounds of the people inside. Bewitched, we all watched and heard the teacher tell us fascinating stories of people who saw the light, who saw nature, who saw paint like no one else. People who started the Impressionist school of though and painting without a thought. Monet at the forefront. All of us found our own special one. Leafing through the dark, usually damp shelves with books not colourful enough...each one of us was immersed in a new...

1. Blue screen blinking eyes Discussions in the cloud The line goes dead 2. Coffee sounds traffic smells The day has begun on a smoky note The next year is here 3. Hush in the corridor Sushi and wine high on mind Rush in the arteries 4. Free flowing words like salt Arrested mid-flight by PowerPoint Drenched and lost in projector's light