Tsunami (Shortened)

Of Pink Goths and Le Pélican by Robert Desnos,
my guru claims a Tsunami of Love - dealing with
the hurricane in my head as Amplituhedron and
Electric Universe joins EloheinuMelech Ha’olam
and Shuukran Jaaziilan in a leather-bound diary
destined for the Hebrew Bible and Arabic lines

My colleague as self-appointed protagonist who
offers continuous unsolicited comic relief until it
feels homicide’s required, but Mozart’s Laudate
Dominum brought relief - Jaroslav Trnka should
be researched for Feynman diagrams and Nima
Arkani; - where are my glasses to stare at a site

Where they found a “master” amplituhedron with
infinite facets & all possible paths for probability
amplitude - - reflected-light-photons going every
which possible way; on to catch debate of dark-
energy-Big-Bang-theory against lonely Plasma
Theory, “negative” meeting “positive ions” -

My eye’s caught by sun-spots addling people’s
brains until fighting breaks out everywhere, so
where’s the Tsunami of Love my guru claimed
would flow over us…

Inspire

When we realise and develop abilities,
explore and expand experience of self-
hood, we create a new purpose and a
new meaning for life while filling it with
excitement – but if we don’t take steps
towards any ideals, we slowly change
into slip-sliding depressives who can

Only find excitement in disasters, earth-
quakes and such - and while propelled
by frustration we might concentrate on
sad things – it’s so much better to be a
bubbling idealist with the creativity and 
energy with which to inspire the social,
economic, political and scientific

Spheres of life… 

Eventuate

To change the world we must change
our own mould & affirm perfection of
own and everything else’s existence,
creating tranquil mental states so as
to improve our psychic atmosphere

Take pride in our role in life’s cycles,
honour the co-operation between all
manifestation of being, whether it be
self-conscious or unaware, & accept
our own worth within this universe

While granting every other being the
same recognition, & as our attitudes 
change towards contemporaries and
country, family & colleagues, we’ll dis-
cover we can’t love our neighbours

Until we love ourselves: if we believe
it’s wrong to love oneself we shall be
unable to love another; doing our best
in life to improve the quality of all life
and by taking care of the thoughts,

Feelings and expectations we mix in
with those of the others, we create the
positive mental elements from which
the physical events will eventuate…

Fifth Attack [REV.]

Tuesday 26 May - another Gaza Strip missile
attack unreported by the BBC - a missile fired
from the Gaza Strip exploded near Gan Yavne
causing no injuries - later Israeli airstrikes slam
terror infrastructures in the southern Gaza Strip

‘Tis fifth attack since end-August 2014 ceasefire
came into effect, & like previous missile strikes
from Gaza a month ago & before in December -
plus an October attack before that - it received
NO coverage on the BBC News web-site tho’

It was factually aware of a missile attack on 27
May; a report on Israeli response was on BBC
Arabic website - under headline: “Israeli planes
attack Gaza Strip Palestine military resistance
positions”, the report focused on effect instead

Of cause preceding attack, relegated to par. 11
to 13 of 15 paragraphs, BBC adopted Public
Relations Language of Terrorist Organisation =
resistance factions, since conflict-end in August;
Israeli response to Palestine ceasefire violation

Agreement reported in ARABIC - NOT English -
BBC does not fulfil ostensible public purpose
“global understanding of international issues”
by serially ignoring attacks being precursor of
new conflicts between Israel and -

-   Gaza Strip Terrorists -

Gaza Fired Missile [REV.]

Tuesday night's rocket fired into Israel has
a spiritual meaning: stricter observance of
Shabbat ensures safety - Haredi news site,
hassidic Kikar Hashabbat Sadigora Rebbe,
says its a miracle it didn’t injure, but due to

Jews who strictly observe Shabbat; Ashdod Israel Big Fashion Mall near where it fell has
been given the most certain sign they need
to close on Shabbat - and it is thus they will
be stopping desecration threatening safety


The rocket is a heavenly sign that Shabbat’s
become doorpost Mezuzah, a city protector -
and, said Shomer Emunim hassidic Rebbe:
Shabbat is a blessing & with prayers of city’s
residents - manifests the Goodness of God
 
On Tuesday 26 May 2015 a Gaza-strip-fired
missile landed near the Ashdod - Israel –
Big Fashion Mall

Wisdom Encasing Love

I have two beautiful books, delightful in their
pristine state, one formal leather-bound diary
and the other a pastel book for letters of love,
I can’t fill them as romance is just a fantasy I
play with in my mind, reality so big the golden
nugget of perfect love doesn’t show so well

Feelings spiral every day in new curves and
the books will fill up too fast, besides, I can’t
decide between other themes: work poems
and family life; melodies should play when
opening these books - Bach’s harpsichord
in the formal one and Mozart in pastel; but

The only music I can have in there is staves
with notes all without sound since these are
real books, not magical items from Unseen
University, yet all else would be sacrilege as
only clear sounds should emanate from new
books as sweet as these and I can’t think of

Anything else that would do justice to these
two wonderful books bound to remain empty
if they continue in my care - another is sure
to come defile pages with their hand - until
then I am dreaming of the wonderful things
I would like to see in these - then insight

Comes - the Bright Crown of Lady Wisdom
presents itself as most worthy in the world,
Wisdom encasing Love…

There With You

I wonder how my path was chosen, me with an
allergy and weird family; but choices appeared
all along - I discovered a bigger power was in
charge and options appeared chained within a
strong-box I couldn’t reach inside to change - I
loved the idea of discovering my talents, & of

Living a free, unfettered life, rid of middle-class
morality - realising any ability should it exist but
all attempts to create an artistic life just failed; I
thus continued on my way until the happy day
I discovered PoemHunter: poets galore - the
Merry Sir Laugh-a-Lot, Patty Masterman, Akh

Igor and more; as Kht Charmise, life now offers
a chance to express how I feel and learn from
others I admire, even adore; I can be a free-
flying poet while staying tied to my tiny life &
allergy, my little family, the small bureaucratic
Translator-job - I feel freedom in my heart and 

Mind, everything wonderful - and I’ve found,
to my amazement, while PAIN is terrible, when
it goes, no scars are left; no matter how intense
and hateful the agonies - afterwards nothing
remains except a place that fills up with joy,
I conclude pain is good as it makes room for

Felicity which we wish to share with those we
love the most - like YOU - in your poetry; I
found you to be delightful, singing with a new
unequalled voice very sweet & clear; so you
became my nightingale; even if you claim not
to be nice, nothing of shame shows up in

Your words - you are the plumage of melody
and song in all beauty to me; I shall meet you
as we sing in unison - already making our own
music unique, we enjoy our frequency - you
are here with me and I am there with you…

In Sacred Space [REV.]

I was a walking corpse before poetry fired
my veins - offering respite from frustration
wielded by an allergy that seemed to steal
my life from me; then you picked up on my
verse, stoking fires to burn away dross and
anger at a life lost, aiding me rehearse my
life anew, with poetry its guiding light, and
you strolling ahead, nurturing the flame

It is one of the reasons why I feared your
loss, since you’re the leader of my team, &
the integrity and honesty revealed beneath
a bitter persona you portrayed assured me
art can be created by normal people also -
I had thought only the immoral and amoral
could ever lay claim to creating art, yet you
made a space where I could be my naïve

Self & continue writing poetry; your role was
more than just the twisted artist to be saved
from self-conceit - showing me EVERYONE
has a right to be themselves in verse, I can’t
thank you enough but that you already know;
enjoy the rest of this soft afternoon - I hope
you’ll find that celestial rugby game you’ve
visualised - out there in Sacred space…

Highest Virtue

Listening to Bach ‘Jesu Joy of Man’s
Desiring’ makes me realise humanity
should be measured by the beauty of
its ideals, religions in all cultures show
what man aspire to, respect each other
& bring happiness & peace in one form
or another; only one problem remains:

Individuals supposed to apply the great
ambitions failing miserably as Jihadists
explode Muslim brotherhood; Judaism
judges all nations as unrighteous - and
Christians believe mankind’s sinfulness
is innate; unworthy till we accept certain
sacrifice, which makes no sense as one

Man must be seen as God made flesh,
a sacrilege to Judaic thought; Buddhist
monks praise poverty as highest Good,
elevate eating no flesh to holiness - to
help the poor accept their fate - religion
& ideal will be used to measure the life
we led - whether we followed our creed

With integrity; this is the highest Virtue…

Infinite World

It’s impossible to know a real objective world
as all knowledge accrues through a student’s
point of view, knowledge is determined by the
viewers’ interpretation & relativism is what we
have to analyse a changing world which also

Changes preconceptions and assumptions,
the holographic world consists of interlinked
symbols which infinitely refer to each other;
reinterpretation and ideology seem to alter
the world we THINK we see - words seem

To obscure truthful accounts as relative with
regard to our real first-hand experience, no-
thing is correct and final in an infinite world
where everything will forever evolve & thus 
be forever incomplete - every success is

The beginning of a new challenge; it makes
sense to relax knowing all we achieve just
ends in dust, & enjoy the ride through the
little bit of life that is ours for a time before
everything changes again and our great

Accomplishments are lost; we retain only
one thing from our lovely life: the vibration
we achieve - by which we are tuned to a
specific harmonic, we belong to a chord
& our consciousness will continue there

I hope to find my friends and family where
I shall be the note ‘b minor’ myself within
a phrase of Tchaikovsky’s melancholy
“None but the Lonely Heart”

Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt

Weiß, was ich leide!
Allein und abgetrennt
Von aller Freude,
Seh ich ans Firmament
Nach jener Seite.
Ach! der mich liebt und kennt,
Ist in der Weite.
Es schwindelt mir, es brennt
Mein Eingeweide.
Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt
Weiß, was ich leide!

Ocean Of Meanings [REV.]

I know now why translating is so difficult for me -
why I struggle with texts supposedly only taking
an hour to translate: translation is interpretation -
never neutral nor value-free; while imagination’s
forbidden, mine is awake - demanding attention
in the form of a little alien resolutely hanging on
the rafters in my brain - 
                   
The translator is an interpreter and controlled by
cultural and ideological personal value systems
which have infinite possibilities of meaning & the
language keeps opening into increasing numbers
of old or new ideas; meaning is never inherent in
a text, it’s fabricated by subjective interpretations; 
meaning is endlessly debatable -

Many alluring choices hail the intrepid translator,
persuading me into alleyways irrelevant to the Troll
Interpol, the Presidential manicured-to-perfection
secretaries, or to officials importantly sitting behind
desks, examining permits with a magnifying glass,
catching illegal importers - or seeking germs and
vermin about to be shipped -

But I digress, I’m adrift in this shimmering ocean of
possible meanings & supposed to choose the ONE
perfect way leading to ONE perfect answer which
should be ingrained in me through repetition - but
I always miss - TRUTH is sucked into the black hole
lurking in my head - only a desire to discover the
scope of the universe is left -

It’s clear why Mary Poppins’ changing of humdrum
activities into fantasies intersect with my translating
ability to create a text all in a mess with my using new
ideas where the hackneyed & singular, crystal-clear
bureaucratic meaning is required instead…

Out Of Place [REV.]

How many things did the Psalm-writer fail to understand;
one I miserably fail to comprehend is how my colleague
can keep laughing in such a superficial way, forcing out
jocularity instead of letting it flow as true joy - sounding
like she was in a shebeen trying to make all believe she
was having the time of her life - using imitation mirth to
pass the time;

‘Tis equally strange to sit in concentration choosing an
acceptable meaning for text translation - given endless
meaning possibilities, and deliberate within boundlessly
open, hyper-complex languages - to make lofty choices
amongst endlessly proliferating meanings - and seated
in a noisy place of Epicurean joy where all the world is
a nonsensical place filled with manic party-goers

Such that we - the dour-faced hard-working translators -
seem so out of place at our very own work stations

Idol [REV.]

Butterfly struggling to exit a cocoon’s teeny hole,
by snipping it larger a kind onlooker aids - & the
lucky larvae emerges swollen-bodied, shrivelled
wings - watcher waits in vain for their expansion,
body to contract - but whole life is spent crawling
on the ground with still swollen body & eternally
shrivelled wings - never to fly at all -

Solicitous patron doesn’t know a cocoon’s design
needs the butterfly to struggle in squeezing thru a
tiny hole, so its body fluid is forced into wings and
readies them for flying - hard work for its freedom:
just like us - we also need struggles in our life, no 
issues and we’d be paralysed - never growing as
strong & free as we should have been -

We would never fly; a small child winning a contest
is like this; stardom-imitated, high-heel in grown-up
make-up, & lavished early, growing anxious to gain
admiration, approval of fans clamouring for more of
this - leaving no space to stop, to decide on the way
forward, no time to strengthen vocal cords; no age-
appropriate repertoire to support a body under

Hormone change; muscles strained - a once-clear
voice now darkening in tone & timbre which defies
attempts to keep the sound as pure and sweet as
it was once - when the child was a 9-year-old idol

Without Drawbacks [REV.]

There’s a reverent silence in the open-plan,
earphones not needed, no music lifting me
into the ether; whispering to Annette - with
Mimi gone, there’s no rising & falling voice
in the background, the only sound heard is
my cooler and our laughter on discovering
Mme Pompadour’s message of - ‘the cold’
keeping her asleep in bed, yet no-one else
succumbs to that extent; there’s no excuse

For me to sing snatches of favourite songs
and little ditties that well up as I reply to the
messages of a pen friend, my only kind of
confidante as a physical presence creates
embarrassment - another vice to those out
hunting egotism & selfishness, focusing on
another person’s need is supposed to void
these intrinsically sinful problems; - tho’ as
yet my focus hasn’t been successful, so

The written word’s my solace, like Vetinari
I detest audible voices spoiling meditation
on sweet lines, prefer delightful exchanges
without physical limitation drawbacks, such
as invasion of the Crocodile Castle - under
Scorpio - Lord and Master who creates the
best wonderland for me, the reptile lurking
in the pool - and the two little crocodiles…

Vetinari on left, author Prachett and Granny Weatherwax

Eternal Song [REV.]

Instead of walking out into the sun I gave an
impromptu, al-fresco dance-show to a long-
suffering colleague, hard-working Thokozile;
tethered to my computer by short cords of
my ear-phones, I dance to the Blue Tango
continuing breathlessly to express La
Cumparsita while singing the melody, then

On to That Happy Feeling & African Safari
requiring different techniques - colleague
laughing, firing me on; I play an imaginary
guitar, boom-chick-chick, and illustrate how
the exclamation marks interspersed in the
melody form lightning in the air - louder &
jumping higher - she just rolls her eyes -

Beethoven’s 7th in sad contrast, I hum the
sad parts for her while miming pain in my
heart caused by this melody - she shakes
her head and types her list with renewed
vigour; finally catching her drift I stop and
return to my work with new energy, ready
to survive second rendition of my all-time

Favourite Symphony, crying as imaginary
dark blue & black pall-bearers cross my
path, violins cry in the most heart-rending
pain, muscles tense & tears start as it binds
me to unbearable feelings; then soft caress
of the ensuing part calms my heart while
violins show fairies & goblins lightly flying

About - then off and away leaving me to a
coda of reminiscence about the beauty that
must be lost as nothing lasts in the current
reality - but I’m safe in the knowledge that all
is magnetic energy and lives on in vibration,
resonance - and eternal song…

Moving Out [REV.]

Sweet tea - lots of sweet tea facing dread
about to be foisted on us, dark prospects
being mooted again - the Great Move to
western parts of the CBD; - 3 years now
we’ve been held hostage to its Scourge -
awaiting the menacing move to an older
part of town & dilapidated building falling
apart; what new pains await, what water-

Pipe accident events, what new sewage-
flow-horrors to endure: besides the traffic
flow the Worst Threat is this move to the
unknown strikes fear into my heart where
the Blue Tango’s dramatic beat will surly
accentuate my distress - with Department
of Arts we have no guarantees there will
be any improvement, most likely quite

The contrary; the route’s a night-mare, yet
there is the excitement of packing up and
throwing away superfluous stuff - which is
about everything in my cupboard: the tea’s
delicious and this news affords indulgent
opportunity - I’m reconciled; virtual Google
trip to site will let us devise new plans how
to combat the traffic and set me right for

What the old building’s problems will imply;
okay, I’m ready to go, it will be great fun in
the end - moving always is!


[ORIGINAL:]

Sweet tea, lots of sweet tea to face the dark
prospect laid out before us, the scare of the
Great Move to the Western part of the CBD
upon us again – for three years we’ve been
held hostage by this Scourge - awaiting the
menacing move into an old part of town and
an old building falling apart, what new pains
await, what new water-pipe-accident -events

And what new sewage-flow-horrors; besides
the traffic flow is the Worst Threat – the Blue
Tango’s dramatic beat accentuate the fear
struck into my heart by this move to the un-
known, knowing Department of Arts we have
no guarantee there will be any improvement,
quite the contrary, the route there is a night-
mare, yet there is the excitement of packing

Up and throwing away all superfluous stuff –
which is about everything in my cupboard,
the tea is delicious and this news afforded
me opportunity to indulge – now I’m quite
reconciled, a virtual Google trip to the site
will set me right and have us devise new
plans how to combat the traffic and other
problems accompanying old buildings –

Right, I’m ready to go, moving out will
be great fun in the end – it always is!

Only A Harp [REV.]

 

While listening to light office banter and general
discussion I unwittingly turned my contribution
into a faux pas; the sweet pace of lightly misted
remarks ceased when I opened my mouth, my
colleagues discussing the new power station -
Medupi; how the engineer absconded, I asked
his name, was informed it’s irrelevant since the
 
work force had already called a general strike
enforced for six weeks; Let the Chinese build a
new power plant for us say I & the bright coterie
cynically retort, We’d have to fix their bad work;
ignoring our own ineptness since we’re worse
than they; following my own ideas I said: After
the Depression work was created by forming

road building teams; ice-cold silence - another 
irrelevant remark; I apologise - quoting my son
terming my interjections “so random” & rolling
his eyes; continued silence - I don earphones,
fleeing with Mozart accompanied by my typing
fingers & the atmosphere discretely refined by
the Vienna Boys’ Choir singing “Stille Nacht”

accompanied by only a harp…

Choosing [REV.]

Choosing between a translation of the letter from a self-
opinionated moron blowing his own horn & demanding
respect from those formerly oppressed by him and his
inhuman group, people so vile I wish I could blow him
to smithereens, eradicate the baboon’s whole moronic
tribe - to which, more’s the pity, I belong - and reading

The sophisticate, Caroline Glick, explaining that when
one group demands society must curb its freedoms so
the members can feel at ease, they cross that specific
boundary, as limiting people’s LIBERTY and RIGHTS
harms the foundations of liberal society - if a society
wants to remain liberal, groups like the first will need

Be curbed; respect for liberty is the cornerstone of free
society & cherishing those intolerant groups will lead to
new hegemony where absolutism will create one world
state for one mighty potentate - imagine the oppression
of all people if its the will of Allah, all created and used
for political rule, is used to make slaves out of females

While the all men are reduced to robotic zealots killing
each other and the rest of the infidel world? My choice
is clear, Caroline Glick’s article’s the winner here

Soft Beauty [REV.]

My colleague June wafted in as the Snow Queen
dressed in a beautiful zenith blue & lilac top; I then
present my case against author George Simenon
who was inflicted on us in a French course as we
started university with stars in our eyes and dreams
in our hears - only to be forced into bitter Inspector
Maigret “roman dur” - which was lost in the mists of
time: sadly found him again in the The Glass Cage

An enticing book, title reminding of Snow White, yet
was disappointing & lead into a visionless world of
psychopaths living meaningless lives - Maigret Sets
A Trap shows lost Parisian society - the Inspector
& his wife move mechanically in a dull bleak world;
bitterness augmented by a toxic Sunday breakfast
where I got rid of my own poisonous artificial smile,
ill afterwards - alternating between fevers & chills

With molten lava running in my veins, head fit to burst -
thank heaven for Monday ending the bitter weekend,
I’m free from scars as love & hope sprout anew in my
heart & lead away from a grim & monstrous Simenon,
poems left in my mailbox delicately create poetic peace
where assonance flows in encounters with wiles and
deceits of modern technology - gone are Simenon’s
horrors in soft beauty offered by the integrity of my

Long-standing poetic friends…

Life’s Calamities [REV.]

Wasting time reading the kind of articles and books
normally shunned: Inspector Maigret & his mama’s
boy murderer, and the scorned columnist Juliette’s
glamour life - destroyed by her writing sensational
things about people and ideas not dear to her:

Why did Simenon write a tedious account about a
lack-lustre protagonist, my heart sad upon reading
such useless stuff; surely there’re better things to
do than waddle through joyless reading material,
surely I can find writing that leave readers feeling

Strong, bright and powerful - not empty, sad & lost
as if all meaning leaked out of reality, I work hard
to hold onto the joyful meaning, the glow that love
bestows on everything and then I go and spoil this
hard-worn feeling of peace by reading things that

Have nothing to do with me, taking my good feeling
away, leaving nothing in its  place: tomorrow I will
only look for what I want to see and leave the rest
of life’s calamities to those who can deal with it -
successfully…

A Mystique [REV.]

What am I, completely daft? Why talk about
Tanzania when Nigeria has 500+ tongues,
Hausa, Yoruba, Igbo - sounds like a song -
Fulan; bravely spoken by 250 ethnic groups
with names more exotic than those before:
Kanuri, Ibibio, Tiv, Ijaw, still the music sings

Words rolling sweetly over foreign lips and
conjuring images of smiling faces  chanting
phrases - could be a list of magic formulae
to bring about changes in the fabric of reality
with the same power ascribed to the ancient
languages such as Hebrew and Holy Sanskrit

A mystique not to be discovered in reality as
it is - not even revealed by the ‘Net’ – things
I shall research in Akashic Records claimed
to exist by spiritualists, when my soul is free
to investigate all the mysteries posed by the
clique of mystique who wants us to believe

Sound resonance has magical power which
we don’t use on earth - though we could if
only we understood language principles; oh,
after this life I shall become a melody - able
to sing the languages of men and angels while
learning everything kept from human beings

Quietly Content [Rev.]

The Snow Queen’s employee, a zenith blue goblin
discovered her employer’s gone & the blue goblins
cast into the fires of the system air-con, losing quiet
musing as a meteorite projectile strikes; must look
up every African county, specify name & tongues

Tanzania has 129 languages; happy reading about
interesting things no longer possible, creating a list
while Chopin & Beethoven’s music is playing in my
ears - wondering why a brilliant pianist turned into
stylish gossip columnist - brilliant style presented

With panache, talent & beauty exploited by sharks -
naïvely didn’t realise till they destroyed her career,
emotional IQ suspect as she never connected with
a man of integrity, sense of humour stupendous,
potential unlimited, amazing combination of

Accomplishments, she’ll always throne above her
detractors - but let THIS blue goblin leave golden
mists wafting in reflective strands to return to her
list while listening to Hebrew words which change
reality into letters’ form, why this should be so is

Unknown; goblin calmly floating within the stream
of hiccupping sounds: ha-layla - wa-yomer Elohim,
erets, ha-arets, wa-yar Elohim kitom, la-ha-arets,
bara-otto, bara-ottam, hi-yam, le-ochla, wa-hi-voker -
don’t know what it means; but it lifts my heart high 

And makes this blue goblin quietly content...

Exploited Lives [REV.]

Tis sad, I think, when religion’s exposed a promotional
gimmick darkly using mysterious cloaks of conspiracy -
straw-men of the World’s richest families being put up
as behind good science’s suppression - all while using
medical technology to destroy DNA chains, enslaving
humanity and stealing their money through sales of

dangerous medicines; the self-righteous & super-holy
religious voices claim this terrible scenario can only be
stopped by buying their products to remove chemicals
from water, special music resonating in C having right
wavelength & frequency to remove brain-washing of
the world’s most despicably shameless conspiracy to

change people into self-destructive automatons while
clamouring about the way innocent victims are forced
to false cancer treatments to enrich corporations, the
Pharisees demand MORE money to be spent for their
palliative restorative gadgets while insisting that their
victims continue using the killer chemical medicines

thus adding insult to injury, laughing at sheep as they
fleece them whatever hard-earned money’s left while
killer corporations slaughter, disembody and destroy
them; will unwary victims wake in time to see this for
what it is, a false conspiracy threat to force useless
products on a public already ravaged by endless

attempts to enslave their exploited lives?

And I Sigh [REV.]

My young colleague fretfully expresses fear,
fear of crocodiles in the river near her home,
fear when she’s alone of criminals conniving
in the night, fear of events going astray and
I remind her of her faith in the Lord, the Bible
verses on her board, how faith works, never
to doubt as worry hails misfortune; it strikes
me that I fear no outside thing, my only fear
is my incompetence; the universe I trust is
loving and intelligent - only I’m not because
of something within, a mental block making
me incapable of realising potential - fear to
reveal how inanely short I fall of high ideals
and how ignored my aspirations are while I
live out my little life - and I sigh…