Days that blow hot and cold in ways too complex to explain, when you wonder if you ever really get to understand anything or anyone, least of all yourself.

Contradictions

Yes, I am strong,
but you are thoroughly fooled
if you think that is all.

Optimistic, yes,
resilient, robust but try, for a moment
to estimate costs.

Calm, but consider
what lies over,
what lies under,
rolling across landscapes
distant thunder.

No strength without weakness,
no hope without fear.
Yes, I have power.
I also shed tears.

Dhaka 2015

Raise eyes,
green patterns on pale sky,
golden light floods waking world,
disguised in ordered steps skips happy girl.

Dhaka 2015

This week’s poem needs no introduction or explanation. Just too many thoughts.

Sleepless

Floating like a bat,
skin between my fingers,
my belly a screeching infant,
demanding comfort and warm milk.

Hanging upside down
thoughts flood in like blood,
I am dizzy,
dizzy.

Falling
….. asleep.

Dhaka 2015

Et lille digt på dansk, om ikke at kunne sove.

 Søvnløs

Svæver som en flagermus
med hud mellem fingrene,
min mave en skrigeunge,
vil have sikkerhed
og varm mælk.

Hænger med hovedet ned af,
tankerne strømmer ind
som blod,
jeg er svimmel,
svimmel.

Og falder
…. i søvn

Dhaka 2015

A muse on possessions, with thanks for comments from fellow writers at Writers Abroad!

.

After the fire

A tough week for the world, and hard to take some of the explanations that are so easily offered when things go so wrong.

Too simple

Espousing simple answers
what a mess you make,
good and evil unrelated,
no room for grey.

Claim to know your enemy,
claim as yours all truth,
no ear for irony’s laughter,
just tooth for tooth.

.
Dhaka 2015

The boys have gone back to school in Denmark and our home in Dhaka seems empty and far too quiet.

Empty

Drifting through rooms of unmade beds,
blankets pushed aside,
single socks hiding.
Ball still rolling towards a corner.
Echoes behind closed doors
I expectantly open.
Sense the closing of exits as I enter.

No one there, though cat,
with her six senses and seven lives
follows expectantly,
seeking, like me.
Meowing a question,
sniffing the warm, head-shaped indentation in a pillow.

I wake,
and you’re already gone.

Dhaka 2015

After new year

you’re gone.

What used to be peace

is just quiet.

Dhaka 2015