This weeks poem inspired by the many uses of henna in the country and cultures of Bangladesh and the world.

Henna

Everywhere hennaed hair,

young and old and men and girls,

closely cut or luscious curls,

henna here, hennaed hair.

Henna here, hennaed beard,

orange flames on pointy chins,

different shades on different skins,

henna styles in henna worlds

Henna twirls on clapping hands,

hennaed twists on hennaed wrists,

wedding preparations, sacred celebrations,

ancient rites from ancient lands.

Henna paste, fingers dipped,

hennaed nails and finger tips.

On bridal youth or fading hair

henna, henna everywhere.

Dhaka 2015

A poem inspired by memories of coming home to the farm after a week at boarding school.

Homegrown

Quality of Africa’s light

announces late farm afternoon.

Dwindling childhood on lengthening limbs,

early adolescence budding.

Sisters, shoes and socks unruly with pencil cases,

school bags tumbling books, brothers stretching

desk-bent week from youthful backs.

Run barefoot across prickly lawn-

first at the Cape gooseberry bushes,

hurried harvest popping bitter-sweet pips

on my boarding-school starched tongue.

Dhaka 2015

This weeks poem inspired by a visit to Rangamati, and days spent in that interesting town in Chittagong Hill Tracts.

Rangamati

Hiding out-back of a hand-built teashop,

bamboo over lake Kaptai,

strong sweet chai,

seeping smoke,

skinny chicken picks round my toes,

skinny boy grins and stirs reflected light into my tea.

No one can see my difference here –

ask impossible questions like where I’m from,

but I can watch their loud, crowded lives

chattering past on bright paths

and feel happy and sad inside,

in shade,

in a bamboo teashop.

Rangamati 2016

This week’s poem, inspired by a longing for more truth in the world, more openness and honesty.

Echo

Tentative tapping
on the walls of their souls.
What’s that hollow sound?

Fill the empty drum
with substance;
food, shopping, noise,
dampen –
deaden the dull sound.

Dhaka 2015