Sorcerers' well

He is the devil
She is the devil
They are the devils.

The devil is all around us,
Masquerading in various shapes and sizes; looks and appearances.
Whispering in our ears,
Holding placards to our faces.

But always hiding his face,
Veiled under the shadow of deceit.
The face that remains consistent
The face unknown.

One day she took my hand,
And led me to a well,
A well not so shallow but neither so deep,
Nonetheless, magic resided within.

Look keenly, search with your eye.
The enemy resides in your household,
A person you know intimately.
Look and tell me who you see.

I looked and searched,
With my eyes and with my heart.
And I saw the devil's face,
So attractive, so beautiful,
So me!!

Feminist speak

Today being the year TWENTY SHE-XTY. the year of our Lord and or Lady

Today is a great day for Womankind and all her folk. We have finally got our victor(ia) that shall (s)henceforth be recognised with the changes in the naming of the number six to she-x and many other pheno(wo)menal changes to the Queen's language thus restoring the pride and dignity that the patriarchal half of the society has for so long denied us.

Rise up now all ye women, No longer shall we be the slave(ttes) of those who have so long tried to suppress us. The chauvinists who continue to belittle our cause, who try to resist the wheels of Justi(nna). Always putting up the Men at work signs in an effort to create potholes on the road to freedom. No longer shall the signs of the patriarchal age dominate. A dawn comes upon the night blurring out the night that is the age of inequality and with it, the rise of the age of a new balance. disrupting all s(h)ocial order, closing the pages of history and rewriting a new shestory. We will no longer speak of the story of the lion and the hunter for none of them concern us. Now we shall tell the tale of the lioness and the huntress; the Pocahantas and Brave-heart. We are rewriting shestory, the kind of shestory Cleopatra would be proud of. We shall sing aloud praises of Marie Curie. Not of Napoleon and Hitler, of Obama and Blair.

This is our time. Stand tall. Justinna is served. The scales of Justinna now swing to our advantage.
This is Feminist Victoria

Autofocus

Undivided love.
Singular devotion.
If a man was to commit to these and these only:

Tunnelling vision,
Patient commitment.

Teaching his heart to desire,
For desire exceeds want.
While pulling the reigns of his heart
Training it to reject its list of lusts,

Breaking the cycle of broken men,
Reversing the trend of dysfunctional societies,

Then probably we could say:
I am a man and a man is who I am.

The lull after the storm

The harsh winds constantly beat against the sails by night,
Threatening to rip them apart.

The unforgiving midday sun bears down on the sailors,
Promising to bury them in hot humidity.

Eventually the ship docks at port.
No lives lost and a hull that is intact.

The reminders of nature's wrath,
Broken splinters and sunburnt skins,
Sign off as memorabilia

Of all that was; the beauty and strength, the valour and courage.

Trophies that only shine bright.
In the lull after the storm

The owl

Short days and long nights

Days blanketed in noise
Nights filled with silence.

Times when men walk in the company of each other
Times when men share the company of themselves.

When work gets done
And when thoughts get made.

Eventually craving for longer days
And quietly appreciating the short nights

Where periods no longer consist of seconds
And neither are moments measured in time.

He is

A man comes built with two things

Pride, so that he may have something of worth to hold on to, and

A heart to feel, feel all that the wretched world of men has to offer.

He is fashioned to use his pride as a sword. A tool to cut beyond the veil of impossibility
His heart, a shield to protect all that he values.

And when his sword dents, for his pride will soon be when he meets an obstacle in battle,
He won't be left with a sharp edge.  Only shame.
Which by the sharpening of, he shall overcome.

But when his shield shatters, he is made handicapped. Unable to craft another, he is left partially helpless.
His only choice, a specialist, a healer.
Only by whom, he shall rise up boldly anew.

His dignity he may recover,
But his heart needs a surgeon.

Friends

1:15 pm Fate or destiny

Time for her lunch break. At least that is what her body clock indicated. Not forgetting it was also time for her lunch hour walk, where she divorced herself from the computer screen which like an infant, was constantly in control of her mental and physical faculties. Time to leave the blue walls constituted by the corporate overlords designed to enslave her till her retirement, death or resignation, whichever she would choose to surrender her fate to.

1:16 pm Carl

Carl: So where are you going to have your lunch today Miss?
She: Nowhere in particular if you really want to know
Carl: Would you like me to take you to a new Italian restaurant that opened shop the other day
She: Not really, I need fresh air, not really a meal
Carl: You're sure
She: Yup. See you later!!!

1:17 pm Sunshine

There is something different about sunshine hitting you from the open compared to a few UV rays sneaking past the windows on tenth floor. More like swimming with fishes you own rather than watching them from the aquarium you rented from that uptown shop. Keeping up with the Joneses has its own disadvantages like not being able to have a relationship with your property. Only constant staring contests with the humongous house you got a mortgage on that you never get to enjoy because you are busy working late to pay it off; beauty pageants for your expensive phones every weekend when at lunch with your friends and staring contests with your dog because it is only there for the visitors to see and not for your security or company. If she was going to pay the mortgage and watch fishes swim in a glass tank in her living quarters, she thought she ought to at least enjoy one free thing, and for her, it was the gift of sunshine.

1:18 pm The King's Bench

He sat there as usual on his bench facing the tall blue buildings of the economic kings. It was not really his bench. It belonged to the City Council. However, after faithfully sitting on it for so many months, the people who passed there often had quietly and willingly acknowledged the bench as his and let him be. Men and women sat on other adjacent benches without ever bothering him. Probably because they also did not like the fact that he was a street urchin, and a suspicious one at that because he never opened his mouth to utter a word. He didn't stretch out his hand for handouts or help, neither did he have a cup for collecting coins. Once in a while during the lunch hour break, a coin or two was handed to him, to which he bowed in response to that gesture, but nothing more. Something else brought him there, a daily routine, an obsession, a prescription.

1:19 pm Company

 She walked towards benches as she always did. Admiring the freedom the bird had and wishing she were as they were. And she slowly approached her favourite spot in the environment, a bench with a King. She smiled at the man who smiled back at her and sat on the bench next to him. She put her hand into her bag and produced a transparent plastic bag containing the remains of her vegetable sandwich, which she had only had a bit of in the morning when rushing to work. She handed it to the mute who gratefully accepted it and went straight to consuming it. And as he did so, she stared at the birds, breathed in the air and enjoyed his company. As soon as he was done eating she smiled, got up and left.....