I saw hesitation in his eyes
Rock in hand I felt the pain of what underlies

He cocked the gun, click clack, magazine racked
I felt the warmth trickle down his leg, front and back

Finger primed, centre aligned contract signed I know, you don’t own your mind
I envy you, facing death free as a dove, martyred indeed, return to divine

Kaboom, 13 years of life flash, all of it is nothing but tatters
Bullet splatter, skull shatter, brain matter, served on pavements platter

You didn’t have to, you had a choice, but you still don’t understand
You’re right, I don’t get it, you’re dead, but you’re smiling and the rock is still in your hand.


Tribute to Palestinian children who lost their lives
Tribute to Israeli soldiers who don’t own their lives


I don’t know what goes through a child’s mind faced with such circumstances. I don’t know what goes through a soldiers mind trained to deal with those circumstances.

At what point did a child mature and decide he had to take up any means necessary and fight?
At what point does a soldier lose their humanity and step over their conscience   conveniently like it was a puddle of water?
Does the child look down the barrel in empathy?
Does the soldier look down the barrel in confusion?
I’ve read so many stories about soldiers regretting their servitude to their country’s defence force. We know the massive psychological damage of PTSD.
So what drives people to still enlist?
What drives children to lift a rock?

Something is very wrong at both ends of the spectrum.
What if we could take that split second above, where all those thoughts ran through both parties heads and expand on it. What if we could open dialogue, over a table full of food, Arab-Israeli delicacies, laughter, anger, passion all in the air, but the food too good to let anything but our bellies be the host that directs civility.

What if I could look at my brother from another mother, and hand feed him a morsel?

What if she could look at my sister from the same mister and wipe the cream from her lip for her with her own handkerchief?

That’s the crux of it there, Muslims and Jews from the same Father Abraham, Ishmael and Isaac with different mothers but the same father.

They say no one can hurt you more than your family, because they know your vulnerabilities all too well.
That’s true, but no one can love you or heal you like family too. Sounds like this is just a domestic dispute to me, albeit an ugly one.

The Elixir – 3. Slogans Slow Gains

elixir series 3



Slow gains


If you want to reserve your mind to lazy slogans, expect very slow gains in life.

Political, social, religious, intellectual, physical, lyrical, written, spoken slogans, they all wreak of the same humdrum stench.

Conformity is the slogan of actions. No one has excelled by repeating the same thing everyone else repeats, over and over again, that’s maintenance. The benchmarks have to be raised, the extremes have to be stretched, the rivets have to pop, the seams have to come undone and your soul has to scream stop whilst your mind says shut up bitch.

Reserving your whole life to a set of slogans is nothing short of burying yourself before dying. You’re lifeless.

Ayn Rand said, “There is a level of cowardice lower than that of the conformist: the fashionable non conformist.” And so goes on the twisted nature of conformity and slogan living.

The only way is pure individuality and I am not talking about the deep and mysterious type, nor the dark agent of sorrows, nor the high peaks of elation and joy.

That’s all been done to death!

I’m talking about your nothingness, your abasement, your effacement, your obsoleteness, until by His hand He steers you to your destination.

‘His’ is God to many people, nature to others, work for some, Art for others, organic life to others again, whatever ‘His’ is for you, let it steer you.



The Elixir – 2. Thoughtless Wit

elixir series 2




I’ve mentioned earlier in another post what I think about wit used incorrectly.
Using your wit for negative reasons is a lowly act and shows one has no intelligence at all, despite what they might conjure wit to be, the two are not the same.
Intelligence shows a higher order of thinking and ability that refines a person and makes them not only eloquent, but appealing amongst other things.

To be witty for the sake of adulation or using it to hurt other people shows the incapacity to think. Thinking is a higher order process reserved for the patient and resolute of mind, it’s not a passing mantra, nor a hashtag tribute. It requires a foundational basis of knowledge that one can use to extrapolate wisdom and arrive at conclusions and solutions for their lives.

Be careful how you use wit, don’t be thoughtless with it.

Nightwriter – 24

nightwrighter series 24

I like that she punishes me for not keeping our intimacy pure


I have come knocking like a pauper at the Kings chambers only to realise no King dwells here, the nights kingdom is ruled by a Queen.
She kept me banished for many years from her presence.
The past month she has teased me with allowing me acquaintance but she holds on to that key and has guards at the gate. She can sever the relationship whenever she pleases and I will be excommunicated from the palace.
But that punishment only encourages me and builds a larger appetite.



The Elixir – 1. My Soul, My Soil

elixir series 1


My Soul

My Soil


This is a series I want to experiment with where I try to distil as much as possible from my thoughts so that all I have is the nucleus, the elixir of what I want to write.

I may offer my opinion after each post or at the bottom but ultimately I want to share these elixir’s and have you guys comment on them. Tell me what you feel from them. Tell me what you get out of them. There will be no right or wrong answers. I genuinely want to know if you appreciate them, hate them, feel something or conjure something.

I look forward to your replies and sharing of ideas.

With love