Heart strings are pulled

every which way,

the love of two countries

always at play,


A constant tug-o-war

with a list of pros and cons,

I will never know

where I really belong,


Family spread over two lands

separated by sea,

thousands of miles

between them and me.



If trees could talk

what would they say?

Sitting high on the hill,

with views of the bay


Old and wise

generations have passed by

branches stretching out

towards the sky


Wind pushes and pulls

the tree every which way

here we stand and marvel

at the tree every day.

At Peace

Little flower in the field

you sit alongside crosses

visited daily by bees

enjoying the sunshine

and the shade from the trees


Guarding those around you

providing life and beauty

admired by many

bringing peace to those

who visit their loved ones

with comfort of a prose


Under the beating sun

with a splash of colour

you cheer one up

they leave their memories

in their heart

till their next visit

flower and the bereaved part.

The Sound of Rain

A deafening clatter hit the tin roof

Where not a word could be heard

Filled the house with a strange silence

Where time almost stands still

Waiting for the rain to pass by

The ringing to leave one’s ears


The rain fades away

You do not want to speak

And break the silo of sound

A cleansing has occurred

A natural progression

With a freshness in the air –

A new beginning.