“An ode to the travelers”

-for every traveler-whether by free-will, or fate; either inside or out-whether searching for hope or escaping from injustice, whether robbed of their natural home after thousands of years or rejected by ’society’, and unable to compromise …and for the birds who so defiantly, so beautifully built their nest in a tree in the heart of Belfast, in the midst of all the violent turmoil tension-to speak of love-of hope-of trust-

-Michael

Today as the sudden winter melted to a sudden spring, the air loosing its chill and the birds chirping full of joy, I wondered when I would meet Michael again. 

He is amazing. I haven’t yet met a person of this magnitude who drains of me my speech, this considered my only expression of admiration. The truth though a little less enthralling is that I have only met Michael in my mind, or more so I create our initial meeting conversations in my mind, where I am spilling the thesaurus’ adjectives in every sentence: “Your music is exceptional., Your words are exquisite., Your pauses wonderful.” 

Its quite a story how he keeps me up at night:  One day, exiting the OISE building after 3 hours of dialogue french, I hear a sound I was not familiar with. That night was not like any other night, the air thick with humidity, the street lights had orbs of moisture surrounding them. I heard this heavenly harp sweep across me like a giant wave of cold sea water. It was refreshing but sudden. But the suddenness played with me. At first I wandered around trying to find where it was coming from. I couldn’t and the night becoming darker and my stomach growling for a meal, I left dejected. I kept playing back the scene I most loved the feeling of refreshment on a sticky hot june day.

The next time I saw him. But he was far away and I wasn’t sure it was him, again a friend was waiting and I had to leave.

But finally a few weeks ago, a friend lent me his CD, and I am very happy. At last I have some of his music playing in my vicinity, surrounding me. The music relaxing and the words philosophical.

The little blue man with the tufts of white, heavenly hair who plays the harp on the streets of Toronto, has rendered me speechless.    

I can’t seem to upload his songs, but I can always email to you, so just give me a shout!

untitled

You keep me restless at night 

hither and thither I move

Uncomfortable in my bed

watching the lonely lazy shadows

move across the sky

I get up to reach for the light switch,

yet fall back believing this darkness be companion

to my undreamt dreams

instead I flip through these pages to write these words