My Poem ‘Where it all started’

Every adventure begins with a dream;
every epic starts with a first step;
every day begins with a sunrise
that you may not always see;
every ocean starts with that very first drop.

Every singer starts by singing into a hair-brush;
every author begins by first writing in a diary;
every musician starts with an imaginary instrument-
like an air-guitar- while listening to their favourite music
full-blast, and being told to turn the music down
with a bang on the wall, or a hush;
every song-writer begins writing songs as poetry.

Every driver starts by having a go behind the wheel
of their parents car;
every life full of language and conversation
begins with that first word;
every humanitarian, or doctor, starts every day of their calling
with the oath ‘to do no harm’;
every disease that was ever thought to be wholly-untreatable
will one day be found to have a cure.

Every happy life begins with that first friend;
every band began with that first practice-session;
every new beginning started with an end;
every great relationship began with a question.
Every fortune started with that first penny;
every chain began with that first link;
every thing about who you are and who you will be
goes back and can be traced to who is your family;
every change of perspective begins by you considering
a possibility that you never thought to every think.

Every collection begins with that first item that you treasure;
every place of peace and serenity started as the place
where you always wanted to be when you were a kid;
every passion should always be a pleasure.
Every singer, every musician, every poet, every astronaut,
every teacher, every vet, every soldier, every inventor,
every gardener, can always go back
and point to the time, and they can always tell you what,
and where it all began, and where it all started.

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My Poem ‘All in the signs’

There is no sound,
there is nothing to be heard;
there is a couple sitting at the next table from me
in the cafe I am in
talking completely and fully without words,
and the beauty of their silent conversation,
even though I do not mean to pry in any way,
has me not only lost for words
but also lost in thought,
and I can feel my heart start to pound.

I can’t hear a word that they are saying to each other,
but I know that that is because their voice
is not meant to be heard by me-
they could be saying anything to each other-
but what I do know, just from observing the looks
that they are giving each other,
is that this couple is in love;
I recognize and I have seen this unmistakable,
silent, and mutual, connection of spirit
in myself and in others a thousand times,
and it never fails to read, at least to me,
like the most beautiful, natural, and special, poetry.

The eye-contact, lip-movements, and hand-gestures and signs,
they are making is entrancing,
the way they are so compelled and in-awe of each other
and do not need or want the attenton of anyone else
in the entire world is mesmerising-
I am not afraid of confessing.

I wanted to be a part of their conversation,
but I also, secretly, did find it cool that I and everyone
was an outsider because we couldn’t understand their code
and are not meant to.
I must admit I did smile at the thought of them
having so much privacy, and the gift of one to one communication
without the potential of being evesdropped on.

They looked like they only had time
and only had eyes for each other,
and that truly touched my heart and made me happy-
the joy they were feeling about talking to each other,
sitting facing each other, of one mind and intent,
was noticeable, palpable, and wonderful to see.
Communication on every level of society and by every means
all around the world in a million different ways
has always fascinated me,
and the gift of being able to reach out to someone,
especially someone that you love, in some way, in any way,
no matter who you are or how it is done
never ceases to fascinate me.

The couple that I was watching had their own language,
their own code of communication that even I could see,
surpassed the language they had been taught
to share what they want to say;
and it occurred to me after I left the cafe
that they have a code, everyone has a code,
and even I have mine-
my language, my code, is that of patterns and poetry;
and I also realised that if I or anyone wants to be a part
of any conversation, I and they have to learn and read
what is being said all around us every second,
sometimes silently without a sound,
because the answer to what is being said is
all in the signs.