It’s fireworks and colour. Ideas, words, pictures, visions. Opera and pompom mats, boats made from toothpicks and experiments purely to get wet. It’s plants watered and colour; again the colour! It’s short circuits and blanket tents, through the wardrobe to Narnia.
I have a dream, only this one is not altruistic. Self care or self preservation? Does it matter, are they different?
My dream is for you to be free, and in turn, that freedom for me, us. It’s wellies and Jedi costumes and pjs and wide-brimmed sunhats; it’s stepping outside without scrutiny and running without caring what may show.
Ramadan is rushing to greet us, we ache to feel its embrace. Slow days, important days, days with reason to hide..except we don’t..we throw ourselves into its mercy. Soup is shared, greetings given; the balcony is mostly always clean. The fizzle dies down, wires find their pair, sleep comes naturally then.
A child was killed, a cruel accident. A child is refused entry into school..the burden of his father his now. Learn to be cruel or to fear..fight or flee. There’s nowhere to flee to my dears.
I dream of the forest for you; I fear that dream is good for you; it can give you what we can’t give to all. Yet still I dream.
The flashes return. Sheets tangled, meals burnt, splashes turn to pictures on the wall. Today the circuit’s intact. Its Friday, blessed day. Ramadan will soon be with us inshallah. The balcony is sparkling this morning.