Zubyre Parvez

The feather spun downward
Through the changing skies
Into our hands
As the clocks move
...

I write my work at the coffee table
My steaming cup, words chased and followed
The table of times searched and read
I look within my heart for my words as map
...

...

What flag falsely flown could tell
What colours could show
What talk could unfurl
Whose to spell out our name
...

The apple does not fall far from the oak
Old English Proverb

Those old folk were Columbus's
...

I grew up in Forest gate
Where Henry VIII went
Hunting, his name a gate.
I went to Elmhurst School
...

My spine a book let me tell you
There was the fracture of my back
Dislocated from past I travel
Back on track through jointed map
...

I write of the things that connect us
Words on threads
Pathways in the garden
We are closer than you think
...

Met you at Stratford Theatre
Behind the facades backstage
You gave me your number
Trips to White City council estate
...

We bust leafy lyrics over the speakers
Over the campus Wall Hall
Where we built and talked our walk
Drank till we were stoned
...

The Opening Line

The wool was pulled over my eyes
By some of the more crooked chiselers
...

It seems that you were angry
Eating burnt steak ribs as you watched
The Chicago bulls as I had calmed down
...

The wild eyed horse neighs
With it's horse lungs;
Heaving with heavy sighs
My steps, swift and patient
...

I have traveled far and wide
The road sun-lit along the isles
I have kept my own style counsel
In the garden I have walked
...

His soul styled as French
The general was raised in
Corsica, where he reached
Heights he delighted in
...

The etheral swirl of colour
Saint George dressed in pink
riding a white horse
A lance pierces the dragon
...

On my own I have been putting the words together
I been meaning to show you what I can do, what's new
Does it take longer than we first think when we go
Along a course of action I've learned what I know
...

There are poems that I write that revive my interest
When I've read enough from my books, when the air is full
Of my heart, conjured imagination, the impact
Of full books of full story outside the pub the drinks
...

I've wanted to write and wear the culture
I've reaped and sown fine seam, casual and loose
Where the apartment blocks of the past
Lack definition I'd say
...

Wine-tint glasses were turned
Away to read more closely
And to write of what
Springs to mind, a fountain
...