"Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason." -Novalis

A couple of months ago, I had the best encounter on the bus. I met the most impeccably dressed man, with a full white beard & a large camera slung over his shoulders. Michael's birthplace is Lahore & his Urdu was infinitely better than mine - though he seemed to know every language under the sun. He shared his art with me - his photography & poetry. We bonded over ghazals & our shared experiences of animosity at the sight of of our physical experiences. "Peace bombs - that's what we artists make explode", he said. And the very next day he sent me a couple of poems (!!):

 m a s s . t r a n s i t . m a d e . p e r s o n a l

sometimes doves collide in mid-air
we found ourselves side by side
as the woods raced by in a multicultural blur
of Urdu, French and Spanish words alfresco

We peered into some photographs
looped writing gave the text
international relations grew warmer
and I'm wondering what is next

 g h a z a l s . a n d . g r i n s

a most delightful first meeting.
What a pleasure to share origins
as well as so many interests.
The yellow of embroidered satin
and your laughter most memorable

And today I am happy to report that after eons & eons I have managed to write some poetry of my own.

xoxo
Urooba