2019 House Programs Ghost Gamelan | Page 3

Always seem to sound the same?
All the scenes I’ve seen and words I’ve heard
Swallowed in this sea of sand...
Of papyrus script and mobile phones,
Truth and lies and flesh and bones
Just a little dust remains….
The caravans pass, the action fades
To the silence at the end of songs
The silence at the end of songs…”
GOING DOWN
I was in command
But things got out of hand
Now some fool mistake
Has sealed up my fate
I’m going down where the voices drown
Someone’s plan not mine
Sent me here to hold the line
Out into a strange landscape
To block the devil’s gate
I’m going down
There’s a beating sound
Out there we were on our own
Stuck inside a killing zone
Where its do or be done to
Now the world’s overthrown
The deadly ones you never see
I never laid an eye on him
The one who put his mark on me
I’m going down
I’m going down
SPOONS
Surrounded by your spoons
You held court, reclining,
Your eyes forever moons
Slow motion lightning.
Faces took you in,
Nights smelled of jasmine.
The ground around us then,
So warm and human.
Barefoot in the small hours,
I crossed a hidden wire.
A sudden blossom in my chest
Spread out like fire...
Some other year, some other town
In the street i heard your name,
Gutters have their fill
Of leaves that wont explain.
Mirrors getting longer,
Days are warming though,
All I need to remember
Is to leave a space for you.
GHOST CHILD
hawk rising
circles the empty sky
she is being
as I, just being
someone somewhere
somehow become
the fraying edge of a picture
of a fledgeling
on a high ledge looking down
the ghost of a child
echoes on the wind
i have returned
in older skin
river-killer
breaks and mends
smoke ahead
journeys end...
no one will share
these eyes, this face
ash all over this ancient place
ghost of a child
always close behind
your shining eyes
and your hoard of time
out in the wild
voices ride the wind
go speak with them child
those echoes echoes echoes
on the wind
they say the future is a trial
but never give in
never give in
ROSE
(wiliam blake)
O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
© 2017 Susheela Raman under exclusive
licence to naïve, a division of Believe