My dear son...
How does one describe a summer's day?
Trepidation of your arrival
Our hearts filled to bursting
Unbridled love and unabashed joy
The sheer exhilaration of knowing
That you were coming home to stay.
My dear son...
How does one describe a ray of sunshine?
Your merry eyes
Squeals of innocent laughter
Warm cheeks and face all a glow
The centre of our universe from that day.
My dear son...
How does one describe love?
What kind of brother have you become?
Leading your siblings on a merry dance
Goading them on occasion while in command
The best one they could imagine.
My dear son...
How does one describe you now?
Tears fill my eyes
My heart breaks with pride and love
To see who you’ve become
With a purview filled with conviction and compassion
For a better man is made
Though I wonder why Togepi does pervade!?!
My dear son...
How does one describe time?
As your destiny awaits?
A leader in the making
Your future for the seizing
And a life to be made
Your faith and love of God will keep you steady
And your moral code will set you rightly on your way.
My dear son.
Love always, on your 21st birthday. Vinod. 21 May 2020
Chained to the spot, eyes puffy and bloodshot, looking as disheveled as a night on the turps. The computer demands to be fed and its veracious, insatiable appetite consumes all before it. For it does not sleep. So day turns into night and again into day.
Who would have thought that remote work would chain us all to new set of office chairs – a new form of virtual open office? One in which we communicate to the outside world through a pane of glass, a tenuous NBN connection, our private lives oh so on hold while in the background, the spy-cam, the blue eye, innocuously is available for all to behold.
Left to our own devices and an overly optimistic internet, to find new ways to reach out and communicate, to hear, to empathise and to be understood.
What replaces that great leveler, that oh so perfect coffee, informally chatting to clients young and old? How do I form those invisible bonds that used the senses, that tie us together, not stagnating in the superficial, as strangers, but latching on to the truth my friend. Ties that do not break?.
How can we optimise our style and collaborate? Use the tools that bind us but not strangle our creativity? How do we pass that talking stick, in means and ways that dissolve the barriers in our minds, those in the way… in the way of progress… to new authentic way of working in our new world order.
The Spoken Word 