To Ian McDonald

Dear Ian McDonald,

As I sit here this cold, grey morning in Craig Old Road my mind and heart and soul wander through the moments you’ve remembered these past decades. I see now, Ian, if I may be so bold, that there comes a time when a girl must rise and burn the leeches from her skin so that she may forge a sword of metaphors.

Swords, I’m sure you must know, are not only meant for blood. No Ian, some swords have been created to carry flames; flames from the same fire which has kept your dear Martin, our dear Martin burning until now. It is the same fire, Ian, which I have seen in the soul of my Martin.

I have witnessed much more than the man Ian McDonald in A Cloud of Witnesses; I have witnessed my country and region and world. But more importantly Ian, I have been taught by you to see so much more than I’ve been willing to see. And even though, I may not agree with some of what you say, I am honoured that I could drink from this reservoir of yours. Knowledge is never enough. It seems that I have been condemned to thirst until death.

In some ways Ian, I envy you. I am not jealous of Martin, no, I have my own Martin, but I am sorely jealous that you have been able to experience that thing which died long before my birth. You are right though, not all ages can be golden. I am certain that this is an age of lead.

But still, hope is an eternal friend (or foe) of man and so once my Martin lives I have hope. I await the day when the nation recognises that my Martin is really our Martin. You see Ian, men like my Martin (and even your Martin) and maybe one day I may be able to say women like me were not conceived in a womb but in the university of war.

Eternal Gratitude,
Sara Bharrat.

Sharing a quick moment with you while I’m on the go.
Sara.

I’ve bled words for you…

For days and days, I’ve bled for you. I’ve bled upon a page. From that place deep, deep in me I’ve bled words for you every minute, every hour, every day.

And they watch me bleed, quietly waiting, waiting for me to die. But this bleeding, it’s an endless flow of you from me. This is how I know that I can never be empty while you’re gone. Because I’m so full of you, I bleed and bleed and drown endless pages. I’ve even drowned me in you to immortalise this thing between us.

In this ocean of blood, of words, your name has become the single adjective which defines me, which floods me with meaning. So I’ve bled words for you to make space for more of you. I’ve bled words for you. I always will.

Sharing a quick moment with you while I’m on the go.
Sara.

Encouraging Young and Emerging Talent – The Ruel Johnson Book Launch

Ruel Johnson signing a copy of Fictions

Ruel Johnson signing a copy of Fictions

Ruel Johnson may be infamous for his Facebook cuss-outs, but he is also the main man when it comes to encouraging young and emerging talent. He proved this during the launch of Fictions and a collection of Poetry at Oasis Cafe last evening.

The launch was less about Johnson’s own work and far more about his sister, Stacy Johnson, and other poets and writers present. In a way, Johnson sacrificed his singular beam of light to and for something much, much greater.

Whatever Johnson is accused of being flickers and dies when compared to the effort he makes to help young and emerging writers. Writing is clearly life and passion for this man.

All the best to him and Janus!

Sharing a quick moment with you while I’m on the go.
Sara.