My Bubble

THIS is something that came out of my classes with Alina Rastam some years ago. It was during a time when I needed some healthy distractions from my what I was doing at that point. Needed to look at life from a different side, so from the Kuala Lumpur Performing Arts Centre, I ended up in Alina's small, group classes at her quiet home in Bangsar. I loved it.

 

Photo By Richard Heeks

My bubble my world

travels beyond the skies

where air is slippery

and things move dreamily

like molasses sliding down a glass.

My bubble my freedom

not a trapped butterfly in a jar

or a domestic parekeet in the wild

it's like dolphins in the deep sea

that swim and swirl and whirl

without boundaries or worries to see.

My bubble my featherbed

is a carbonation of comfort

an oxidation of pleasure

of playful secrets and fantasies

of earnest hopes and dreams

of love, joy and peace.

My bubble my element

sphere and familiar

never stale with routine

or sick with doing nothing

free and easy, hot and cold

like a balloon over a mapped Earth.

Love my Bubble, my psychedelic bubble

where I own the space

and boss the time and thoughts.

So I do get lonely and lost

when my bubble is burst.

With just a little prick.