Power is that

sticky, invisible liquid

that seeps and oozes into

the rooms and crevices

of institutions,

and clings to

the subtle connections

between humans

at all scales

of human existence.


Its scent is

putrid to some,

who smell its rotting drip,

and an exotic perfume

to others,

who want

the exhilarating pleasure

of its scent.


But its presence

in the habitations,

places and forums

of human life,

in all its complicacy,

cannot be mistaken.


Leadership and politics

become drunk on this


so aged and refined

in the barrel of civilisation

and bought with

a high price.


Yet, for others,

it is the elixir

of death

that is dispensed

and showered

on the poor,

the fragile,

and the weak,

who know its acrid smell

and see how it

pollutes the

very streams of life

that should sprinkle

with hope.


But power can flow

with the viscosity of life,

and be as fluid and as living

as blood

and as healing as a tonic

given to lift the weary

and heal despair.


Its flowing energy

can create and


sponsor and incite,

inspiration and


harmony and peace.


Seeping and sticky,

power is everywhere:

as a corrosive acid,

as an impetus for change

as a fine wine

for the elite to savour

or as sparkling

and fresh waters

of healing and life.