In the misty hue
Of Pine Street Blue
I drew you
An imaginary face
In an ordinary place
Searching with much ado
But finding nothing new
From the pulpit to the pew
You bid me adieu
You left with grace
A vacant space
My world your zoo
Endured a coup
And now I smart
Of broken heart
In the misty hue
Of Pine Street Blue
I rue you
Between calls and chaos, an itch for the transcendental, a longing for the lost.
The time is 22h41 on Friday 16 January 2026. I am writing this from my quaint little abode in Hilton KwaZulu-Natal, trying to wind down before the cycle begins again tomorrow morning. During a very complicated tutorial on how to set up the call rosters for the different rotations we
The time is just past 22h00 on Monday, 15 December. I am writing this from my room in Durban, surrounded by boxes and the detritus of a six-year chapter that has finally closed. I have just completed the cross-country journey from Cape Town back to Durban, leaving medical school behind
The time is just past midnight on Sunday 23 November 2025. I am trying to wind down, but the adrenaline of the week still hums in the background. On Wednesday, I completed my final examination of medical school; a viva voce for general surgery. For the students in the year
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, We will remember them. I realise it's Armistice Day just before 11 a.m. The words