We build with hands, we dream with hearts,
We stitch together broken parts.
In every soul, a spark, a flame
A whispered song, a sacred name.
We laugh, we weep, we mend, we try,
We plant our hope beneath the sky.
And in each gaze, a world begins
A million losses, a thousand wins.
If we but look, just still and true
We’d see the light in me, in you.
For humankind, in all its grace,
Is stardust walking, face to face.
JH
He came with a grin like a curtain call,
A crown of lies, a voice too tall.
He promised light, he sold the stars,
Then paved the streets with prison bars.
He whispered sweet to aching pride,
“You’ve been forgotten, cast aside.”
He kissed the flag with fevered lips,
While freedom sank in sinking ships.
He fed the rich, he starved the poor,
Then blamed the weak, and locked the door.
A gilded cage he called a dream,
Where justice choked on silent screams.
He built a throne on blame and spite,
Turned neighbours into things to fight.
He made the truth a bitter joke,
Then laughed as bridges turned to smoke.
His name in lights, his hands in gold,
He sold the past, the brave, the bold.
And though the world around him burns,
He spins and smiles, and the crowd still turns.
For some are blind, not by the night,
But by a man who dims the light.
A showman’s charm, a hollow hymn
The country bows, but not to Him.
JH
In an era ruled by digital convenience and high-tech innovation, the massive power outage that affected Portugal (I was in Portugal) and parts of Spain was more than just a temporary inconvenience—it was a stark reminder of our increasing dependence on technology and the risks that come with it. As cities went dark, transport systems halted, and communication lines went silent, people found themselves disoriented and unprepared. This unexpected blackout has become a powerful symbol of the need to hold on to “old school” tools, methods, and mindsets that are too often discarded in favour of modernity.
The power outage, believed to have been caused by a failure in the high-voltage electrical network, exposed just how vulnerable modern societies are when basic services are stripped away. Daily routines—like navigating cities using GPS, paying for goods with cards, or even accessing emergency services—became immediate challenges. In these moments, the absence of simple backup systems was keenly felt. For many, it was the first time they realised that having a paper map, a torch that doesn’t require charging, a battery-powered radio, or even a notepad and pencil could be lifesaving tools. (Most of us don’t even know how to use a paper map!) I had a solar-powered radio handy, which I tuned in to learn about yesterday’s events.
We live in a time where convenience is king. Cloud storage replaces paper documents, smart home systems run everything from heating to lighting, and digital communication has replaced hand-written letters or landline conversations. Yet, when power vanishes, all this innovation can become useless in seconds. If the outage taught us anything, it’s that the best plan for the future includes a respect for the past. Personally, I have a print copy of important stuff, and I don’t like using any “clouds” .
Schools once taught children how to read analogue clocks, write in cursive, and use encyclopaedias. Today, many of those skills are viewed as outdated. But when the digital world goes down, the analogue world steps in. A mechanical watch still tells time. A hand-cranked can opener still gets you food. A book doesn’t need batteries. These “old school” objects are more than just relics—they’re reliable lifelines in times of crisis. I love going old school, but as a 63-year-old, I have watched from old school to modern AI-driven internet exposure on every level!
Moreover, the outage highlighted a deeper truth: resilience lies in diversity, not dependence. Depending solely on a fragile power grid, a single internet provider, or one mode of transport is a recipe for vulnerability. Old-school tools and practices offer diversity in our systems. They provide a kind of human infrastructure—simple, sturdy, and ready to be used when the lights go out. In Lisbon and other areas, when we lost internet and electricity, they sat on the grass, talking, no heads bowed into a screen! How cool was that! I think everyone needed that 8-hour break!
Let us also not forget the emotional value of old-school practices. Writing a letter by hand during a power outage might offer comfort. Playing board games by candlelight brings families together. Reading a book by the window, rather than scrolling through a screen, offers peace. These are not just backups—they’re beautiful alternatives. And no light pollution, that was pretty, watching the sunset in darkness, the power of nature, eh!
The Portugal and Spain power outage should not be dismissed as a passing inconvenience but remembered as a wake-up call. As we race forward with technology, we must also look back and gather the tools, skills, and mindsets that helped generations before us endure uncertainty. Keeping old-school things handy isn’t about resisting change—it’s about being prepared, being grounded, and recognising the enduring power of the simple things in life. The lights may go out again, but with the right tools—both modern and old-fashioned—we don’t have to be left in the dark. I would assume that after this happened ,things might change, and better alternatives might come into play. Whatever your thoughts are on this ,I think having modern and old school side by side is essential.
A shadow creeps where light once lay,
A poison seeps into the day.
Once hands were clasped in human grace,
Now fear divides and scars replace.
The echoes of the past return,
Old lessons are taught, yet none we learn.
They build their walls, they mark their lines,
With hollow words and hollow spines.
And watch as justice bends and falls.
They paint their hatred in disguise,
Yet we see through their veiled replies.
The colour fades from hopeful dreams,
Replaced by cold and broken schemes.
A love once free is bound in chains,
As tyranny reclaims its reigns.
But still, we rise; we will not bow,
Not then, not ever—not now.
For love will burn through the darkest night,
And truth will stand, and truth will fight.
So let them shout, let them conspire,
We’ll fan the flames, ignite the fire.
For though they try to make us small,
Love and justice rise for all.
JH
In the pixel-light of early March, the city thaws like a slow computer, its grayness buffering into green.
Pavements sprout people, no longer bundled, flaunting bare wrists and ankles as if freed from their own parentheses.
The parks reboot, rendering grass in high definition, the kind you can almost feel tickling your palms.
Sunlight lingers, a cursor blinking later into the evening, prompting us to write our plans outside the lines.
Café chairs clatter open like pop-up ads, promising fresh air with your coffee, and the buzz of conversation over code.
Blossoms gather on once barren branches, a glitch in the system that welcomes a crash of petals, pink and white against the cityscape.
Each breeze carries a pop-up notification, reminding us to update our lives— winter’s drear swapped for spring’s wallpaper,
And we, too eager to click accept, update our smiles, step into the renewal, let the season load us into its vibrant new scene.
JH
Artwork By Julan
I am the hush before the sunrise,
the breath between the words,
a fleeting thought that lingers,
a whisper that still burns.
I am the weight of echoes past,
the spark of what may be,
not just the path I’ve walked before,
but waves still breaking free.
I am the laughter, I am the ache,
I am the stillness and the quake.
I am becoming, I am undone,
I am the night, I am the sun.
No name can hold me, no cage can bind,
I am the seeker, the journey, the find.
Art By Julan
Upon the field where dark and light contend,
The good stands tall with honor shining bright.
Yet shadows creep where wicked hearts descend,
Their whispers laced with promises of night.
The noble soul, though burdened, does not yield,
For truth and kindness forge a mighty blade.
While evil seeks to poison every field,
Its schemes dissolve when love will not degrade.
Though battles rage and tempests tear the sky,
The dawn will chase the blackest night away.
For even when the purest hearts must cry,
Their light remains, untouched by dark’s decay.
Thus good endures, though evil sways the land,
For justice lives where steadfast warriors stand.
JH
The world has always been a place of duality—light and dark, good and evil, generosity and greed. This contrast exists in nature, human behaviour, and politics because balance often defines existence. In every society, there are those who act selflessly, striving for fairness and justice, while others manipulate systems for personal gain. Political ideologies reflect this divide, with some leaders seeking to uplift their people, while others exploit power for wealth and control. The struggle between good and bad is an inherent part of human nature, shaping the world in ways that ensure no singular force dominates completely.
In politics, this duality is especially evident. Some politicians work tirelessly for the well-being of their citizens, advocating for equality, social welfare, and economic stability. However, there are also those who prioritise personal ambition, using corruption, misinformation, and divisive tactics to maintain power. Greed plays a significant role in this, as those in positions of influence often put their interests above the needs of the public. This self-serving mindset can lead to policies that benefit the few while leaving the majority struggling. The pursuit of power and wealth can blind individuals to the suffering they cause, allowing greed to override morality.
People can be driven by an insatiable desire for more—more money, more power, more control—without considering the consequences of their actions. Greed strips individuals of empathy, making them prioritise their own gain at the expense of others. ( I could name a few!) This can be seen in corporate greed, where profit is placed above human welfare, and in politics, where leaders make decisions that benefit their interests rather than society. While there will always be those who fight for fairness and progress, the presence of greed ensures that the battle between good and bad will never truly end.
A shadow creeps where light once lay,
A poison seeps into the day.
Once hands were clasped in human grace,
Now fear divides and scars replace.
The echoes of the past return,
Old lessons are taught, yet none we learn.
They build their walls, they mark their lines,
With hollow words and hollow spines.
And watch as justice bends and falls.
They paint their hatred in disguise,
Yet we see through their veiled replies.
The colour fades from hopeful dreams,
Replaced by cold and broken schemes.
A love once free is bound in chains,
As tyranny reclaims its reigns.
But still, we rise; we will not bow,
Not then, not ever—not now.
For love will burn through the darkest night,
And truth will stand, and truth will fight.
So let them shout, let them conspire,
We’ll fan the flames, ignite the fire.
For though they try to make us small,
Love and justice rise for all.
JH
Art By Julan
Julan62 