The 1st of February

February 1, 2018 § Leave a comment

I can write despite cheer’s poverty

I can write when the wind pushes my plans away,

When my fears return,

I can no longer write,

For I have not held a pen in ages,

I have not written from my heart’s desire,

Have not cried

Have not kneeled to the power of the pen,

Have not surrendered my voice free to echo in the streets,

I have not written, and I am not writing now,

 

I am watching my soul perish

To the banality of existence,

To the reality of capitalism, to the next pay-check

To the expectations of my peers,

To my relentless criticism

Of this soulless self,

 

And all I ask for you

Is to spare me a sentence,

Let me live again, let me write again,

Let me breathe as I often did, as I was lost in commas and similes,

As I analysed every page till the letters became my family,

As it fed me with passion and bliss,

Give me, back.

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#247

April 17, 2017 § 2 Comments

 

This was written more than a year ago.

Of all of my years of living,
Which have only been a few,
I have never been as sorrowful,
As I am with you.

Your arm’s grip on my soul
Retains me enclosed behind this door,
Though you keep me whole
I would not beg for more

But perhaps it is destiny
That granted us this presence
Of an entity that keeps me,
Confined within its essence

Though plead, I did not
Nor run, have I so
But creed took its pot
And fed me to the foe

Now I do not confess guilty
Yet truth would be a lie
For I held it gently
And to it, did not defy

But must you hurt me
After years of gratitude?
Or did we reach a curfew
And a split, requested solitude?

To now, I must behold
For I, must return
This sorrow, will make me bold,
Or else, continue to yearn.

“Did you hear?”

December 12, 2016 § Leave a comment

To what extent can I participate in my days
Now, fully aware, that what we once were
Can never be again?

Your promise to another has been announced,
So to you I can no longer speak —
Not whisper to at the dark of night,
As we would under the street bulbs.

The news of your promise,
Battled me as waves on the shore,
Loudly, emptying every life in me remained.
The leaks hold my inner-self,
Unworthy of your love, desiring the unattainable.

How my expectations were heaps of mountains,
Of your endeavours as a brave soldier,
Instead, the steady land was of your choosing,
Picked for a woman my sea does not harbour.

Now a speech to you is sin, unmoral and frowned upon
For a woman who breaks the love of two,
Is no longer a woman.

Death’s brother snatched you from my arms,
To a place further than our memories.
I can hear your voice echo as I fly behind,
But now I must exist, betrayed of love,
Where birds do not chirp,
And you pour sweet metaphors to her ears
–An act we found deceitful in the past–
But now I want your warmth against my mourning body,
For soon I might write my last words;
If I threaten death, would you visit me?

Should this poem reach you,
Must you know: I have never loved a man,
As purely as I loved you.

I have never loved a man,
As purely as I loved you.

How Must I Go on with My Day?

October 5, 2016 § Leave a comment

When happiness meets me in every window
On the walls of this hallway
How can I participate in a meaningless
Life when blind bliss looks me in the eye,
For now —

Paintings are the atmosphere,
And flowers grow on my shirt;
The paper is silk,
And this instrument’s my brush
So holy and divine,
Arabia’s weapon: rhymed verse,
Beautiful women, and wine
––the building blocks of religion
The father of possibility,
And all that is undone

Happiness that is galaxies and fantasies,
This happiness, may it remain,
Closer than my heart to my blood,
And my thoughts to consciousness
Than knowledge in quotes,
And information in books

May my prayers be answered,
May happiness fancy me still

In this forest I would drink from the lake,
Carry air from a circus on my backpack
And go hiking where my body cannot climb
— be a master of crimes,
Done cunningly, wittingly, without a trace

I am a saint who sins to retain my sanity
Because after-all, you cannot be happy
Without sacrificing a few flowers
Which would’ve grew on your grave.

at the airport

September 16, 2016 § 1 Comment


black glasses covering dark brown eyes,
curly hair reaching beneath your ear,
we exchange glances
like we’ve met before,
and speak silently in the space between us,

I see you seeing me,
feeling all jumpy and jittery
and when you glance away,
it becomes my turn to look your way:
wishing and hoping
that you know I can see you too.

you arrive with your coffee,
as I have before you
wondering: did you order the cappuccino too?
–size small with a water bottle
because airport prices are always so high–
or did you order extra espresso
to stay awake for the long flight?

I wonder if you see me
as I write to you now,
I hope you do,
because I’m slipping this note to you.

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A Happy Artist

June 17, 2016 § Leave a comment

I have been stripped off my literary allowance;
a few months now, and the stink reeks off me
for showers a few and misery a scarcity.

it prevents me from virtuous poetry.
glee is a sin, and I need my misery,
but how, in this poverty?

dear friend,
I have promised honesty:
a crime –creative blasphemy.
chains of desperation hold me down,
so will you donate a part of yourself to me?

I need it to write a poem,
rip it out from my skull:
this instrument has been rusty
since bliss made my veins its home.

look me in the eyes, and hand me a memory
from your childhood; I can use any
preferably sprinkled with a tear or plenty.

please, don’t think I use you;
I commit no crime when I do,
it is only a reflection;
when you look into my eyes,
don’t you see yourself too?

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