“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?

New Year’s Day

April 2, 2016 § Leave a comment

The feeling your company brings to me
is like the streets of China
during New Year ’s Day.

And in a dark alley, far in a distant town
a person lies, staring at the starry lit sky
surrounded by the sounds of people chanting in the background.

Their laughs and ditties
do not bother his mind
for he knows they are still naive
and optimistic for this New Year’s offering,
that somehow, a date on a calendar, or certain numbering
can bring about eternal change, this time round.

Like the children, your smile is filled with purity;
unstained by the sorrows life brings,
and free from the chains of greed or its six fellow sins;
like the children, you deliver joy to the old man’s heart,
when even his face cannot smile,
and hollowness affirms its grip on his toes.

With every jump their feet fly from the street,
like hiccups of drunken men, or the hills seen from a lake,
like the man who no longer sees the greenery of trees,
you present to me all beauty in a plate.

So as I lose all hope, and feel myself drowning
in the depths of the cruelty of men,
you hold my hand,
and say, “Look up at the sky.
It’s New Year’s today.”

The First Time We Meet

March 31, 2016 § Leave a comment

Yesterday was the first time I meet an angel.

I was seated with my friend by a table that held a mountain of books, and both of our laptops. After half an hour of discussing equations for our upcoming exam, I saw two women waiting for their order by the counter. One of them had wings, and they were big –so big that it must’ve been extremely inconvenient for her to pass by the café’s entrance door. She carried them gracefully like her smile. They were blue at their core, with feathers white and grey like the sky that cloudy day. Her yellow eyelashes curled up to her forehead, and her hair was white.

To my pleasant surprise, they sat at the table beside us. I could overhear the girl with the magical wings speak over and over, and for two hours, she barely ever stopped. I could not stop looking. I did try, of course. I had to remain subtle or else they’d have considered me a creep. Behind her eyelashes were glittering stars, as though galaxies seen from a painter’s brush. I contemplated walking up and saying anything. I contemplated for a while.

After I mustered all the guts in me, I walked towards them, firmly placed my hand on the table and said, “Excuse me.”

“Yes?” they both answered.

I finally looked towards the winged girl’s friend and said, “I think you look very beautiful.”