The Painter

Dusk has come
Only touch to sense your
Hand to heart
To memorize the spaces
between your breaths
to fill

Night has fallen
With it we are one
Your lips whispering
in a tongue
I have not deciphered
Your eyes convey
all I need to know

Dreams have enveloped
Your soft skin
a warm blanket
Pull you closer
to steal into your thoughts
uncover intimacies
to sate


Don’t need a balm for my sores
Don’t need the answer to all my woes
Don’t need a love that will never lack
Just a hand
to scrub my back

Not for me, a beauty with brains
Not for me, passion untamed
Not for me, drench my darkness with light
Only a soul
to check bolts and switches at night

Spare me the wise with all the advice
Spare me the pure with all the fear
Spare me the rich with the never-ending itch
Instead, a schism
a submissive Lilith

Fissures in the Slate

of a misguided throng
Jeers and laughter
taunts of derision
cruel incision

Feeble spin
Excuses wearing thin

to hold close
Life in the shallows
filling gaps
hidden traps

Riding high
Short of the sky

in an unsteady space
Entertaining balancing act
worthless applause
pulling straws

Squandered truth
Bittersweet fruit


softer, the skies bleed sheets of ice and poison melting pinnacles of faith all strung around like wedding garlands woven into a knot stuck in the depths of wishes for new beginnings and going outside is a crime of never having said what was expected like the tears spilled for the dead and departed on the shelves that have not been dusted for ages when time is just a construct that serves no purpose except ends always promise blessings because it is easier to start with the one you left behind the door and under the ceiling of every house abandoned to rot like corpses left to vultures to feed the millions still thirsting for wealth which never satisfies but enslaves and masters and kills for the sake of it because there is not enough room any more than making a difference in people’s lives are not as important as ideas or so it seems to be the way everything doesn’t need to make sense of the chaos that has become so normal is another word for bored out of my mind disintegrating into atoms and particles and dust trampled underneath feet on pavements where I wished you were standing next to me is a synonym of I am nothing but a thought that carries with it existence balancing on the tip of a needle that is meant to burst the bubble blown from frothed hands bent out of shape under the weight of the world that only questions and never answers when confronted to a fight of logic and stealth to keep the leeches at bay and far away from the innocence that is hard to prove or make relevant at a time when deceit is the only way forward and making ends is the first thought always listed on a blank sheet with nothing but profit and loss and variables supposed to bring about change but instead creates rifts that push us further apart into the pits we have dug for ourselves heeding only our need to survive if not for the clothes on our backs and pills swallowed like life-giving water to quench all our worries away in the blink of an eye which we seldom use to see what we have accomplished for the lack of knowing better is not the best is next to pointless ramblings to pass the hours turn into days of not knowing what the future holds on in despair it is not going to be easy to make a mockery of things we do not understand that this will pass or fail is a matter of opinion to make up our own minds softly


Fallacies realized too late
Dawn of a new age
Brought on by unsound visions
Ignored all the contradictions

Another tomb in the sands of time
An avenue thus considered benign
Foundations pulled away in an instant
Left in tatters of feeble resistance

Overcome by shaky fortunes
Desperately casting runes
Reprisals put to the test
A primer for the rest


The sky was the last place he ever saw her face. On moonlit night, with the apartment’s backup generator grumbling a thumping rhythm, the memories strummed his soul a melody.

Like everyone before her, she had lit up his existence for a brief moment in time, then flickered and waned. Snuffed out like a candle at the break of dawn. A brighter light, a sweeter promise, a softer fall as he learnt to maneuver the valleys between the peaks. The ecstasy overshadowing the imminent disappointment.

You see, he didn’t understand that love could be wanting at times. That there would be gaps where apathy would sneak in and power games of who had the bigger clout surface. For him, it was an incline, a gradual ascension into the divine until breathing ceased. He was an idealist.

He glimpsed her now in a pristine gown and recalled the time he had fantasized being the one she desired. That basic human need for recognition and reciprocation. It was in the past now and he could no longer hold on to the warmth that memory brought him.

Now, all he had were these shreds of what he thought love was. And he put them away for a better time.

Even when he dreams, he no longer understands his attachment to his former selves. They seem like strangers he would meet on the street, maybe exchange a smile and never confront again. Just faces without names, places that feel familiar but could be anywhere, and emotions that fail to convey a meaning.

A canvas yet to be adorned
Empty nonetheless full

& ever

every shade is a prism
every need is a prison
every end is a lesson
every setback is a season

every choice is a conviction
every wish is a distraction
every pause is a question
every assurance is a seduction

every action is an invitation
every word is an explanation
every thought is a meditation
every pardon is a restoration