Your mind speaks stuff that makes irony laugh at times, like today when you told me to go for a walk, like ordinary people, and enjoy heat and smile because today we’re together like yesterday and that is a good reason to celebrate.

Let’s brush our fingertips like they’re used to it and let’s follow each others’ shadows like we’ve known them for our whole lives.

Let’s pretend we’re each others’ future.
Let’s point at people and say they’re the insane ones.

You make me happy, your mother told me you were born in mornings in a dream of mine. 
You’re the son of a sun that decided to take its place on an October sky.


There once was a girl,
as plain as can be.
With a green dress,
as blue as the sea.
Who woke up one morning,
needing a wee.
Except her bladder wouldn’t go,
not even a pea.
So she went to a doctor,
sympathetic was he.
“I have looked up your thing,
and all I could see
You have a fly in that hole,
a crab and a flea.”
“Oh dear! Dear doctor!
Will I need surgery?”
“At once! We must!
Tis quite an emergency!”

And so the story ends.

Except he
wasn’t a doctor
But a witch.
And so

she died.


5 AM:
Human ambulances
distributing oxygen masks
to a world that has set itself
on fire.
Sirens colouring
the reds and the blues
on the faces of the comatose.
Wake up
or sleep on this:
it’s been a long time
since we’ve
figured out new ways
to mend broken people.
Wake up,
they’re building cities out 
of us,
vertebra by vertebra. 
Wake up.

24-hour Emergencies:
Attempting to resuscitate the romance 
slaughtered at the feet of novel love.
Carving brand new eyes
for visions stuck in old city gutters.
Prescribing a new dictionary for women
sick with empty adjectives. 
Support groups for freedoms
put on life support.

5 PM:
Addressers of the uncomfortable,
those who are enamoured by the wonders 
existing in human kindness.
Those soul indulgers, 
middle school white chalk breathers,
sun celebrating , 
midnight riding,
bright century creatures,
who dance differently,
but dance all the same
to amplify their belief;
not the type of belief
that turns stale
with forced repetition,
but the type that feels 
like a destination. 
Ode to those who shared
their survival manuals
with their neighbours.



A being originated from nothingness, aiming at nothingness, but still full of life.

As a sword forged from the strongest nonexistent metals to strike the anvil it was forged on with all its might, then vanishes.

Humans, whom had tamed the Kalahari and the Arctic weathers; mighty, O’so mighty, yet vulnerable to a measly drop of poison.

Beings marked by their omniscience, knowing so much, beginning from just axioms, yet pride themselves in knowing nothing.

Such strange beings, running as fast as the wind (even faster), towards glowing points, but if asked about their direction, slow down to a halt.

Always progressing, always heightening. But as they say: The bigger they are, the harder they fall.

So significant we are, yet so insignificant. We are everything to us, but nothing to anything else.


You steady your brain, warm  your heart with a cup of tea, you feel your lips and push a tiny smile for what’s about to come.

You think, we’re atoms, particles of what once lived, graves are only a secret door to the what’s about to come, and in that process, all of the gossip, the fights, the sleepless nights of ache seem less worthy.

Your smiles start dancing themselves into deeper corners.
Your bones start feeling lighter.
Your brain remembers no bad anymore.

Then before you know,

your heart is up there touching a cloud on a fifth sky.


you’re at the crossroad between the two suitors. A woman pauses time. —lightening strikes—
The hell of a loved God or the heavens of charming Satan.
“what is love if you would not rot in hell for me?” 

god was in your form, the night you swam, naked. your skin looked different underwater, i’d drown attempting to breathe your essence. 

my body aches, it aches of perverseness. had i figured out just how to absorb your very soul — to encapsulate your divine truths within me. 

i drift as i marvel, seraphic as you are, blood passes through your arteries; Holy holy, holy blood. I’m at loss, lost in strands of your hair, i’d watch you forever underwater.  

cover art


Your white feet has travelled above the cruel stones
Blackened and smothered by some whore from Babylon
Right under the breaking rain, strongly you stood
You smiled so freely and dug your toes deeper into the swallowing ocean
Leaving emotion
Employing illusion
Disillusioned by nature’s contribution
Praying and sailing rockingly, hysterical..
And for that you have become my miracle
For that you’ve turned this war into a casualty
For that you have made a hero out of  an anti
You have my blessings to flee without an alibi
Because your whiteness has charmed the chosen ones
Because your darkness was my light but not theirs
Because you’re gray, and that is the kindest color
Because you’re gray and you’re god’s wildest lover
Save yourself from this light
And run swiftly into the night
Where these leaders cannot feed you sand worms
Where I choose to kiss your tombstone goodbye
But I know that this farewell is only a form
Your flaws and secrets I’ve adorn
And I will rejoice with you, my gray lover.
To the middling silver lining and back to the stars
You are the kindest color 

Dedicated to my deceased father, Rashed.