foreign meekly mind of mine,

travelling miles with horizon’s smiles.

back there, i couldn’t bear

to spill myself and dance with gloom.

my heart has a vast of space

to blast off great days,

leaving a room for a dark embrace.

i guess we don’t need the rain

when eyes had completed the water cycle.

puffy, reddish and rubbed from pain.

i don’t have a fucking bicycle

to ride away in great distances

because those clouds’ existence

up in the blue bed of the hidden,

don’t seem to look the same.



Wish He Was My Dad

his eyes were

fatherly, she, dancing on tippy toes.

sad and strangely welcoming

like his daughter, truth be told.

his eyes were

watching over her as she grows.

a pile of toys turn into boys

when he was their age, now so old.

his eyes were

sorrow with twinkles and glitters

from his first father’s day card.

how he wished she was here.


Flightless Flock of Sheep

when a feathered creature learned to dive

and glide underneath the empyrean,

his silky wings brace the ol’ buttermilk sky;

wafting herds of sheep, mounting one another,

gently moving in an all familiar direction-

all the way to the neverending finish line.

how restless they were

and the creature wondered why.

he explored different faces; different places

and avoided savages in their beastly phases.

when famished, he stepped on weak worms

and let his pointed beak pecked the life out of it.

in his eyes, he’s a hungry creature,

naive and absent to others’ thoughts.

his stomach growls louder and he wanted more,

how monstrous he is!

and the worms wondered why.

And all goes back to the little creature

when a tiny missile-like steel

touched his pounding heart,

an abundance of sheep wept,

but he still continues to fly.

not into the arms of the Shepherd,

who guarded his flock with his eagle eyes.

the Shepherd didn’t catch him,

and the creature, into the abyss he goes

and the Shepherd knew why.



i’m nothing more than a raggedy creature,

stuck in a chamber with mice and rodents.

they treat me like a worthless tramp

and served me bones i couldn’t consume.

i am left to wither each and every other day,

and when the time has finally arrived,

my smile shall be painted on my lifeless face.



One Swallow Doesn’t Make a Summer

the love i once scattered on you,

were like rustling leaves

swaying to the rhythm of the wind.

together with autumn’s hues,

from pumpkin spice

to nutshells and acorns,

those are colours to warm you,

and your soft blue lips of ice

from last year’s winter feast,

when snowflakes were born.

the love you once pecked on me

was like air being taken away,

not in awe, nor amazed.

and the leaves in autumn

were maliciously stepped upon,

and crackling noises were heard,

but it’s probably from my heart.

and autumn’s hues

meant nothing to you

because your lips were never blue,

yet snowflakes covered you.

no warmth, but frosty bites,

and your heart was stiff as ice.

and when the snow starts to melt,

and the leaves decomposed,

i shall leave you all alone.

a welcome inside oblivion’s home

might help to warm my soul.

but in thoughts, you still appear,

and sometimes, it goes to the other ear.

i may not forget you right now

because love froze into a thick winter ice,

but slowly, it will melt each day.

and one day, i’ll be the autumn tree

who shakes every leaf away.

i know i’ll be empty.

but summer’s here and i’ll blossom.

and you will see the golden me.


Bide One’s Time

i wait without a doubt

merely for what seems like decades,

i did not bother to hesitate,

but for every date,

it slowly decimates

my inner strength of having to wait.

i told myself to keep it up

and look at the eternal bright side,

even the night sky

burst with shimmering dots

is helping me not to rot

while i’m wide awake

to resume the days

and not lose my faith.

then, there was a moment

where i don’t want to wait

because i became another bait

waiting to be devoured

by wandering fishes

of the peaceful lake,

the hook jabbed through me

was like my heart put at stake

and the crimson pouring out,

it was spread across the lake.

this time, i didn’t have to wait.

i did it for my own’s sake.

but it felt like i’ve made

a huge mistake,

even during the late hours,

i entered my mind’s gate

and began to contemplate

on why i stopped the days

of having to wait.


Dead Sea

i carried the pitiful living beings

with life forces heavier than my structure.

souls that contained such burdens

preventing them from soaring back freely

into the wild blue yonder,

but i chose to sail further into the sea

with a rocky body, ready to tip over,

i’ll try to endure the energy,

from my thoughtless surrounding

that might make me collide into a boulder.

it’ll be sadder than the ebony void

with no shimmering stars

to help me guide

through the vicious nights.

yet, i’ll sail so far,

they won’t even realised

the progress i have been making

when oxygen is being taken

by the fallen ones

in exchange for melancholic air

that will one day turn me into rust

or badly enough,

particles of dust.

i’ll continue to sail, though.


a complete round throughout earth

would be the last adventure i’ll ever see.

the last time I will stay afloat,

carrying my passengers.

i thought i would be like them

but i’m certain they prepared their life vests

to not descend into the deep

and to not bother about me sinking

into the bottom part of “where else could it be?”

after a long, seemingly endless trip

to the seven seas.

for now, i’ll remain to be

another lost sunken ship.


Ticker Ticks Too

his ticker kept on beating,
following the melody
of every single tick
of the old grandfather clock.

his ticker was pounding
faster than he could imagine,
faster than every second
the clock could tick.

his ticker connects
to the sound of beats
of her thumping ticker
when they first meet.

his ticker continues
to hear each tick
she could ever make
when time is running so soon.

his ticker felt the unwanted ticks
that turned against him
when the clock strikes
at that time,

and he knew it was gone.


tick-tock, tick-tock,
there goes the grandfather clock,
every beat he made
would never sound the same.



She too, tried

From the top to the bottom,
to my shoes, to my sole,
I was physically fine; my face has been defined
to be perfectly alright in such a way
you know where I would hide,
but you never seem to find exactly
where the location is because
I want to hide and I don’t want you to seek me.

I carried a book for every walk I go,
and no, I am not ignoring you,
I’m neither using it for a distraction
just to avoid pitiful you.
I just carried it, for me to read,
for me to be distracted from my own thoughts
that will be fought by me, but I swear I won’t stop
until I realised how I ought to be another person
you often felt pity, nevertheless, guilty
for that statement, you said that made me feel
like I am in judgement day.

I tried laughing, I tried talking, I tried breathing,
I even tried sitting next to someone
that will change my mind this instant.
I tried, positively.
I even tried to be the optimist’s daughter
who is conscious that she too is optimistic.
I tried, but I’m just tired.
You can leave me to be or I’ll let you continue
but remember, that won’t be the end of me.
There are so many things in this world,
I think I may have unnecessarily seen
too many of them, too many matters
that cannot be unseen.