Guilty conscience

At your doorstep there’s a mat
I wipe my muddy shoes with
If there was ever gum that stuck
I would smile at the nylon and you would call me delusional

It’s like zebras hugging each other
With the intention of blending in
To their stripes
Only to find
That to each its own

However obvious it may sound
Hazel is neither gold, and wise, nor green and new
It’s nature feeling unapologetic for, experimenting with power and its genes.

How iconic is a knife to the hands that slay
Existing in between excuses for the slain
Dreams given and killed by the same hands
Enslaved in this pursuit for freedom, ‘Dulce et Decorum est’

But like a lie, within a lie, within another lie
Trust built on brick and not foundation, was sold
Bargained for a clean soul, caged in for another smudge to rub
That only grew bigger with each flip of a page, a guilty conscience needing no accuser.


Struggle and division

It’s not that complicated really, nerves wrecking the signals sent
to the intellectual, the emotional, the moral or spiritual
What else would we have been capable of?
We already proved everyone wrong.

Killed. Saved. Killed, saved
Killed to save. Saved to kill
Tried both
The weak pretended to be strong,
this threatened their plan B.

“Be realistic, not sorry.”
No one feels your apologies as much as you
Much less the struggle to present some eulogy
Who wasn’t meant for the deceased but the spectators
Who kind of just went along, nodding at the host.

‌‌‌Two kinds of divisions actually multiply us more
Mere numbers, and scattered letters trying to make sense
The latter cannot conform without the former
Like the lazy protagonist who still made it big
Only because he measured the number of his ideal to the detail of his being
Combined and sealed them both together, rather than waiting to find his work’s meaning.

Practical jokes

When poison reaches the heart, that will be the end

Leave. Don’t stay, don’t pray. There is nothing to defend

Count the skies in the touch of a constant flame

A drop, forming a ripple, forming a wave, carried by the essence of your name.

You know, all this, it seems like a practical joke

Clowns representing misery, children accepting candy from strangers

Why else would anyone bother? Let the leaves fall where they may

There are cameras everywhere. They’ll know what to do

There’s a code to every passage. It’ll send them all away

No damage caused, on zebras knowing too many shades of black and white

A binder to keep the pages intact. No one willing to sell their souls just yet

Opinionated essays bring their trouble to the table, empty with character, filled with presence

It’s true, hey. Firecrackers illuminate your work. Fine, neat, steady. I stand corrected.

I wish they could shed light on what your hands now grieve for

I guess, as irreversible as time is, it escapes to the last second of a clip

Once it’s gone, it blurs away. To a box opened only by nostalgia screaming in a fountain booth


It lets the rain fall on your stairway, as you step down

And now you’re ready to change course, heading back to some place out of norm.

Meet my kind

Corners, made from paper

Restrict the very purpose they were created for; liberation.

You tell me, I need to be worthy of an education to gain one?

I tell you, even the intellectual, wonder of a parallel universe

With validation sought only after death, with work praised only after there is no secondary thought to explain!

To be known, to be glorified! To this narcissistic fantasy to hit a home run

With brainwaves neglecting their own migraines.

Imagine the space you were in, was empty. Blank. Plain.

Did you? Then strike! Strike lasers with open vision, hungry, insane, fed up with soot

Can you? Blast the whole goddamned place! Create your own disaster

Do you see it now? What difference does it make?

Wipe the dust off, call white vultures to eat thy rotten meat

Raise your hands up to the sky and for once, give it all instead of taking it in.


It’s as if cannibals

Poured salt over themselves and called it quits

On this ache without a surface

‌Sun-burnt for never getting out of this shade.

Faces buried in sand, think God.

And the ones meandering, think flood.

Printing numbers, foil and scrape

To gain luck and revenge on an eye for an eye

Truth for a lie

Another warning to defy?


Dream for me a spine erect to stand firm

When devastated with permanent kings arising from temporary homes

Flung me in, shove me back, anywhere

I need no home, no hearth, no drone


‌Too distant a world

To acknowledge mystery ‌‌

Bathing in an optical spectrum

As if they were ever going to find answers

In between

Facts and figures, findings; collecting abstracts!


‌People are afraid

Of the crippled and their wrecked fame


Shattered glass

Misaligned cartridges

Or beaten chains on a bicycle

Torn bags

Their transparency

Misdirection, calls home

To disaster

Stay away

‌ ‌‌

This dust devil

Grows into a gale

Like a spasm on a broken rib

Fighting an inward war

To reveal itself

In all four elements

Water with its whirlpool, air with hurricanes

Earth embarrassed of its roots


And you thought

Earthquakes were a natural phenomena

Plate tectonics showing indignation through wrath?


Lava wants to smell wildfires, meet its kind

‌‌I wonder if I can ever meet my own. See myself for all I owe, and all I’m owed.

I’m on my way, I’m not too far.