Fertile (under)ground

I have been mad,
angered that you left
without ever returning.

At first guilt overridden my consciousness,
until I shifted the blame
and realised you were the one gone,
and I hated you, intensely.

Now regret fills me
as your grave lays in front of me,
my feet sinking in muddy soil.

Savage weeds surround you,
so I wonder
how could I not realise
that you have been gone all this time?

I have been mad,
waiting for someone who is dead.

Finally I can grief,
what we used to be way before,
and I can plant seeds
on the fertile ground
as to replace what’s gone
with beautiful scenery.

In these grounds I will let all my anger go,
cleanse myself,
to be able to start afresh,
breathe in new purposes
into a newer life.

More on Poetry Book: The A to Z of You and Me


Extra Terrestrial Bitch

E.T.B, an extra terristrial bitch,
and even so in making me use
a word I generally avoid.

One can say that term is deragotory,
controversial at least,
but it would serve injustice to the English language
if another word was used to describe her.

A bully with power in her hands,
she expects the crowd to read her mind
to act in the way she planned
during her tea-time with imaginary friends.

Unlikeable to say the least,
a magnetic repulsion that
blocks any possibility of others liking her.

Her head bigger than the Queen of Hearts’,
walking into the room
expecting everyone to fall on their knees,
beg for mercy and apologise
for things they did not do.

She sees us as minions,
to walk all over and control,
but when we did not
her delusion attacked her ego.

I am sorry for you, ETB,
so I can try to share my advice.

Power means nothing if you want respect,
you can make people obey,
but with an attitude like that
respect will never be earned,
because respect is like life,
and life is give and take.


Crying Foul

Within all her mystifying might
she gave life to humans,
nurtured them as if
they were sacred creatures
walking on her land.

Ungrateful men,
never cared for their mother
even after all the pain she endured
just to see them breath
the air that was once pure.

Their boots trespass on her lying corpse,
their fake tears drown
in the thick pool of blood.

Hands in the cleanest waters
scrubbing hard
get rid of evidence,
these men are incapable of feeling guilt.

In front of the universe they cry,
convincing us all
the nature of death
was an unfortunate suicide.

Men that know no shame,
run free
amongst us,
they destroy
what their heart desires,
only to blame it on their mother.

We must stand up
let the world know,
mother’s heart is pure
and we can make it beat again.

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Centre Stage

As I stand on the stage
lights flash
and I am blinded
by the brightest spotlight that follows me.

My ears pick up the sounds
of people cheering me on,
enthusiastic clapping,
I am flattered.

The performance continues forever
and I effortlessly go on and on,
without any misstep.

I block out all of my senses and thoughts
except for one:
I am unable to stop thinking of you,
certain that you are thinking of me as well
even though you might be feeling cold and alone.

It’s a shame that life had different plans for us two,
that destiny was too cruel and locked you oustide.

Don’t worry darling,
I will come looking for you
the moment that I bow myself out of the stage.


To check about my book, click on: Poetry Book: The A to Z of You and Me



Bubble burst
and all the air particles inside
get lost with a million others.

I look around and I am dazed,
I see faces
I see people,
no bubbles around their head.

Overwhelmed with every slight motion,
especially that of their lips
as they stare into my eyes
a response of any sort.

Sweat runs through my body,
my tongue gets tied behind frozen lips.

My eyes observe the slow motion of each person
turning around slowly to face me,
as if they were an army
waiting for the commander’s order.

I acted as if I was anybody else,
stuttered some words
that I would imagine would be in appropriate
in that context,
and I kept trying to forget that whole day
from the moment it ended.


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Rapid breathing,
the keys tight in the palms
of my sweaty hands.

It’s finally over,
my heart is locked away
in a metal safe.

As I bury the safe in unknown soils
I sigh in relief:
My heart will not break anymore.

With my mind at rest
I head back home
only to stop half way,
holding my chest tight
as I feel my heart beating viciously.

Then I knew,
The Demons have always been in my head.


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Burning Out

Walking in the dessert
feet sunk in the sand,
skin drenched in sunburnt sweat.

Walking towards nothing,
with the guidance of hope
that I won’t sink along
these burning sands.

No clouds,
No lakes,
No plants.

It is just me and my dreams,
slowly burnt by the scorching sun.


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In front of me,
I see you,
my eyes glow with indefinite joy.

I wave,
I speak,
I scream.

Your unbothered, unmoved,
unable to hear what I say.
I fall to my knees,
trying to hold my tears back.

Are you just a dream?

Have I become a ghost so soon?

My attempts are futile,
my touch disintegrates into nothingness.

We are not here anymore…
I see you,
drifting into a separate world.



I am baffled.
Did we make it? How?
Thoughts running through my head.
Doubts. Ecstasy.
I guess time will tell.


Oh… wow.
We are still counting.
I guess we got something good going on,
but two is already too big of a number.
Can we outlast the count?


Memories. Distant in time, close to heart.
I miss you, a little bit too much.
Painful, and not just thrice.
I know we can make it till four.
Longing for anything,
patiently hurting.


Around a bubbling cauldron
each of us stands
putting in any ingredient,
the first that comes up in our heads.

There is none but one simple rule,
apologies should not be said,
whatever you throw
can never be taken back.

There is no redemption,
with one tiny mistake
you can rot all the good
inside the cauldron.

History no longer matters
and I am advising you to run away
before my madness casts a hex
on your worthless soul.


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