Why So Sudden

It seems as though

I have mastered
The art of knowing
When one soul,
Stops looking at my

It seems I have seen too
Much backs walking
Away, to know
the air had shifted
From promises to

And everytime I’d see
Psychedelic greys
In a person,
Of how they say hello,
their words,
A curt of misery
An unspoken
Putting out of
The flame,
I’d know that the clock
Has started the countdown
Until they leave,
Until he leaves.

By then, I’d have days
Upon days of anticipation,
Of my heart sinking into
The depths where it onced
Caged itself for safe
Of this unbearable waiting
I’d have to endure before
Saying goodbye.
By then, I know I’ve
Already died.

Natural Selection


I’d like to think that
We’re all just inside
One small fishbowl
Where the ever-seeing
fishbowl owner
Looks at us neglect
Our very own fishbowls
Shaking his head,
Muttering that he
Shouldn’t have made
For us instead,
Or fish,
But then he
Would want our
Tastebuds to
Explode with the
Or caviar,
Those gold tongues,
Slurping fish eggs,
High class as f–
How some people
Believe we come
From fish more than
We did from
And Darwin’s
Evolution would want
Us to swallow
That we eat bananas
Anfd lice all day,
But except we
Agreed that we’d
Like to monkey around,
Monkey business,

But he did let us have
We filled it with water
Like how the fishbowl
Owner filled his
Fishbowl with water.
We called it rain,
We called it sea,
We called it grace,
We called it thought.

The only thing he didn’t
Tell us about was
We have to swim
So we won’t drown. 


​January 7, 2017
A numbing photo
Of you with
A shaved head;

October 2016:

The conversation
Was peppered
With Taboo.
Some are yours,
Too brazen,
That even my
Worldly heart
Blushed in
And Some are
Veined hands,
No hair.

You laughed at the
Way I prefer
You asked why,
“I have no idea.”
I said.

January 6, 2017

A young man
walked inside
A barbershop with
Steel eyes
And a throbbing heart.
He sat on a
Black chair that he
Knew so well,
And yet, the distant
Separated him from
the familiar.

“Zero” he muttered.

November 2016

The words dripped
From your mouth
Like silk

“Can you be my girlfriend?”


December 2016

The world had gone
Flat and square,
You paid attention
To my pictures,
I paid attention
To your stories.

“You’re my friend.”
He said.

January 7, 2017

A numbing photo 
Of you with 
A shaved head;

I told you it was taboo.
You told me you were
Leaving the next day
For the army.

“For how long?”

“A year.”

Silence makes up
For the words that
hung like wet
January 8, 2018

Lulu can already
blabber in Arabic,
Pointing at
Letters and saying
What it means to her.
She can excitedly
Run into your
And meet you at
The gates,
Or she might be shy
And would wait
For you to
Lift her up
From the ground.

Smoke Hits Ceilings

Tonight is too much of you. 

I get up in trickles;

 My back against the headboard, wishing that my spine would straighten the way it was before you.

I thought that in forgetting, beings turn into faded warnings that we brush off during repeated histories,
But they are not. 

They transform into green lights at four a.m night drives, fleeting flashes on pupils , dilating claustrophobia in places we’ve been.  

 and then all of a sudden, visiting the park at night  would only remind me about our stars and not the darkness behind them 

How, each word you say is a mantra of goodwill and yet indifference prays till home.

You’re in the back of my head, pronouncing philosophies of the dead, fearing of unhappiness, thus the declaration of thriving in wilderness upon wilderness of loneliness 

Tonight is too much of you.

It fills my bed with pieces of conversations I’d rather regret, where I’d rather stop romanticizing the side where I always want you, not the side where I put up with you-with me , hating myself for not getting through 

And all of the shadows, calm in between choking breaths, I lay down and watch the ceiling cracks travel in all directions; Certainly finding a place where it can run towards where there’s no trace of you. 

Play Me A Concerto

you broke me,

every piece of me,
like an etude,
a crashing sound of
disconnected notes,
like waves, raging,
pounding the fingers
of the rush,
the solemnity
of my thoughts from
what you said,
and every time I
breathe, I can feel a
certain crescendo coming,
like a run up the hill,
or a legato down the
as your phrase slips through
me, like an epilogue
of a concerto,
hushing the notes and
melody of what we have,
and what we couldn’t be…



by my very own solitude,

Oh hapless heart!

my dying heart,

caress thy gentle veins,

and cherish the ill,

the voice of an angel

shall never come in your


so stop being

a hapless fool…


my heart….

sleep to undress…


She Waits Till the Morning

She sat down on the wet pavement

face on her palms hiding away the remorse

of a sonnet she once wrote to the sun who

lit her world….


She turns blind, and forever will walk in darkness

she left her heart along the road to emptiness

and touches her way towards the place where

she finds herself in a lesser wreck…


She wasted her time too much, to partially see

to temporarily include herself to his world

he once built around her…

only to see his glare of apathy

his strong sense of silence

his suicide note for her…


“I killed you in my heart” he said

and left without a trace

only pictures of the smiles they once

shared on their oasis


she tripped, and was scorned,

she was skinned by the ruthless wind

in the desert she lay

looking at the stars

“I wish you hold me there, far away

from this place.” she plead….