‘ I’m fine ‘


It’s 9:01 PM, August 1.

Don McLean’s American Pie is playing and I’m nodding my head to it. You’re not paying any attention to the music.

You are staring at the cream wall.

What a peculiar life you must lead in your head.

I tell you to lie down if you’re tired. ‘ It’s fine’ you tell me and I have to believe it is.

The music is reflecting off the wall, a sombre rhythm of its own.

You are unbelievably cute, you hate it when people say that to you, so I’m going to keep that in my heart.

With cigarette in one hand, I try to clear the bed hoping that you would sit next to me. But you stare at your fingers, that is okay too.

I almost put my ink pen inside my mouth instead of the cigarette. I laugh at myself. Life is funny.

I hope the smoke from my lungs reaches you, it’s a whimper for company.


[photo-source: the-bushido-code/tumblr]




Falling in love and all that.


[Photo Credit: Weronika Izdebska]

Falling in love with you again and again and again is my only obsession.

I’ve loved you and for that I’ve to suffer infinitely.

What is this warm feeling that is never receding in my heart  ?

Women like seasons have come, but the sight of you is the first drop of monsoon.

My heart aches and my eyes fill up every-time a memory of your touch breezes through my mind.

Oh, how much I yearn to touch your gentle dusky skin, plant kisses on your forearm.

Oh, how you become one with the wind and bring showers of yellow flowers to my windows, how the air delights in your presence and how the earth giggles with your timid footsteps.

Oh, how can I stop crying and smiling at the same time, when the thoughts about you flood my mind ? What is this feeling of being full and empty at the same time ? Is this love ? What is this wave of melancholic sadness that ebbs in my soul ? Is this love ?

My soul is still with you. When you walk by, oh, how it tries to prance back into my body . All I can do is whisper ‘stay at home’.

Letters to women I have loved.


Source : Pinterest


the very thought of you makes me warm. In this winter, you have become my hearth. You fill my heart with the warmth of a hot coffee mug in a rainy afternoon.

Your tresses like a gentle water fall makes my heart brood over like a summer cloud. The antics I do with you is nothing but to truly know you and paradoxically to forget you, for what is love but the constant evolution of the mystery of the other person ?

Under the cavern of stars and your jet black hair, while you were hovering my body reverberating with me inside you, I saw god. I became a Sufi dervish whirling on your navel.

And your body becomes fluid in my hands and all I do is recourse its path into the night.

The thirst for your lips is ever growing in me. Our home is underneath the stars, between the streets of wild moaning, in the alley of hickeys, near the junction of ejaculations.

There is not a single day this month I’ve not thought about you. Even when your hands stop talking, your eyes, your eyes.

I remember how we got lost in the seas of our pupils and how we swam back every time we drifted too far away.

Maybe we are lovers who are just not meant to be. All the music we shared will forever be in the mix tape of my soul and each time I hear your name, the far reach of your voice, the warmth of your touch,  I will press the play button of the cassette and perhaps we can dance yet again under the moonlight.

You will forever remain a song in my heart that I will refuse to sing.

Yours, always,




Hey, you ?


[ Illustration: Ritchelly Oliveira ]


I imagine you as a cloud drifting in my shirt pocket.

Not forming a relationship with you, will forever, be a pang of guilt and a small jug filled with relief.

You occupy my drunk-thoughts and lonely afternoons.

The cold comfort of your hugs, I shall never forget. The small corner, my home, in that infinitely big embrace. Where I opened the bottle filled with all my love, agony, pain and sadness like a champagne, uncorked.

I left some part of me in you, every time I hugged you.

If words could ever convey what they are meant to, know that I’m sending words in ships and planes to you all wrapped in the gifting paper of warm love. Every envelope enclosed with my kiss.

You occupy my soul and that’s all.


Stranger things.

Never kiss a stranger.
Strangers are just a puff of air, a momentary nausea.
Don’t kiss a stranger unless their thoughts and laughs are no longer strangers to you.
Fucking strangers at strange places.
You kiss her, you touch her and she heaves. While you’re furiously kissing her, momentarily (accidentally) you look into her eyes and you are staring at the vacuum blackness of her eyes.
I touch her body, never her soul.
You run your fingers on her body and there is no music.
A guilt ridden roller coaster.

My lips rush everywhere through her body for that one spot of intimacy so that I can feel home.

The inside of her mouth doesn’t have my salvation.

Emptiness. Stark emptiness.  Like a lonely naked child groping water in the river.

You know who.

My friend,

Memories like jelly fish are kissing my brain to be enveloped to your home.

The sunlight outside is not as shiny as your eyes. The folds of light kiss my forehand like you used to.

Life has been strange. Stranger than the new born grass in the fields of our mind. New shoes are bought but our feet remain the same.

As you slowly wade through the thoughts of life(stream), I hope you find an island.

When you finger through words, masturbate often to poetry.

Life will find you in so many ways, I hope you’re ready when it crashes in your face and say ” Hello, where have you been ?” .

Nourish her, she is your momentary god.

Between the lines of her forehead, I hope you find the meaning of life.



[Artwork: 신모래]

Sighed Mornings.

I don’t like mornings. The first thing after I wake up is to grope around for the brightness option, if only I could reduce to goddamn zero. There is too much light in the world anyway.

I woke up at 5:30 AM. I was frustrated and a bit annoyed. The buzz in my head, the radio searching for a frequency. I was really annoyed.

Seeing no possibility of further sleep, I stepped out from my bed. Sleep is my break between thoughts. I don’t have long breaks. Most of the times sleep squeezes itself into my body.

Feeling a bit romantic, I peered through the window. The faint noise of early mornings. The sunlight hadn’t kissed the morning dew yet.

I put on my shoes and stepped out in to the road. Like a rusty bicycle, my bones began to squeak when I started walking.

Sucking in the light morning air, I walked slowly, my mind slowly dying down. The morning rays were gently waking up the trees and flowers. The wind murmuring the secrets of the night to them. Trees, laughing. A few sparrows circled the shrubs.  There were little puddles everywhere . Little flies were floating in them gleefully.

The  newspaper vendor, smoking a cigarette, driving his old car , hurriedly shuffled away newspapers towards the verandas of houses. Multi-tasking.
I smiled a bit inside.

I could smell the cold dampness of the soil. The earth was wrapped in the blanket of wetness. Holding it ever so tightly to its chest. The sunshine was making the fog disappear, from my mind.

Near a small flower, I saw something nibbling away. A small brown puppy. It had perky ears like of a fox. I do not know who was more excited to see each other. We ran towards each other like forlorn lovers. He came near my legs and I patted him. He started leaning on his hind legs. His ears twitched with the breeze. We started walking together. He nibbled at plants and anything that moved, much to the displeasure of some flies. I stopped ,he came and hugged my legs.

I kept on walking, making my way through puddles. Reflections.

I bent down and rubbed under his ears. He closed his eyes. Nirvana.

The road bent towards my house. He came close and licked my foot. Then he ran back. He didn’t turn his head back, he didn’t give me the last look.

I sighed and let go of my breath.The sun shone brightly and I squinted.


[ Artwork by Aleia Murawski ]