That’s So Raven

petrified by its sheer hideousness
that flew across the block
only to sincerely land upon
the corner of our window space
for the nest of pigeons’ offspring
was evidently its go to prey

with the eyes mysteriously darker
than a new moon night
and an open beak attracting attention
with its loathsome caws
the cries of so-called common raven,
disturbingly villain-like
were about evoking whimpers
in the home of little birdlings

of being regarded as an evil omen
from ages and ages ago
and relevantly so, for its dripping negative conundrum
associating with all-things sorcery
hiding beneath the furry coat

its questionable size larger than
a usual crow’s and flapping wings
instilling horror among the civilised nestlings
and humans alike
frightened by the witchcraft
in a disguise of northern creature
sunset-reflecting barks and branches
shadowed like an eclipse

and as the appearance of dusky hour
and illuminating stars rose
camouflaging the terror of a being
so wildly monitoring the bird
now stepping closer to casually kill
a life with its dagger-like mouth

vigorously poking and piercing
the flesh within a fleeting second
spilled crimson on the earth,
each drop reasonably suffering to fall
with an ending so tragic for the wailing bird
residing now in after-life
mourning the loss dearly but none would sing a eulogy

Ruins

the shy colors of a dried plant by my window
withering away with the changing seasons
swaying in a blow of breeze nevertheless
while being perfectly dead, an art in itself
the iron rust around corners of the sill and
a high-pitched stutter of machine from outside
the cawing of crows in my neighborhood and
a broken mailbox standing alone but almost alive
still didn’t make for a situation more hideous
than mine on a friday afternoon singing along
to a tune of typical ache familiar to downing a shot
coincidentally enough, a shot or 5 were included too
with a top up of exactly five beers for breakfast
rather than my steaming hot cup of brew
appareling stopped making sense a week back
dwelling in the same comforting coal black
it was either the beauty sleep or solitary indulgence
and nothing quite in between
the existence of my ruins was speaking volume
in languages i hadn’t learned
screaming to be discarded by peeling layers off my skin
puking the old feelings out to consume healthy again
gagging on the tastelessness of past tales like a sin
what had become of me?
when did i go so down the hill?
to only ever feel remnants of yesteryears
nagging on me, biting on my brains and
in no way feeding my present
but boy does it feel like home
when the old habits die hard
either out of love or sheer resentment

Buy The Damn Sky

thermocol dream
in a loose satin attire
what good is wishful thinking?
glue it with a brown broken button
onto floating realism to be on par
would you still frown upon your star
for never being in your favour
or running out of charm
mindless wander around the corner
neglecting thoughts, avoiding tall trees
it’s a relief to be human
to be able to dream
let not your inhibition decide
the colour of your sky
let not other dreamers define
the pace of your flight

Friendly Shadow

an uninviting and rather consistent knock
disrupted my sleep at three twenty-four,
said it had important business to finish at
ungodly hours popping blue pills galore

with the out of proportion indulgence tonight
and purple hair frantically grown out of place
alarming my sense of being with its existence
almost as good as grotesque for a pretty face

i blurted out nevertheless
make yourself at home

and there we were again raising wine glasses
making celebratory toasts to our very lows
resisting the urge to make love, anxiety and i
spoke for hours at length until we doze


featured image by Morteza Yousefi

The Shut Doors

dipped in the pools of honey & spice
your inviting lips of rose were such a host
died a little death not once but twice
as you placed them on mine to raise a toast

now my sweet tooth grew to ache for you
but only to have the house burnt to ashes
and to turn my lips pale blue

of the salty air meshed with musk & wood
defining true smell of your earthy being
unfolding a saga only i understood
oh how you had me on my knees grieving

the distinctive notes began to engulf me whole
but only to chase & dodge within a crowd
losing its self from the very soul

crafted rather skilfully with a meticulous eye
your enchanting body put any art to shame
and any artist into an introspecting cry
out of our mere touch as the sparks aflame

your canvas was set to be my heavenly abode
but only to have you shut the door on me
and walk past the paved road

of pronounced charisma for personality
and aura resonating with the sound of beach
like our sand granules gave in to the clarity
of cosmic connection that’s never out of reach

with sand in my feet and sand in my hair
put my guard down for you, only to have you
laugh at my funny little despair

Selfish Lover

incessant strokes of yellow
drawn over my grimly deluded pages
that’s how you walked into my life with
gleaming afternoon rain for an appearance
remarkably spilling love out of your cages
a Chateau Margaux only getting
better by decades & ages

watching you watch me
through your red tinted glasses
presumably in a home-grown
rosy illusion of your own
oblivious to my tale of raging dark storm
terribly terrified of my icy heart and
a selfishly crooked image not shown

with the dreamy lustre in your eyes
and ever so charming smiles
would you have looked through
my constantly battling truth & lies?
the lethality of you ever knowing
ever stabbing into my freezing soul
made it look like an elegantly done vice

how did you sink so deep, my love?
it was only sometime ago that
you cushioned the aching with some gin
recovering from a sweet withdrawal of her skin
and now you’re drowning
gasping for light more than the air
granting you a little death as i walk by
almost letting you sniff my aphrodisiac hair

Sonnet At Sea

tinge of gold in the luminous sea waves
with a mix of white in his glistening heart
no wonder the common thread
kept engulfing us whole from the start

harmonising with a musical night at shore
our bodies stayed afloat singing the quiet lull
strings of cosmic dust held onto us
drifting to a slumber of paradisal cult

the frames of our stop-motioned notion
reflecting beneath the scintillating moon
demanding souls underneath our wet skins
to be kissed & touched & make love over dune

speaking quixotic hush & sweet nothings
to the cries of seas & waves that sings


inspired by the song – then i close my eyes by david gilmour //

Caffeinated & How

tone of the crackling biscuit breaking into my
realm rightly ruled by murk and melancholy
before another graceful dip in my glorified
yet sentimental cup of dark coffee

whilst spilling the thoughtful ink on canvas
painting him the blues of an articulated sonnet
that has silhouette for simile and an honest
attempt to understand ivory for irony

after one too many homemade cookies and
a sip after sip with the toffee smothered on lip
my mind traversed to picturesque places
of scenic colours and other planting a kiss
on the rose tattooed neck of my lover

savouring the last of sugar by raising a toast
to what remains as his last voicemail memory
and my lips knew again the taste of his voice
like it was the freshest wisp of reverie


Opposite Of Kiss

‘twas fall of ‘96 and perishing away with the leaves were my guards that i had let down only for another to let into my scripture

coining every phrase and word with intricacy, he had quite vividly taken me by surprise by imprisoning my mind like it was something he learned in his sacred art culture

luring into a place so privy with only a gleam of little or no space, he nevertheless budged an inch closer only to hear my notes speak

there were loud screaming words and an even high pitched fictional tales between the silent spaces of all that squeak

my pages were now seemingly emptier and they longed for him to spill the ink with his poetic pauses charming enough by its look

and gently resurrect my dead brown papers into a fresh fragrance of a newly bought book

the lasting sniff of his signature cologne lingers on my pages as if imprints of an unwritten law of forbidden love, my heart would unknowingly take a leap to its very bottom

an eventful dusk wherein two souls had learned their way to kiss through the cosmic dust in the little space, felt more of a season than the autumn


Tinted Cigarettes

it was with every wisp of smoke and the withering hope that i kept turning my aspiration to ashes

the sort of wreckage, i could put a stop on but would not

my lipstick tainted cigarette was now turning plural each day and more so

eloquently narrated stories in a language i would not speak

the apparent verbosity had now started to lack empathy

as i flickered the optimism like dust in the thin air

it daydreamed me into going back to an era and pave way for a havoc

that hadn’t finished business, said it was the right cynic thing to do

or was it really just a sweet formal invitation

to the shattering reality to visit and grant me a beautiful death yet again?

who is to say though, whether i was embracing or gambling the end of me

wasn’t it just a metaphor after all?