Wednesday, October 10, 2018

Two Haiku


A white moon dreams of
The black night only to fall
For the clear grey lake.

a flower

does a flower live
in fear of wind, or to catch
its escaping scent?

Sunday, August 19, 2018

An Update

The abandonment of this space does not mean that I have given up writing - for good, or bad. To an extent, I have no need for this "healing". On another hand, I have more than adequate space to write - facebook, a simple notebook. To talk. To myself. To no-one in particular. I only need myself. To talk myself, after all. Perhaps, I just write out of habit, a little out of ambition.

Where is the poem I want to write? I am still searching. Within myself. Outside myself. It does not matter where it comes. I am a whore.  A writer is a whore. You will realise, at one point or another. You are pursuing the beauty of words, not of feelings.


I come here, to this space, to fill up an emptiness...


The sky tells me about her emptiness
I can only stare at, wary
of her tears. 

The sky tells me about her beautiful dreams
I can only watch, amazed,
beyond my reach.
Sky, what you do not know is  your courage.
Cry you may, shine you will
through darkest clouds.

Saturday, March 31, 2018

A Few Poems


Must you scream hard to
be heard? Or a soft wall of
heart is required?

A Tree

A tree ties the sky down.
Its loneliness refuses
to let the vast emptiness go.

To Myself on My Deathbed

Congratulation! Your past
Is coming to an end! Yes,
The future is no longer
Important! So enjoy
The present!


Please carry your words light.
They will travel to world's end
Borne by amused wind.


Words stand like rough trees
slow winds circling secrets
buried in dark soil.


Regrettably, the wind howls
like my heart and like my heart
it hides. It wishes for power
of invisibility. But then the rain
pours like tears.

Heliotropism: Lesson from the Sunflowers

Common sense: doesn't it
always work? You glare
back at the one who glare
at you. He is bigger, much
bigger, high up there. Still, you move
closer, with him, the protector
of light - he can knock the light
out of you. You will grow and shine,
shine and grow. Try not to turn
yourself into flame.

Wednesday, January 17, 2018

still breathing

still breathing

not stealing the sun's gold leg-
less sheeps engraving a blue flag
sky grow smaller, smaller
same old song same old
wind sings
birds disappear
into tree find a home
in my chest
each stir catches
a string I never knew

Friday, January 12, 2018

Of Whore, Of Darkness...


I am a whore, you blow
one night like a little boat
into my ear, only
for you. Darkness closes
deepest like our skins.

You breathe, you really
breathe, I hiss.
The snake my arms
skim around you

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

Still Writing...

What I like about this space: the anonymity. I just write what I want to write, without any danger of criticism - I have a fragile heart/ego, you feel, not see.

Years Passing

angry with the years
passing not revealing
till now how little i know
even now i don't know
what they will know
but what i should have known:
a balding head may shine
does not make clarity
on truths


Father once said, don't
say you are nothing,

you are everything
like me. Ice cubes

thundered to meet
prune lips. Eyeballs

rowed away in dreamy
mist. Leaving me

an ice statue
quietly cracking.

P.S.: I surprised myself with the ending. Not entirely satisfied with the end-product - can't find a better phrase than "prune lips", "Eyeballs" only works because it rhymes with "Ice" - but I am, after all, a WIP.

4 am

a night bird waves
his pipe like hands
conductor of the dark
silence is the musicians
the world tiptoes closer
to its end
i am the last man.

P.S.:  I think I took half an hour to edit this again and again....

Monday, January 01, 2018



what is this nail clenching, not part
of, my chest? Cold, biting as truth
suddenly open to eyes still close.
Is this your hand leaving the broken house
of my hand? Why does the warmth
on your lips stay? And when will this nail
part its pain?

first day

Dear Blog, please don't complain that I am just planting wrinkles on your face. You already have your own worries, I know. And I have my own mistress. Let's call it even?
on the first day

lost in a crackle of flames,
a circle of rainbow*, bow
to a few lumps of brown mud
floating like the year passed,
almost forgotten to be flushed.

*"A crackle of flames, A Circle of Rainbow" - Selected poems from Mohamed Latiff Mohamed
P.S.: What is the value of the past, after digestion that is, when it is the present that matters?
I almost gave up writing. In response in an online forum which triggers memories of struggle and self-doubts, I re-write my past (literally) and fortify my determination. Just enjoy playing with words, I wrote, playing with words.