The tears
Seem to fall easier
Than before .
The constricting numbness of a throat
Trying not to cry
Is familiar.
A nightly friend.

The wave is always the same.

The sound is my heartbreaking.
One crack at a time.


Dulce et decorum est


Bright red blood

Oozes from wrists

Sliced open,

The sight is dizzying
As life makes its escape
In half hearted
In time with a dying heartbeat.

How befitting
That death doesn’t
Come with a bang
But sneaks up
As slowly
As the blood dripping from my veins

I miss you


Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

When I miss you
I text you
More than is necessary
I am a thorn in your side.

I’m annoying!
I drown you like a tidal wave
Of hot sticky emotions
That leave an after taste in my own mouth.

My feelings are not distasteful
But perhaps they are not ideal.

When I miss you
I need for the world to stop moving.
And rotate in the emptiness of my heart
As I convince myself
You miss me
You need me
You still want me.

When I miss you
I am crippled by petty feelings
A lack of strength.

But truthfully
I just want to be near you.



Do they have cake in heaven?

Because I think you deserve a party.

On earth they say you are late.

I say you missed your last birthday.

But did you have cake?

Did you stay the same age?

Or have you grown older?

Wiser in the light of God?

Do your eyes still crinkle

At the corners when you smile?

Is your smile permanent?

They told me it would be.

Do they have cake in heaven?

Because I think you deserve a party.

i carry your heart by e.e cummings

the carrier

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Conversations With Myself

“Do you ever think about the end?” she asks quietly.

“that’s morbid.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

“I don’t mean death. I mean us. How do you think we’ll break up?” her voice breaks. Tears spill over and roll onto the pillow. She does not wipe them away.

“I don’t know” he says woodenly.

“But is it inevitable?” she pushes relentlessly.

“Yes.” His hand no longer holds hers. The sheets are a sea of distance. Their hearts do not know each other anymore.

Pompeii – Sanctuary

WhatsApp Image 2017-10-09 at 12.47.47

Can you hear that?
It’s the sound of a dancing heart.

Can you hear that?
It’s the walls that are tumbling down,
Crashing into dust,
Pulling away
All the doubt
And casting away fear.

Do you feel it?
This heart, beating against your rib cage,
These hands
Holding onto yours,
The gravitational pull
When I look into your eyes
And get lost
In an endearing sea
Of affection.

Our love is a quiet love,
It lights up worlds in the dark
And runs to places
That only hearts can feel.

Our love is not explosive,
It implodes;
Creates earthquakes and tremors
Deep within me,
Deep within us.
It lights me up
From the inside out
Sets fire to the rain,
Gasoline and an ever so ready flame.

Aspirin and pain,
If I was cocaine
You’d be the shot,
Travelling up the tube,
And we dance
A running spark.
A running spark
Setting my emotions ablaze
Creating waves in vast oceans of our beings

Do you see me
Do you see the scars I bear?
Do you see the healing power ?

You have restored a heart,
That got to used to bleeding.
Happiness is me, coursing through my being
Running through my veins like blood
I feel my love spill over like a tsunami
I feel the hurricane of your love as you draw me closer
Tugging me so gently
Whispering all the words
That I needed to hear

Like a feather
I feel your embrace
Ever so light, ever so calm,
Be my guide
On a starry night
Constellations are the patterns of our love
And you are my true north.

Survivor’s Guilt – Sanctuary


 I’ll tell you the truth,
Its okay to call me selfish
But I am drowning
In this sea of tears
We cried together.
I was the first to pull on the lifeline
And I shouldn’t have survivor’s guilt
But I don’t want to leave you behind.

My heart is happier than its ever been.
But once before I saw no sunlight
I should be able to hand you a torch
But I’m using the light
To shine into the corners
Of my own heart
And sweep away the cobwebs.

I should throw you a rope,
But I’m using all my string
To hang up decorations,
I’d have sent you a box of matches
But I’ve used them all
To light the candles on my cake.

I don’t want to go back.
I don’t want to risk my first chance
At peace.
It might just be the last.

But I can’t leave you behind
And call it good faith.
I didn’t love you less,
I just loved me more.
And that’s selfish.

I don’t wanna sit in the dark.
But right now I haven’t got light
To spare.

I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be this person.
But when the worst comes to push and play,
How do I choose between me and you?
People are temporary and things change,
Nothing is static.

So who do I choose?
I’ll be truthful, I am being selfish this time.

My Ivory Tower is My #Sanctuary

rapunzel tower via pinterest

photo via Pinterest. 

You thought you could climb to the top
Of my ivory tower?
Oh honey,
Loving me
Is like the careful unwrapping of an onion
It consists of both
Equal parts
Patience and frustration
And if you’re not strong enough
You may end up tears.
Oh honey.

Did you think I was Rapunzel?
That I’d let my hair down,
And allow you to encroach
Into my private space
And set up camp?
Oh dear.

I am sitting in the middle of my sanctuary
But someone has left the door open,
And a cool breeze steals in.

Where there was warmth
And security
Even in solitude
Is now replaced
By the fear
Of pursuing something new.
You see, honey,
I was safe and secure,
I called the shots
And you took the bullets,
But now it’s time
That I hang my armour up

And fight without a shield.

The battlefield, this battlefield
Is not a plane
On which heroes fight and die,
It’s the narrow
Corridors and walkways
Of my mind.

Did you think I’d let you climb up
My ivory tower?

Oh honey, it seems we have a problem there.


red umbrella

Red Umbrella by carlosthe on deviantART

Today I missed you more than usual,
I missed your voice
I missed your presence.
Perhaps I should have
Expressed this better
But life comes at you fast
Like a speeding car
Hurtling down the side
Of a lonely windswept hill,
On what should have been a work trip.
In between your destination.
In between heaven and earth.

It’s been 12 years.
I sometimes hear the echo
Of your voice
Carried on the deep baritone
Of your son,
I sometimes hear your voice
Carried out in the sigh
Of Mom.
I sometimes hear your voice
As I breathe
And weep before I sleep.

It’s been 12 years.

I still feel the 9 year old confusion
Half believing you would come back home
Small eyes looking
But unseeing
Into a box that confined her hero
To stiff movements
And a half smile as if to say
It gets better than this.

It’s been 12 years.

You didn’t have the chance to see your sons
Become men
And your daughter don womanhood,
Or stand by your wife’s side
As she demonstrated
Unrivaled strength

I only had the chance to say
My daddy is my hero
Post mortem.

It’s been 12 very long years.
And it’ll be many more years ahead.

Today I miss you more than usual.

Enfin – the Mercury Tapes


photo via Pinterest.

Please don’t make me say I’m in love
Don’t pin me down
And make me look
Into your eyes
Because in them
I find a vast and lush

I can stop,
Let the atmosphere surround me
Fill me up
From the inside out
And purge myself of
Guilt and hurt.

I can reclaim my innocence
And offer it to you

I can take off my shoes
And allow you to see me,
I can hide behind a glass
And be a nobody.

I need this sanctuary,
Watered and cultivated
By the fibre of our beings

I find myself

Stripping off my clothes,
And laying bare and free
I put on freedom instead,
And let it encompass my body

I turn away from the rage
Of this broken world

And step into the tranquility
Of our personal shell.
Just you and I
Our bodies
Our auras
Intertwined and intermingling,
Creating a storm
In the middle of my being
And erupting in
Rosy pleasure.

Painting this once blank canvas
Floral hues
patterns of rainbows
And motifs of flowers.

My world has reduced
To this place
And we’ll explore
Every inch of it
Touch corners of our souls
That we didn’t know could exist
Breath air into lungs
That were before now
Caress and awaken
A carnal desire,
A deeper knowledge
A fuller taste
A better understanding of ourselves.
Of you and me
And us,
Dancing together
On these clay floors
Being separate
And yet being one

I allow myself to rest,
Deep in your garden.
My sanctuary

The Dream Collector: Beyond The Night


For the first time in my life, I woke up without feeling any pain. To my surprise, I could even stand up. And I walked into the outer room of the hut. The sunlight streamed through the windows, flooding the small house with warmth. Unsurprisingly, The Oracle was already at home. My mother sat coldly on the other side of the room, and interestingly enough, my father was around. He looked at me, with eyes filled with a plethora of emotion. Half pride, half a deep sadness.
“My son,” he said, coming forward. He held in his arms, and for a moment I was the little boy that used to play on the banks of the river, before everything changed.
The moment passed briefly, and I was back to being the perpetually sick young man. I sighed audibly. The Oracle stood up and signaled for me to follow me. I grasped my father’s hands and looked him solemnly in the eye.
He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped halfway, leaving the moment thick with suspense and unsaid words.
I followed the Oracle, who walked really fast for someone of his age. He swooped through the village, striking the ground with his staff to shoo young children out the way. Most of the older kids would scurry away fearfully, trying to avoid the wrath of the oldest man in the village. Before long, we had reached the end of the village. There were two large huts and one incredibly tiny one. The Shaman stood in front of the small hut, his long robes billowing gently in the wind.
“Welcome son,” he said brightly. The Oracle scoffed and disappeared into one of the larger huts.
“There’s a cleansing ritual you need to go through.” The Shaman explained, gesturing towards the small hut. “The Last Day of The Year falls in two days, so it’s imperative that this is done.”
“What happens if I don’t?” I asked curiously.
“The weight of your own dreams will be too heavy for you to bear, how will you carry the hopes and fears of others?”
I thought back to all the nightmares I had before, fearing that each of the monsters in my head would manifest physically.

Out of nowhere, the Oracle loomed behind me and pushed me violently into the tiny dark hut. I tumbled headlong into the confined space and took a few minutes to sort out my bearings.
When I’d finally distinguished up from down, I sat. The first thing I thought of was home. It made me sad to realize that the only thing I knew about home was my bed by the little window, watching the villagers go past, living lives in which they were fully independent. The next thing I thought of was my father. I was somewhat amazed to find that we were the same height. My legs didn’t work the way they should have, but they reached the length they were supposed to. Perhaps they would become even longer. I couldn’t tell. I remembered the calloused grip of my father’s hands. Hands that never taught me anything, but to cover my mouth when I cough and to clap my gratitude for small kindnesses. My father nurtured my mind though. He helped me stretch my imagination far beyond my legs that didn’t work and out of the small window. My imagination stretched further than the river and far beyond the mountains. I often dreamt of a country, where of course I was fully well, that I roamed and called my own. I wasn’t a fisher man however, I was a farmer. Or maybe even a scribe or a student of law. I could anything.

As time drew on, I became accustomed to the dark. The time seemed to stretch forever, and I was beginning to wonder of the Last Day of The Year had come at all.

After a very long time, a sliver of light shine through a small gap in the darkness. I squinted at it, as I watched it grow larger before it was momentarily blocked by a small figure. I felt a wizened hand grab mine in the half dark and I realized it was the Oracle.

“Do you want me to follow you?” I asked the Oracle. The Oracle scoffed softly and I realized with embarrassment that he couldn’t talk. “I.. I’m sorry, I..I didn’t think.” I stammered hurriedly.
“As a matter of fact,” the Oracle said, ” I do want you to follow me. Just not right now.”

“wait,” I was awestruck. “You can talk?”
This time the Oracle laughed. It was a deep laugh.
“Of course I can, I just choose not to.” His voice was gravelly and his breath laboured. He spoke slowly as if each word was precious, and he had to weigh them all out.
“You’ve done well, my son.” He said. Even in the half dark, I could hear the earnestness in his voice
“All I did was sit the dark,” I chuckled.
“For two days, alone with all your thoughts. Many wouldn’t have lasted.”
“It’s the Last Day of the Year?” I felt my heart fall. A very small part of me had hoped it was all a joke but a stronger part of me knew it was as real as life itself.
“We must go now.” The Oracle said. The hut was plunged momentarily into darkness once more and then flooded with glorious sunshine.

I crawled out the hut and stepped out into the light. Judging by the weak rays of the sun, it was still early morning. The town was already decorated with bright streamers on the huts. The women set out all their lanterns and were polishing and shining them one last time, before they put their festive candles in. The young girls were all in the midst of cooking one thing or another, the air was thick with the aroma of baking cakes and frying chickens. The young men did not go fishing on this day, they instead mended their nets and roasted the fish they had caught the day before. But all these were just a backdrop. For me, the dream catchers stood out starkly. Fluttering unassumingly on the porches of homes, heavy and weighed down by the dreams and hopes of all the town.

The Shaman strode out to meet me. He wore a huge smile on his face, and clapped my back heartily. “Get ready, the festival will begin soon,” he smiled at me, before steering me in the direction of their bathroom. Two days in a hot hut can make you smell quite funky.

After cleaning myself up, the Shaman and Oracle led me to where the festivities were being held. before everyone cleared off into their houses to close off the year, the whole village came together in the village square. food was passed around, the young ladies danced and for the afternoon, the village was happy. Eyes passed over me unassumingly. It was the first festival I had attended in years. Most people did not even recognize me. Presently, the Shaman stood up. Silence settled unevenly over the crowd. Finally as the last baby was cooed gently to quietude, the Shaman begun to tell stories. He weaved worlds with his words, constructed dreams and restructured nightmares. He spoke into existence our history and it almost seemed as if the characters in his accounts were alive and walking amongst us. Then he went silent. A chilly wind rippled through the crowd, and a sombre silence, as dense and heavy as death.

“We must go now.” the Shaman said shakily. He cleared his throat and said in a stronger voice. ” Hang out your dream catchers, for we can not move forward with the weight of the past holding us back. We remember, but we do not dwell.”

Perhaps my eyes were playing tricks on me, but suddenly the sky seemed a bit darker. Mothers scooped their infants up and scolded the ones that lagged behind. Fathers held onto their daughters hands and guided the steps of their wives. In no time, the village square was empty once more. The winds picked up speed and the temperatures dropped.

The Oracle turned towards me and put his wizened hands on my shoulder. “Your hour has come.”