desert ground

like the summer snake

slithering across

bare dessert grounds,

I, shed scales;

thin slivers of skin

peppered throughout

trails of powdery grains.

etched prints, from men

who once thread

this path;




14/4: thoughts

what is of use, will eventually need to be replenished – should you wish for it’s existence to continue reigning, at your hand. your weekly grocery hauls at the farmer’s market, water for the luscious fern; sitting by your windowsill. the water kettle, left unheated overnight; should you require boiling water for your nightly cuppa. the blown bulb in your bathroom, warming the atmosphere with it’s ochre light.

all that has been touched, or simply left to be; evaporates with time. it is absolute wonder, how what remains unused, is thinned into steam; transversing bare seconds in the air. their purpose, begins to lose it’s opacity. layers shift and slide; combining themselves into luminous slabs. muscles, not exercised or maintained; begin to lose their strength. at rest, they knit and knot themselves into bundles. clasping themselves together a little tighter with passing days. it is, at times straining to latch unto a belief; that all impulses, co-exist with strict functions and intent. a plate, to eat from and utensils to eat with. art to be framed, and appreciated upon observation. thunder in a rainstorm, for geographical reasons. is an object, or an incident – ever there to simply; be.

i suppose, it might be the same with humanity and our experiences of pain, suffering, joy, resentment, fear, loss. does any emotion exist in it’s state; simply because it does? sure, these feelings stem from something larger; an experience in occurrence or having occurred. but – what is it that determines the internal formation of our reactive emotions? why do we feel the way we do, about certain circumstances; and differently about others. is it within our capability to, redirect this emotion into feeling another? it became clear to me over the years, it seemed unlikely and inhumane for one to feel joy in place of misery, in a situational loss. the way we are built to react, is dependent on the nature of circumstance. there are biological and medical reasons surely, and due to my limited knowledge of which; i should not delve into.

my reflections are based on a peep into our innate wiring. our spiritual development and building an inward attitude of acceptance, first for ourselves and gradually radiating outwards.



this moment

there was often an inkling; an old nagging feeling that my life was not being lived to it’s extremities – to it’s potential. i’d watch was others around me swung with sturdy grace from vine to vine. as they plunged their bodies off unknown cliffs; and gurgling water – they seemed so ready, to be swallowed whole.

people my age, they began settling into seemingly steady lives, with secure office jobs providing them with beyond their basic necessities. nestled in a cradle of warmth and comfort, there was little they seemed to lack. gowned with an array of garments fit for only the prime and proper. there was also the peculiar scent of pretence, they wore loosely around their necks. which made me wonder why; since everything on them had always been so well fitted, so flattering; moving across their every nook and cranny.

matters had never appeared more put together, than it did; on the surface. in sheer distance, the blurring of ideals wept into complete disillusion. at a glance, there was little to consider about a person apart from what we bore witness to. judgments secured, solely from one’s physical endowments, oblivious to any internal glitches.

how different our perceptions would be, if we knew the hidden parts of them; worn scars running down their insides. their journey to where they were, their brewing uncertainty for the future. their longing; what they pined for. their losses; their lives once shaken with unbearable grief. the dark bits of their soul, despite an outwardly expression of containment and content.

hold on to that desire of being awakened through this passage of time. our time on earth, is not infinite but certainly carefully measured by our maker. remain grounded in blind faith; of this sufficient span and your abilities and gifts, to make good of what there is. heed on, with a spirit of gratitude for all that is well and smooth. yet, do not attach yourself to these moments for they are passing as we speak. be here, for this moment. present, and awake.




wild call

the call of wilderness; an urge to be set free. dissatisfied with the mere shuffling of houses, not a place to be called home; but one that provokes within me the comfort of settlement. allowing things to simply be, as they are. to fall where they are strewn; decided upon a gentle toss up, into rippling air. before, they make a wild dash into permanence, soften your hands into a blooming lotus. wide, open and steady. ready for an awakening. no matter the pain you will deal for it’s arrival. your willingness and grit is a dear trait, definitive not of the outcome but essential, in moulding your experience of the suffering to come.

moist stone

it was as if all that began moist within me, hardened into steel. stone, jagged and rough around it’s edges. it’s surface was textured the same way gravelled roads were primed with blackened tar. thread thin cracks lined it’s body in long vertical strokes. some sliced through it’s horizon, as if dividing the space into separate territories. others were slightly more fluid, streaming across diagonal platforms as if spilled, as a result of careless movement. and it went on like this, gargling the broken bits of gore; the effort of spit and swallow bred itself into a repetitive cycle of expelling the unwanted. the grueling attempts at purging sin, ignoring the incessant whimpering of trolls. there was little space for escape, if any; a wink in the distance. an open-close interval of barely split seconds.

wide ocean

not sure why

or how it was, my

voice to speak clearly,

concisely of what hurt, and

what drove desire, within

me; was replaced, maybe

even lost – in the stacking of

grief, encasing hurt into

separate continents, as

they drift into wide

seas, pulled apart only

by the force of,

a great love – one

i’ve never known to


maternal flesh

in wild hope,

of remembering

you, in maternal

adoration – my

efforts are ripped

into shreds of

decaying flesh; at

the memory of your

violence – strewn

prints embark it’s

eternal stay; it’s

hiding place, beneath

my skin.



the age of you

I stay, as

time embodies

the creases

of your waning palm.

as crinkles frame your

sloping eyelids.

I remain, as

your mind falters, my

face translucent – a dream,