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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

Mostly a collection of my own writing works, poetry/songs, quotes i enjoy, occasional artwork etc.

It was our hands
That wrote the birds
Unto the earth
And cramping digits now
As they escape the light we gave –
Though from that light
To darkness they
With verve and wide of wing,
Now fly only to seek
To brighten their own way.

(Prompt: Bird in hand: Symbolism for captivity)

Bookishly

Rules: In a text post, list ten books that have stayed with you in some way. Don’t take but a few minutes, and don’t think too hard — they don’t have to be the “right” or “great” works, just the ones that have touched you. Tag [ten] friends, including me, so I’ll see…



I was tagged by wednesdayshambles . Thank you.

The ten books that have stayed with me for some reason or the other are as follows:

  1. The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
  2. When God Was A Rabbit - Sarah Winman
  3. Notes From The Underground - Fyodor Dostoevsky
  4. Slash - Slash
  5. Dubliners - James Joyce
  6. White Fang - Jack London
  7. The Gun Seller - Hugh Laurie
  8. The Wind Singer - William Nicholson
  9. If This Is A Man - Primo Levi
  10. Reheated Cabbage - Irvine Welsh


I tag: 

thoughts-unrehearsed
perfectionisodd
notjustcookies
lydiateasedale
lulu-llama
theglycoprotein
loqui
problem-with-average
lazlostrawberry
redeactivated

Musically

You can tell a lot about someone by the type of music they listen to. Hit shuffle on your ipod/phone/itunes/media player and write down the first 20 songs. Then pass this on to 10 people.

One rule: no skipping (tagged by thoughts-unrehearsed)

  1. Rain Street - The Pogues
  2. Habit - Pearl Jam
  3. Watch Her Disappear - Tom Waits
  4. Running - The Gits
  5. Ska Boss - The Skatalites
  6. Opheliac - Emilie Autumn
  7. The Trapeze Swinger - Iron & Wine
  8. I’m The Slime - Frank Zappa
  9. Refuge - Matisyahu
  10. Way To Blue - Nick Drake


(This turned out to be a brilliant playlist. Lucky shuffle.)

Tag! You’re it!:

youalonefilltheuniverse
wednesdayshambles
thatrandomgirl4389
alwaysthegrieve
the-gentlemen-caller
princessdaisy24
mermaidsbite
elf-maidenn
mikeyfer
lore-and-lies
le-pinard

I’m an All American Coffee Drinker personally, but I love the tone of this poem. Forgive the critique, and have a great day. :)
I suppose there is certainly an unspoken irony in the fact that I myself was sipping on a strong Turkish coffee as I wrote this. It was the sweetness that gave me the idea though so I’m not a complete fraud :P
Have a great day yourself.

<3 this
Thanks Navin. Have a good one.

The Tea Tastes Sweeter Today

Today the tea tastes sweeter -
Fresher air feels blessed and greets the
cautious blinks of eyes that seek the 
smoke of fires set along the beaches 
or the steam of over boiling kettles
but the baskets brim with petals of the 
trees that the flames could not reach
and settle them down
and let them float in cups of tea
and serve them across the whole country
and let them sit for an hour more
enjoying the perfumed brew of morn
and let no more sons or daughters fall
for the tea tastes sweeter today
and that is worth stopping fighting for.

Mother, I Am Coming Home Today

Mother, I am coming home today
   My last night here was brightly lit by fireworks that now have ceased to fill
   and fall in the night -
Son, you are coming home today
   And we will celebrate the silence with exchanged glances loud enough
   to shout the moon out of the sky -
Mother, I am coming home today
   The earth at my soles speaks of the strife I have known but still might be
   a blessing as the footprints point me home -
Son, you are coming home today
   And when the flag falls from the pole and the soul rises, the cries will
   guide you home and will each engrave a letter of your name upon the
   stone

Propaganda

I smile
As I murder my son
With 16 megapixels -
He smiles
As the shutter makes like rocket fire
But still does not wake the Gods - 
You will not remember
My name or my sins
But you will see where I have been 
And the picture will not remind you of
His name or his sins
But it will tell you what we did
And the way we chose to live -

Lies and fuel
For further lies still
The oldest enemy of peace:
Propaganda kills

Once A Word

Once we thought up a word

That ravaged the synapses, wrapped itself around the lobes and made a home in our minds

Once we wrote a word

That caused the digits clenched around the pen to crack and carved itself upon them too

Once we read a word 

That tensed and stretched the tendons in the eye and blinded us from the beauty of the waking day it made

Once we said a word

That stung the tongue to say and lingered bitter as scarred buds when winter came but always sweet of after-taste

And we were surely wounded by this word

But we remained unbroken

That word was peace

And the world has spoken.

Find a New Poet

I repeated 
Repeated the same words
Words in a different order
Ordered differently 
Differently enough to hope
Hopefully convince you
That I’ve changed -
I haven’t.
The meager poetry
Of a meager man
Can scarcely touch upon
The abstraction
Of the effervescent radiation
That from your soul
Emits warming rays
Harmful to the unprotected
And splays strands of intangible
                                   indefinable
                                   suffocating beauty
around the neck I stretch out for you - 
The neck I stretch out for you, around 
The differently ordered grammatically sound
Unprofound varying inflections and lexical 
Choices that such a meager man can not make -
I have not changed.
My words have not changed.
Find a new poet.

Brothers

I dreamed that we were brothers;
The earth had birthed us and we lay
With smiles that spread across oceans
As we played at war -
Our hands were bruised symmetrically
And scars from mother’s punishing
Spelled siblings in the closeness they displayed
And then I woke from that sleep -
I dreamed that we were brothers
Looking through the different ends
Of a telescope and barely able to tell
Whether the lens reflected my eye or yours
as we aimed for each other’s soul -
Then only a mirror divided us and we guided
Eyes away from our own judgement and shooting
Ancient bullets baring shared initials gifting the seven years of bad luck to our children
And then I woke from that sleep - 
I dreamed that we were brothers
Hip bones bent to touch through bloodied soil
Of the Earth that birthed us in which we now lay
And I can not wake from this eternal sleep -
Seven years passed and the last of the children to remain
Was laid to rest in a grave with no name
Atop that of another who died in the same fruitless vain
And then brothers clasped hands and cursed the shame of it all
As they played and prayed away their own sleep.