Standing by Believing

I stood by you
through thick and thin
gave you my soul
amidst all this external din

shielded you from the daggers and slices
attracted by views
that we’re engaged in pure vices
from both our families of hawk’s’ and mice’s


Oh sickening spirit.. Leave me.. I beseech thee.

I see a spirit so independent and true,Fighting within fortunes so similar

A life path through the challenging bush,

But dissimilar too, the essence of our awkward roots,

a legacy that we inhabit,

yet to given

To be seen to take fruit.
This wandering mind,

anguishing in hells your imagination could barely reside in,

Your powerful strides strapped to an ever-questioning mind, dissatisfied by seemingly having nothing good to find.

Our certainties gone, withered and lost, the day we forsook thankfulness, gave up the greatest gift given by God, this here our deep love.

That now flows ever-present, causing doubtfulness and depression,
As we work, in wakefulness without the others presence.

Incapable to come to terms with our shattered brittle spirits.

To you your road and me my own.
One should have learned by now,

There can never be a companion on this sickeningly septic journey, in which even an 11-year old me has been,

But whose horrors you have neither heard of nor seen.

Goodbye my love. Goodbye my dream.

As I always said you must leave me.

An ode to a lost love

I cannot seem to escape thee

Your majesty compels me

My root fixated in being with you,

Fibre-optic news of your being blowing upon every breeze,

I remain forever frozen unsure of what to do,

Head down, fangs snarled, head pumping,

running for eternal coverings,

picky as I sit confused in quagmires, unwilling to accept willingly shared offerings,

Undaring to dream of countless substitute hauntings,

Uncaring as I spend unknown hours inflicting slow suffering,

Undoing the work of these past months faring,

As my head turns and yearns in a direction I lost,

I’m broken and alone,

With no chance of igniting you to bring me home,

You’ve moved on like a bejewelled whore,

Words and sweet love were never your goal,

I am cast ashore,

Head bursting from this great fall,

I await patiently my next opened door,

Crippled with unproductive, unusable hope,

awaiting to be turned onto passion-filled lifetimes,

Heady lifelines,

anxiously enticing my spent imagination,

As I wonder who you go a-courting,

My love surrounded by owners of a thousand shirt-tails.

This week’s lesson: Know and Respect yourself

Sometimes you have to learn that you’re working on something bigger than yourself. The world. And the ones who know and understand, are the ones who will stick around. After all what else do you need but that?

My internal thoughts to myself.. as I struggle with shedding the overly-empathic and supportive self. I’ve helped many people get the life and careers, or loves and support that they needed. This is and was my year to help myself. But I’m becoming my own worst enemy. Sometimes the cuddly beast within me has to be caged for her own good. Ruthless may not by a trait that is instilled, but being one’s own jailer is the best way to get further in the game.. to respect yourself and your intellect enough to get to where you want to be. Where you see yourself living you’re own little, pleasant, love-filled dream..
Fuck the world and the distractions they upkeep to disable you ever being truly free right? Also, sometimes the most well-meaning of friends and love, can help create or co-create the cells that enchain your promise and your skills needed to make a great change for this world, while we roam it for such an ever-short time.

Love stories

Oh! To get lost in others’ stories again,
of love and loss constantly reimagined,
reasons to feel,
empathy to seep,
Through to my very bones,
As I pictures me in that love,
that Home,
tears flutter under these external shutters,
layered over a simmering flame,
that only finds written reasons to feel again,
weeping inconsolably,
as this wretched life touches me,
the physicality of sweet beast,
wrench all love,
all hope,
all trust,
all homes,
ripping out that love that settled in so fast, so fateful, so free.

I hope you see. This is not me. Here is no here, just an accursed “free”.
This road winds down ever so steeply.
I wish. I plead. I please. I need.

Let’s keep playing..

Longing and regrets,
intermingled with love and trust,
that Hope, that Touch,
just you, just me,
playing at Us,
Why do games end?
On whose score do we depend?
Fickleness is staying to speed,
Allowing the screen to freeze,
Afraid of testing our frailties,
Surely bravery is in accomplishing all feats.
Learning to trust instinct,
Not only that which is seen,
Honing quick reflexes,
as we play through each scene,
Challenging the better in our corresponding sexes.
Honouring the commitment we make,
To our combining hearts, souls and play.

No end..

The kind of night that knows no end,

The bitter northern winds howl,

like the devilish hounds that have pushed us to the brink.

unsure of what exists and what is to begin,

where we’ll be be led and what will be got rid,

What will leave and what will be eradicated in this din.

Here’s hoping that no harm comes forth in our midst,

though harsh and selfishly I cry,

At the plight that touches not this,

Allowed to warble self-pityingly about some external, self-absorbent shit.

All the while wishing against wish that I could but hold my love, to kno that I am mine and he his, but that some holy force blesses that union before the world crumbles into mist.

#NaBloPoMo #25: My impatience caught up to it’s conscience, again.

For now here’s some poetry what I wrote on 23/11/15 when I should have been asleep, in wee hours of morning, as I lay visiting an old site of comparison and worth, put on a pedestal to keep allowing myself to hurt;

Instant electric attraction we had,
From the moment that our eyes clapped,
Minds met, thoughts kept, hands felt, lips licked, love flicked,
Soulmates’ kiss.

Hours flew, you met me, I knew you,
You grew, me too,
Love gathered, looming large,
It slew the me and the you,
Outside in this our ‘samage’*

We. That’s all that it was,
Simplicity with no external worth,
Internal cuts of self-hurt.

Sparkly loves eyes lost that bright hue,

The spark,

The gas pipe was broken, no plumber, no electrician did we know,
No hope was entertained no stopper for death’s croak…

As artificial sparks were entertained,
The fluorescence of lust came to slay,
As you chucked love into its grave,
the one I dug gleefully as I struggled to with tools brought to save, selfish.

Selfishly I craved,
but naively with no idea what I made,
The We I help us negate,
the Darkness that lovers spark can create..

The hurricanse, the tsunamis it can keep at bay,
The strenght needed to be selfish,
To pray,
Coupled together,
Doubled forever,
Entertain no other,
Making space for only each other,
Our true souls lovers,
Marked by that first spark,
but needing constant paraffin so no lustful depravity can be let in…

Like that surrounding us on separate roads as we follow the world’s din.

I know this now, too late,
My impatience caught up to it’s conscience again.

Sat opposite yet another pale imitative comparison,
I wonder if your faith in our unequal separation is still so persistent?
Or at you at that peace,
the one with waves,
of constant reticence and hesitation,
Coupled with a impulsive fervour,
the addictive need to fuck it and jump in.

Anxiety breeds misinformed misdeeds,
but I am not a me in need,
as you are a you,
who knows what you see, feel, need.
Not now, Not me.
– Not now me.


*Samage – urdu/punjabi word meaning society/community/zietgeist


#NaBloPoMo #24:

So feel like I’m falling behind a little. Plans not working out. Cold not helping. Wonder if I’m cut out for this climate and locality, or even I’m even staying true to myself.

It was lovely to chat to lots of diverse people yesterday, but especially old friends who as Tom Stock’s poetry says “Came from all corners, and I know I was loved” (I paraphrase)

That didn’t help me from having crippling self-realisation, resolve and then abandonment of said resolve. I know I’m reckless and I wonder if I’m enjoying my newfound recklessness a bit too much. Especially considering that this is the year I should point my soul towards betterment and self. I wonder why we as people do this? I wonder why I do this? Why am I obsessed to root out different people and places? Different conversations? Alternative areas of love and communication? But also old past arenas of growth, ripe for torturing re-evaluation?!

As you can tell I do not have any answers yet, though I hope to think on solving this problem of mine.

NaBloPoMo #16 – Why no #12- #14

So… I was a bad unproductive person. Online that is. For the last 4 nights.

There is no excuse big enough for dropping out, because as someone says “If something is important enough you make time for it!” . Therefore, I guess, using that logic I deemed me, my online persona/career-building and my writing less important than what was happing around me. This is in-excusable really.

So this is just a post to say “SHIT!” and “I’m sorry” – which is just my Englishness coming through, because in all honesty I’m not *that* sorry. But still, convention dictates I must say these two words a million times a day, not only because I am English, but because I’m British. I’m a woman. I’m a woman of colour. I’m working class. I have a confusing, inter-linked, inter-sectional identity that is hard to find out there in the world. So if I don’t say these words, I won’t be able to get any better. I won’t be able to learn from my mistakes. I will never learn to associate this shame for letting myself and others like me down and this shame to something greater. So that should I ever stop or think I am going to fail in the tasks I set myself, I am then reminded of this frankly annoying and unproductive bit of writing that I MUST do.

The reason I say must is because I have been reading more of Bickham’s “The 38 Most Common Fiction Writing Mistakes (And how to avoid them)” . In his book or published wisdom, he has set this task of simply writing a big sorry letter to oneself explaining why you failed in writing everyday / every week whatever time limit you have set yourself. Not only so you can identify common themes that may need to be addressed in your life, but also so that you learn that simply forgetting to write, or thinking you shouldn’t write due to lack of inspiration or whatever excuse we all fling up, doesn’t mean you don’t write. If anything you keep writing. You must. Even if it is utter crap, or cathartic meandering as this post is fast becoming. So that the skill is kept honed in. I liken it to those evenings when you think – “Nah I don’t wanna cook”, but you end up doing everything around the cooking process, plating, washing-up, clearing, spending time ordering and thinking of taste combinations, flavouring, what you have in the fridge or cupboard that may go with it. If anything having a cheeky lazy “No cook dinner” evening is anything but de-stressful. Though, maybe that is simply a personal response from someone who admittedly is a bit compulsive or obsessive when it comes to planning.

That’s another thing. So I guess I don’t need to mention. It has been a melancholic weekend right. Not only that it was a bittersweet weekend for me. I had an old friend – my bestie over, I then went out with two of my bestest friends and a bunch of new friends. I attended the cool Though Bubble comic convention with a weekend pass that I will no doubt return to next year in an adjacent city. But well, I guess I haven’t really come to terms with how I am feeling personally or politically. I know there is no compulsion from anyone for me to sort that out. But I feel compelled to do so, for myself.

A crazy road lays ahead. One I know I will stalk individually but not alone. My only hope is that there is more thought, more reflection, more communication than ill-informed actions.

#Peace #Love #Contentment and #Appreciation of Humanity and your loved ones. Also #Hashtag – Coz seriously that is jokes!

( I don’t know why I ended talking like that. I’m afraid my brain is still a bit emotionally frazzled)