The pigeons croon in the streets
Old lullabies from distant places
and the crows fight for their morsels under
plastic chairs and baking heat
And home is where the heat settles
Like yellow from angsana trees
next to office workers,
feet tapping to traffic light beeps
There are gods and goddesses in the things we invent:
Next day home delivery and good luck rituals
Clinking of coins in donation drive tins
with the tumps of children’s football out in artificial fields
The stars are replaced with skyscrapers
The mountains have turned into factories
The sea is a port for metal and money
The land just a journey to complete
But we’ll remember our lullabies
through our lit screens and static recordings
We’ll hum what the stones have seen
and where the waters came from
For the birds in the sky say koel,
and the roosters still run on concrete
And in every crack in the wall
we find DNA from our history
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 4:39 PM UTC
The machines imagine themselves as fish
Throwing against the upwards river dream
Gold and malleable
Iron and corroded
The dragon kings cheer
For their perpetual struggle
Throwing them insects and the like
Trading off gossip and snake wine
Gods laugh when animals learn to speak
When the carp fill their gills
Yearning for the surface
And the sky for their praise
They swim headfirst into flying
Imagine that
Above the golden gates
And crashing into reality
Mar 11
Mar 11, 2026 at 2:49 PM UTC
Flying felt more like falling fast,
from the sea into the quiet sky.
Terror like fish broken from a swarm,
exhilaration like a swallow dodging from teeth.
Next, I run blind through broken hallways,
with moss lined brick walls, and mist covered panes.
Echos chase me from dead end to stairwell,
a maze embedded into a hunting ring.
Finally, the rooster crows, the sun like a melody,
tears dry from my eyes, air a pillow on my face.
I reach out, reverent with frigid hands,
I’ve travelled far, I wish to be free.
Then I wake with a start, dream fading fast.
Nothing remembered, nothing achieved.
Except a faint feeling of loss within,
like snow in a torrent stream.
Feb 24
Feb 24, 2026 at 1:08 PM UTC
I am
a collapsing moment—
the inhale before the truth lands.
The hush in the room
before someone breaks.
I am many a mickle
that made a muckle.
Small choices, tiny sparks,
scattered pieces
stitched into something
intricate.
Clever.
Quietly powerful.
I am willow-soft
and storm-shaped.
Bending
but rooted.
I weep when I need to.
Then I rise—
always differently than before.
I am crow-wise—
watchful, unblinking,
gathering what others drop:
lost things, sharp things, shiny truths.
I speak in symbols
and I speak in spirals.
I don’t walk straight lines
because the answers aren’t there.
I am octopus-minded.
I shift.
I solve.
I wrap myself around the moment
and feel it from all sides.
I live in the in-between—
between what was
and what’s becoming.
I am playful.
Don’t mistake that.
Play is holy to me.
It’s how I fight,
how I heal,
how I transmute.
I am moonlit and moody,
lit from within,
especially when the world turns dark.
Give me wind and mood lighting.
Give me thunder and space to breathe.
Give me dandelions
when no one’s watching.
I am a way finder—
not with maps,
but with language.
I follow kerning like constellations.
I trust the space
between the words
as much as the words themselves.
Thresholds are sacred.
The moment before the yes.
The breath before the no.
The choice that changes everything
but seems so small
you almost miss it.
But I don’t miss much.
I am not a victim.
I have bled.
I have bent.
But I name the storm
and I ride it.
I don’t just survive.
I reshape.
I reclaim.
I write my name in the wind
and dare it to forget me.
I am.
And that
is not an apology.
Feb 3
Feb 3, 2026 at 5:22 AM UTC
We learn truth from glossy pages
and history from yellowed ones
The mouth of man can never be trusted
and the eyes of the mass will never be true
How do we look beyond
our scrying crystal screen
Suffering from long distance sympathy
and rose-tinted apathy
The sun sets on every horizon
and the media men pack their scripts
It has happened before, it will happen again
and I don’t know where on the line I’m standing in
Jan 31
Jan 31, 2026 at 2:17 PM UTC
I spend my days
Like living pay check to pay check
Waiting to wake in the morning
And waiting to leave when it’s dusk
The old rabbit is still alive
Grumpy and with cataracts
If he dies this year, maybe I’ll grow up
Under my paid rooftop
My time passes with checkups as bench marks
Trickling closer by the generation
Clinic reports and hospice visits
Everyone seems to need it
And there’s in a limbo between my first internship
And my sister’s first job
Where we’re put up for auction for
LinkedIn stuffing and summer money
I mourn the heralding of a driver’s license
And the distant battle for the car
For my father loathes to see a dent
But my mother cannot walk far
But can’t I dream
Sandcastles in the backseat
Just one ride longer
Before I’m the chauffeur in the rainfall
For the rabbit grows old
And the dog is next
And my childhood is laid to rest
Jan 10
Jan 10, 2026 at 5:25 AM UTC
my mother washed the same steel plate
until it lost its reflection.
I watched her hands—
pruned, patient,
circling the same surface
until the metal couldn't hold her face.
the gas ran out while the soap was still foaming.
soap, and the luxury of apathy,
are privileges:
who gets to not care,
who gets to finish washing.
Jan 10
Jan 10, 2026 at 5:14 AM UTC
It’s the mosquito in my ear
begging and begging and begging
To finally die as I hold its wings
and it gorges herself on blood
It’s an excuse
A facade
There’s an itch in my jaws
and a lump in my bones
and I’ll keep scratching into viscera
Citing bites and weather and dengue fever
We’re sick sick sick to the core
Mundane and boring and normal
I’m sick sick sick of walking
And never dreaming about more
I better ace that interview
I better ace that interview
I’m never better than I think I am
I better ace that interview
Riddle me this oh superstar
What do you do when you lose your car
When you’re left with both feet deep in a ditch
When you never even left the start
My paint only dries when I’m all alone
The varnish only yellows when I talk
The only hands I hold are the ones on a clock
With my glass slipper crushed on the rocks
Apr 25, 2025
Apr 25, 2025 at 2:37 PM UTC
The metal streets whir
And the buildings creaks with the shuffling of gears
Progress and movement pumped with hydraulics
Steadily compressing us into a cube of 1s and 0s
But here I will sit in the centre
Palms pressing into the walls
hunched over a children’s book
First key to my world,
First window to my mind
These pages folded into Prometheus
From spark to fire to light
Those podium sitting,
silver-eyed,
shadow-head figures
Look through binoculars searching for
Secrets in their numbers and passwords in their data
But here in my shoebox observatory
I will hold the library of Alexandria
And I will not let the future burn again
Sep 29, 2024
Sep 29, 2024 at 9:04 AM UTC
Standing in the blue light
Visible for all but eyes
I’ve got ghosts that take my place for me
Golden dust when sun goes low
Sifting through the air and snow
Don’t forget me when I never show
You’ll know when I come home
I’ve got things I have to do
***** dishes, ***** shoes
These bleached hands are not meant
for you
This blood, these veins
I’ve traded it all off for
Grand escapes
Can you tell I’m making it up
each day?
It’s too late to say that I’m not
the same
Go ahead, pull the trigger
This is bigger than us both
Even if it’s just beginning
There’d be meaning in it too
I’ve made my bed
Will the world sleep in it?
Even if you’re late
Can you say that it looks pretty?
Mongrel in an alleyway
Bleeding but I’ll never say
You’re the snow I stain my virtues on
Skin me like an animal
Gentle hands and carved out bones
Will you still smile when you see my ghost?
Only you’ll know when I’m home
Sep 26, 2024
Sep 26, 2024 at 12:47 PM UTC