In the fabric of time exists
moonlit seas of happenstance
and rose-scented memories
sewed in with golden beads
but it seems to me that life has found a way,
to sew in worn-out frayed threads,
that have lost their silky reflection

yet you,
with your resilient skin
found a way to make
embroidered mosaics of colour
out of the dissonance between good and bad

Shades of burnt orange and saffron
in clusters between the clouds,
the coolness of the atmosphere
brought ease to my swollen eyes
the bitterness on my tongue washed away
as if caramel was poured into the sky,
sweetness inhabited my lungs
and I uttered...

سُبْحَانَ الله

She glides past vendors of fried food as her bare feet skid across the muddy gravel. The pain of the gliding thread left behind with her shoes. A toothy grin and a joyous laugh switch phases like a sound wave as her eyes follow the kite carrying all her dreams.

Two withering souls
Lost in downtown fog
With their stories written in neon lights
And their destinies tied together
Gazing at each other
Through the reflection
Of blazing streetlights
In hidden puddles
Scattered around vacant parking lots
Dancing like ghosts
With honey on their tongues
A million longing words
Without ever uttering one
A sleeping city tells their tale
Of a longing moon and a loving sun

Your heartbeat is caught in a thunderstorm,
You run with a broken umbrella away from winds
That chase you with the hopes to carry you home,
And every time lightening strikes, you realize,
the darkness is only a disguise


The light is closer than it seems

A savoury taste lingers on the sailor’s tongue,
As he reaches out into the angry waves
To pull the moonlight from it’s rays
And winds its threads around a spool
Through the night he stays awake
Rapidly sewing together his dreams
He finds himself searching for a lighthouse built from his insecurities

But a fluorescent light dances above,
Far beyond a silver lining,
Left behind by a frozen voice
Of a past self lost in the eye of a hurricane.

“How do you feel?” I ask again. I, knowing the answer, poke my head into the lion's den. I feel the ghost of your frustrations floating about in the confined space. It haunts the room as our shadows strangle each other.

“What is the opposite of homesick?“ You ask.

“Homesick, ” I answer.