There was a gentle nothing floating
A god came along and, upon not seeing the calm nothing,
conjured it into being.
The nothing (now named Yulserf)
looked to the god and asked
"why have you created me, you wretched power"

The God was offended by this question
and simply answered
"I have done nothing more than make you whole, so you may exist as is so"

Yulserf cried for three hundred days and three hundred nights,
for he had not wanted to exist
but was.
Finally, the God came back
to Yulserf's sobbing, and relented.
And so, the happy nothing did as nothings do,
and didn't.

The entwining fingers,
A wordless exchange.
Quiet companionship,
Like cats on a
Moonlit balcony

If I could give first place
Winner of the race
You would be the winner in my heart
Take the big red ribbon of my affection
A piece to hang over your mantelpiece
A reminder
Of the hope you give to me
Everyday struggles have no place against your
Calm smiles
And all while
You face your own demons
Lurking by the elephant in the room
Yet you keep smiling
By the by

The sky cried frozen dreams
That Friday afternoon
I dozed in the crisp winter air
That Friday afternoon
Mind dancing higher than the sun
Enjoying that magical midday moment

The sky was alive with a serene chaos
A sweet pain
That Friday afternoon
I wandered through the gentle folds of imagination
A feeble attempt to escape
To forget the world
That Friday afternoon

Skimming oceans
Grazing clouds
searching for a place to stop
A place to watch them
That Friday afternoon
I will skip through the months
leap through leap years to find you
That Friday afternoon

If we meet
Cold breath and warm smiles
That Friday afternoon
Will you see me there?
That Friday afternoon
Will you see me?

The ebony twirls and spins
Through the crimson water
That Friday afternoon
I sit on the end of the world
We sat here
That Friday afternoon
Do you remember?

There’s a city

north of nowhere

A city

stuck in yesterday

with no tomorrow to

speak of

A city

made up of alleyways

and unfulfilled dreams

Empty promises and

empty stomachs



Stone blocks jut out

haphazardly

filled with individuals

too individual

to stand out

A mixture of

hijabs, crop tops and

sandal shoes

Spending days

whiling away

like puppets without a master

A hub

of liars , thieves

and middle-age crises



There's a city

devoid of colour

making the profane

mundane

The only joy coming from

rudimentary graffiti

rough blues and

faded yellows litter

the wall

Lampposts patrol

patchwork roads

like burnt matchsticks

twisted and bent

from years of wear

Where did their

smiles go?