Quite.

The mischievous talents of the voice
It’s delicate bombs ripping through
Each footstep to the cool desert air
Where before the sunrise I break from
My two slops of oatmeal to have a cigarette

the pigeons here, they aren’t afraid
of the feet that walk past them
on this grey street,
they are aware of our stories
the places we go and the faces we meet
they are aware of the soggy tissues
that fall above, from the balconies
they are aware of the life and stories
that live in those used tissues - they examine it,
a tissue for a moment in the past,
they think, I believe, they know and hear the emotions in those tissues that dry and travel around in these streets,
they know the secrets and seen faces, that even our close ones, could not
and so
I don’t mind the falling objects
I don’t mind the speeding cars  
I don’t mind the distant face
that caused these distant scars

these pigeons, they see us from afar
they know my heart, they know your heart

-Kaya

It bends like
A joint would,
Swaying in the wind’s
Play, as would a joint
Be swayed by the fingers
Of the smoker.

But it is not harmful,
Though you would take them as one.
When the sun sets
In golden dips,
It turns into something
Beautiful.

A vague memory
of heaven behind me
I'll walk up,
I'll walk straight up with
cold teeth that shiver
blue gums, that bleed
cold nights with white sheets
and white eyes that don't sleep

with fire beneath my red feet
that bleed, bleed and bleed
Follow my footprints
don't be mistaken
for they do not lead

-Kaya

Eyes closed;
Pathetic fallacy, I suppose
Raining stains on foggy windows
I left my heart outside.

Reminiscing
Under the evening shadows
And it plays on the radio
Echoing sounds of tomorrow.

Liesbeleid,
Don't you ever stop to know
I think of you dearly so
As the rain showers
And my coffee turns cold

The alluring simplicity unaware of
Lies simply in everything we are
Even naked eyes aren't able enough
To notice such things considered triviality by many.

And with each passing sight
Exchanged glances across the room,
Sipping morning coffee in the awakening of the mind,
But does it really open our eyes?

Little did we know
Of the smallest matters that mean the ocean to us
But you and I will one day realise
The enormity of the world
Shouldn't have mattered that much.

Her head,
thronged with a hollow absence
rests on the mattress of her dreams,
As though succumbing to sleep,
The world may spare these glass bones their last insult.

Reality never looked so transparent.

Yet she rests with an open eye
Drowsy and awake,
leaning against her barricade;
Like a front line soldier gripping to his fast beating
Heart against the mud wall
In the middle of a flaring night.

Flaring,
like the car lights through her windows
Traversing across the four walls in
A ghostly dance of a fairytale she
Once read,
But forgotten.

Her blanket feels
Too thin.
The world
Is peeping through the onion's layers.

A woven web around her skin
Peeped through,
Like a solider's needle pin.

Funny, isn't it?
Reality never looked so transparent.

Dear skin, I'm sorry you feel a certain way
it's just that today,
the rays of the sun, you once knew has gone away,
and is unaware of who you are
and your pain,
I'm sorry you have to face
the ignorant new rays
just bare with it, for today
and I'm sure that
it will go away

-Kaya

cursed with a blessing
made to feel alive, even
when I'm not breathing

-Kaya