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Haris Jul 2018
She ***** me.
I was whisked to a flat
mixed with other drinks,
mixed with other people.
She led me into her room;
I can’t remember clambering
into her bed
but I can still remember her
stripping my clothes off
without asking,
directing my ***** into her
without asking.
I asked her to stop.
I asked her to stop.
She did.
But out of offence
rather than law.
She told me to leave,
I went against her tides
and the men before.
Haris Jul 2018
Along this trek of life
I have learned
that bush fires -
although easy to spark,
come at a price.
They love uncontrollably, yes,
but I’d rather not spark someone
that keeps my body
incandescently warm at night
and starves any breath I have left.
I think I’ll try lighting the ocean instead –
in this life or the next,  
despite the impossibility of it.
God loves a trier and
I’ve grown weary of easy love.
Haris Jul 2018

the woman,

graced with tender hands

and ferocious words,

that toppled down walls

of my bricked in ache

with bedtime talks

well past dusk;

single-handedly rebuilding

my pieces into a sprawling

empire of self-conquer.


the woman,

who set aflame my shame

with fiery words

and picked up my

aftermath of ashes

with ***** hands,

that still remained

unscalded and soft.


the woman,

who ripped open my riddled chest

of barbed feathers

itching to ****** their way out,

allowing me to spill my guts,

holding me back together.  


the woman,

who saved me

and made me better.
Haris Jun 2018
Father, we quarrel most days
with the idea of love.
How I yearn to say
under a blanket of stars above,
“See? You can feel
and show fears
even through your darkest Achilles' Heel,”
whilst hugging tears
out you,
as you did with me,
when I was too young to walk without you.

Father, you wonder why
I don’t phone you
as much as you would like,
and I yearn to say,
“These empty conversations we have
are no use
to either of us anyway,” and
"There is strength flowing
with freedom,
grace and joy
when ice
succumbs to the melting;
you can break through dams
and be the blossoming of flowers
you never thought you’d see
when you let your words
flow freely.”

But what I yearn to say the most is,
I love you,
I love you,
I love you,”
and for you to say it back
in a sea of tears
and for you to know
what the freedom
of strength,
grace and joy feel like.

Father, I feel like an orphaned soul,
so let me wander into your empty words
and, together, we can fill our home again.
Haris Jun 2018
Through the rage of each passing storm
her strength got more weathered and torn.
For her strength was aswirl in the sea foam –
her broken cliff-face weeping rocks in the gloam.
The moon, her strength’s only guide,
sent her swimming through the night.
Awash on sand, she warmed to him,
the sun, but never stopped loving him,
the moon. There she lay,
in endless nights, and begged him to stay;  
until one day, faraway,
the moon decided to fly away,
and let the sun’s love burn bright for her.
Haris May 2018
"I can hear you, billow out, your broken past, while you rock back and forth, wearily clutching these sheets. I care not for stories of me, in your sleep, but for all the stories no one dared to care about. Whisper smoke in this bedroom air, we share, and I will listen, patiently, still, for this slow smoulder to shout, in flames, around us. I'll wrap this blanket of skin around every last inch, of you, when the first sparks and crackles sound. I'll let this furnace, of you, burn deep into the very marrow of my bones; your scars, now, mine."
Haris May 2018
"Why do you always weep
before i fall asleep?"
she asked me, in gentle
cradles and lullabies.

"In the hope
the salt
in my stream of tears
seeps into every crevice,
of your soul,
and melts every frozen path,
in your dreams,
so you can make your way
back to me,
every morning,"
i replied, bloodshot-eyed.

With that she weeped, too,
and I knew
we would never wake
to another morning apart,
so long as these streams
flowed free
into our sea.
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