A Thousand Desires

A thousand days hold a thousand desires

folded deep in the solace of their palms

the longer I live, the more I yearn

to melt the ice that stores my desires

Humanity has taken away my compassion

replaced it fragile threads of apathy

I rented out my praiseful soul

to be a prisoner to karma’s undoings

My lust for power

has everything to do with life seductions

I blink so the viel that clouds my vision

may fall into the a furnace of enlightenment

Everyday I contemplate these Alexandrian dreams

unbidden treasures that pierce the clouds

Naked are the desires that caress my eyes

separating me from my soul’s deepest connections

How are you?


“How are you?”


He broke my heart, many a times, with the things he didn’t say

I lost my mind, glancing at my phone, daring him to call.

My eyes bled, more often than not, of sweat and dry mucus

The loyalty game is rigged, but really that’s his excuse?

He was the edge to my sword. I was the curve to his bow***


*Ring ring*


Would you look at that, It’s only took five years

By Pharaoh’s knee he hadn’t changed, that much I could tell

He says, “Aye, regardless of how you feel, let’s just be friends again”

It’s is my fault, I lingered a bit too long on familiar scents

but please go ahead.



Yes!  tell me how insensitive I was, and how you were the good guy.

The devil must be a six foot tall, hazel eyed childhood friend.



All the bruises he left,  all the waiting I did

The dawn of my pistanthrophobia

All the fight I had in me has smitten to crisp stardust

Sure I want to go back to when I thought wishes were horses

Believing my horoscope, penning down a song every Friday  night to move on from you



“So what say you, Ebony queen, how about we fight for us?”

LOL. LOLer. LOLest

He must be inebriated from piss.



Sure it’d be nice to be 18 again, or whatever

So quickly I’d forgotten his retreating footsteps down a cinder path

His snorty laugh, I thought was so perfect is now a memory

The song I wrote for him is like a worm in my hollow ears

The one that scattered me with writhing pain  now lives in an empty house


But whatever.


It took a while to rid my tainted blood of your vain addiction

and it took a while to stop being 18

I fought hard to see the pure beauty that you never would

So I’m afraid, it’ll take more than everything you got to clean our slate,

but in the mean time, “how are you?”


Image source: Twitter



The last time I heard from Gemima,  she told me I was fiercely rebellious and we were polar opposites. Alas after several monsoons, here she is serenading me the same tune. She says she’s evolved, that she never gave up. She’s telling me she failed me when she seized believing in us. Gemima tells me that each night she spent away from me made her  bones frail.

With all her vibrant hues, Gemima says the valley spoke to her, the only language she could understand. Her glassy eyes wander far into the distance, to shadows of climaxing eagles.

She says I was her hero, a sight for sore eyes

I quiver from her lingering gaze, her trembling hands found mine. Her grip reminds me of everything I let go. My cheeks fluster and I wonder if she still cares for me. Her ebony skin glistens below the vantage sun, revealing new tribal inks.

I imagine her to be my Tutu, only more regnal. Perhaps Beethoven reveled on her physique when he composed that daringly magnificent medley.

I know her inside-out, and she could discern every needling thought of my densely silent mind. She could never meet my gaze, her guilt wouldn’t allow.  Even as my breasts rested on her supple thighs, eons of heartache resonate in her. This time around, I hope I make her speechless too.

18 years have passed, yet she’s found her way back to me as though our blood echoes insouciantly to each other, begging to be sealed in writing. And we love to revel in despair, like the snake and the mongoose.

Retrospectively, I  realize that the bare thread lingering between us is strained beyond repair yet even if the sun drowns in a cloudburst, Gemima creates the tenebrous riptide in my nirvana I can’t help but covet. The scars she left won’t heal for another eighteen years.