The Garden

It’s the beginning of yet another week, I know

I know the dark calls to you sometimes

I know you walk down roads you know you shouldn’t

I know you observe your reflection through a jumble of shards

I know you’re worn out, tired of reliving patterns of painful choices

I sense you feel hollow at times

like life is teasing you, dancing in front of you,

but escaping you somehow

i know you live in the disconnect between where you are

and what’s happening outside of you

i know how much it hurts to live there, in the divide

between what you feel you are, and what you wish you could be

The sun has kissed your skin and you have inhaled it with complete trust

and you sometimes move without knowing what’s next

at times it feels paralysing to live with yourself.

I know you’ve worked so hard to control the outcome of your life

that you forget to meet yourself in the quiet and breath yourself full again

that you live in the shallow end and you forget to go deep,

breath deep ujjayi

you forget there is wealth of abundance and trust in you

i know there are places in yourself that you do not love

the parts you wrestle away

you visit them them from time to time, hoping they’re not there

i know you long to live in bliss

and when you arrive there you are so alive as if everything around you

is telling you yes, you’re home.

but i know shadows come while you’re asleep

and drag you down the familiar landscape of fear

I know you wonder if the light will ever return

because you’re tired of this upbeat dance between the two worlds.

you’re learning to taste heaven, grown wings

you’re accepting the difference

between sun soaked mornings and dark forests

you are human my dear and are allowed to be in both places

you are not damaged

you are not failing

you are allowed to be lost in dark rivers

be gentle when doubt comes, when fear chokes

when darkness debilitates you

spend special care to cultivate the garden of love when you come across these dark corridors.

know that you are offered the chance to tend your garden

the dark offers you a chance to love all the places you’d never dare

all the places you curse

where we deprive ourselves of love is where we need it most

when the dark comes , tell it what it what it wants so badly to hear,

You are loved.

An Introvert’s Handbook

We always have the heartiest laugh

in a room full of people

we adapt to living in the moment

It will be over soon anyways

Battery drained, energy depleted

Just need an hour,

Just need a week

and an empty bottle of elderberry wine

Take the dog for a walk

and do yoga outdoors

when we feel a buzz to explore nature

It could all be so simple

Club music, screaming teens aches the soul’s ears

felt this way since age 22.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe a month’s gap

“the farther the better” is forever the motto.

ask me to come join you at 9pm

I text back at 8:59

Body feels heavy and my bed’s tucked me in

it’s massaged me with a soothing balm

and pecked me sweet dreams

A day at a time

helps us unravel our insecurities

we’ve sailed through time

stopping at every port of our mind’s evolution

Watching oneself grow without changing

suffocating under knowledge, experience and migration

Running away from a place that feeds off light and innocence

away from the alley of despair and self-abandonment

searching earnestly for peace

but peace finds us on a rainy night

beside our bed with a mug of yogi tea

grooving to jazzy pop and stroking our bunny’s tum

Today we’re bubbly, fun, ready to go

but you’re talking over each other

and I can’t hear myself think

instead I’m absorbing everybody else’s emotion

I’m done before the night’s even begun

Let’s try a do over

at the one place where anxiety has no territory

so long as you don’t move anything

or poke prying questions

I’ll get the Hors d’oeuvre and listen

you sit over there and relish the honor of being invited

into the organized maze of a chaotic mind

This amazing illustration by Yaoyao Ma Van of https://introvertdear.com/news/illustrations-introvert-living-alone/

The Ventriloquist

Cecil has been planning her dream wedding since whatever age little girls do. Now the days were leading up to weeks, weeks to months. She had a scanty 3 months left. What everyone wanted to know was what her theme would be, “you gotta have a theme, what’s a wedding without a theme?” they asked

She always answered. “Picturesque, serene and whimsical”. The last part seemed to have them guessing, but then they’d quickly laugh it off.

As the days dwindled down, Cecil had a lunch date with the one person who was for the majority of her life a phantom that has never been invited in. They had only started weaving their still fragile relationship, a year and half ago. She remembered him always being the funny guy. He could enchant even a funeral’s atmosphere and he dared to build on his talent, for which she admired him for, rather than become a pilot like the family wanted. He was a ventriloquist and the opening performance on her wedding reception.

Cecil sat in the crowded bar, munching her sacher torte and revelling on the memories of her half-brother that she didn’t notice him walk in till he draped his chest around her back like an armoured plate and planted a loving peck on her rosy cheek. He sat adjacent her and could immediately sense distress and a bluish aura so he tugs on a rope and Ed the dummy pops out. Ed proceeds to question Cecil, ” why the long face?”

“Thanks for coming Ed. it’s just whenever i think about this wedding, I want to rip my nose off

I understand schätzchen, Ed will take care of your guests for you”

Cecil couldn’t help but giggle. Her brother always had a way of exchanging her worries for cheers. This is just like when they were kids. She whispered, “Thank you”

Anything for the bride, nodded Ed.

On Adulting and Reading

Do people still read for fun?

Even a two year old can see through my façade whenever I announce, I’m gonna read a book.

Don’t get me wrong, I love reading. Did I say love? I loved reading some eight years back. My curiosity always got the upper hand. I wanted so much to be grown. I loved Jackie Collins ( and her explicit sexual details). Even when my mum discovered some very adult contents under my bed and pillow, it was still a fun era for me.

Now that I see how adulting works, I sincerely want my teenage ignorance back thank you very much.  It’s truly gone now, and It didn’t take away my love of books with it, but rather the time.

I don’t know which is worse, not doing what you love because you’ve no time or having a general distaste for what you used to love.

In recent years, I limited myself to a book, a year. This was mostly during a two month summer break, the only long break we got from Med school if we were lucky.

Thankfully I’m done with that life.

I should be snuggling up near the fire place now, with a cup of rooibos tea and a good book, like the subtle act of not giving a  fuck – or Uglies or one of the several suggestions I’ve gathered throughout the years . Books I’ve always wanted to read, yet I hear life yelling at me, ” Get a job, loser!”.

I’m focused on laying the fundamental bricks for my career, perhaps a little too intently. Nevertheless, I believe life will happen anyways, sooner or later. In the meanwhile, why don’t I just unwind with novel? For a while,  I was romancing with the idea of getting my “must reads” in Deutsch.

So far I have the Brother Grimm and a few storybooks which actually contributed a lot in my understanding of the language’s semantics. A couple of novels and some collection of ebooks. Gar nicht schlecht.

I sincerely miss reading for fun, and I want nothing more than to improve my writing skills, and I rely a lot on visiting blogs and taking notes since I can’t finish a hard cover. unfortunately, I’ve also been slacking on that too because I have a metaphorical book that I need to close, put back in the bookshelf and torch  down the shelf and maybe  if I feel like it, light a blunt from the embers.

Yea, life’s getting too serious now. But although adulting is neither easy, nor is it backing down. I’m happy it’s happening now because this time next year, I would have hurdled over the apex of  this hard part and be feeling rather grateful.

My goal is to finish two bestsellers in German and in English before the year runs out. So I pose this questions to lovers of paperbacks and ebooks. How do you manage your time, whilst losing yourself in your casual read of choice?

Thanks for tuning into another episode of Idara Talks.

Auf Wiedersehen!

The Test

After my well articulated post of taking it easy and letting life happen few weeks ago, I went ahead and did something absolutely rash last week. I signed up for the language test.

the registration for the exam is not a big deal, I mean normally people register for an exam they want to take next month or so. No sire, I wouldn’t be me without careless judgement. This test happened last weekend, that meant I had 6 days prior to prepare. How’s that for relinquishing control

Thus rolled in the beginning of what happened to be a really long week, I was recoiling from the death of my grandfather and somehow my brilliant plan was to distract myself by studying without ends each day. Na ja brilliant.

On the D day, I was beyond tired, kaputt as the Germans say, and well I couldn’t turn back now. I had already paid. Although I don’t consider myself a run-on-the mill lucky person, spring had just begun. This is the time of new beginning. If I was going to make a leap of faith, it had to be now.

So I did it anyway.

Out of the four fluency skills, I pride myself in my reading and understanding skills, I felt positive about that. Listening on the other hand, is not my forte. And writing? God knows that could go either way.

But the speaking. Oh the speaking part. I could count a million things wrong with it other than my enunciation skills. So there I, brain running on low glucose and less than optimal sleep. Hands fidgety. The self -confidence battery completely drained and naturally expected to speak Deutsch for 15 minutes.

Game over. I lost.

…or did I?

I told myself I’ll be okay either way the wind blows, tho honestly I lost hope. Today, I contacted the institute. The lady was kind enough to reveal my points, even though they officially aren’t to be revealed yet. Perhaps she had sufficient emotional intelligence to sense the desperation in my voice which provoked man’s most regal emotion, empathy. I’ll never know, and at the moment, I wasn’t really interested in that.

I have to say i’m shocked—in a good way. The scenario played out a lot different in my head. I will have to repeat a part of it, luckily not the whole. Now the question I can’t help but ask myself is, if I could go back, would I register for this test 6 days before it takes place, knowing I won’t make it all the way through?

At the risk of coming off stand-offish, Absolutely. I’m unapologetically non-penitent in this regard. I get no accolade for good judgement or relinquishing control. There’s a reason I don’t know how to swim. But I like to think I’m a student of life, I let life chew me up and spit me out.

Tomorrow, I’ll still climb the moon.

Matthew 11:28; Then Jesus said, “come to me , all you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest”.

Image by @bekexjj aka James Robert on Instagram

Dark times

The world is ending

I heard her pleas

The ground has opened

to swallow up human kind

Wolves move in packs

so does man

listening for sign of life beneath the earth

the end of us could be a beginning of another

The world is ending

haven’t you heard?

the ninth wonder of the world

will happen when she is vastly unoccupied

Man is pathened to a behaviour

doomed to repeat the cycle again

the labour for hope is not worthwhile

when life turns cold with unforgiving hands

Silence rustles to cover land and puddles

sinking it’s black paws in both fossils and arachnoids

rheumy sun frowns earnestly

A sign for the last happy moment to remember

The world is ending

so wolves move in packs

Man is pathened to a behaviour

silence rushes to cover land and water

I know you don’t believe in signs

the dark prophecy foretells

every man will speak a different language

note this, I was once like you.

The Getaway

I’m filling up the tank, Amadeus

let me drive into mid-summer’s sunset

wave good-bye to the road we built together

leave behind the haunted part of myself

and the people who whose faces I swore I’d always recognise

I’m gonna drive past the seven mountains

each representing an era of intrepid defeat followed by respite

I hope i don’t choke on the unjust decay of human-kind

I pray the air is clean and the earth sprouts goodness

I pray that the soil is untainted, wherever I settle

I’m sorry my love, but this is the way it has to be

When we built this highway you knew deep down

the day would come when I’d run and never look back

the astonishment in your face leaves me clutching my chest

the part of you that dies today, already withered in me a while ago

So I’m buying a highway ticket, never to return

I’d ask you to come with but we both know

that’s not what you want

You’re the one that got away and I may never forgive myself

for now, take my dreamcatcher, and I’ll nozzle your cheekbone later.


Auf Deutsch

Ich fülle den Tank,

lass mich in den Sonnenuntergang im Hochsommer fahren

Abschied von der Straße, die wir gemeinsam gebaut haben

hinterlasse den tiefsten Teil von mir

und die Leute, deren Gesichter ich geschworen habe, erkenne ich immer

Ich werde an den sieben Bergen vorbeifahren

jeder repräsentiert eine Ära der Niederlage und der Ruhe

Ich hoffe, ich würde den ungerechten Verfall menschlicher Art nicht

Ich bete, dass die Luft sauber ist

Ich bete, dass der Erde unbefleckt ist, wo auch immer ich mich niederlasse

Es tut mir leid, meine Liebe, aber so muss es sein

Als wir diese Autobahn bauten, wussten Sie es ganz genau

Der Tag würde kommen, wenn ich renne und nie zurückschaue

Das Erstaunen in Ihrem Gesicht ist nur eine Fassade

Der Teil von Ihnen, der heute stirbt, ist schon vor einiger Zeit in mir verwelkt

Also kaufe ich eine Autobahnfahrkarte und kehre nie zurück

Ich würde dich bitten mitzukommen,

aber wir wissen es beide das ist nicht was du willst

Du bist derjenige, der davongekommen ist, und ich werde es mir niemals verzeihen

für jetzt nimm meinen Traumfänger, und ich werde heute Abend deinen Wangenknochen spritzen.

Do you read me?

I watch you daily because your history leaves a cache trail of fine print. I notice the whites of your eyes gleam at a variety of anonymous sites.

Registered in the clouds are a collection of stories, and photography, too many to count since the lovers of art walk a nostalgic part.

Each artist’s works with with a unique emotional frequency, and I collect them all in html or encrypted form.

I know the process, I see the flapdoodle behind the posts. It starts with a moment of utter and complete blankness until an idea quivers through their bones.

You may not believe in magic until you observe an artist in his element, because when the moment is right, the magic unfurls.

they’ll pick sentences apart, dissecting words, forcing themselves deeper in their abstract multidimensional minds.

The paraprosdokian and prosaic aren’t mere coincidence. They are a round way ticket to the artist’s estranged psyche

You will be pleased by some, while others will spur detest, either ways I am the doorkeeper to that experience.

So when you’re ready for your magic to happen, ready to be dissected, picked apart by the internet’s brutal eye, you may use daily prompts for a nudge of inspiration or freestyle everything.

10 words or 10,000 words, however the choice is yours but that daring moment comes with the most critical one. Press the brown button at the top-right corner if you dare, or allow your time and energy to remain hidden from their scrutinising eyes. Whether temporary or forever. This choice is yours alone.

With the minutes you have left, you decide to visit the grand patrons, their walls are adorned with humble non show- offish recognitions from sunflower to McAlester awards. Albeit, hidden within are a bounty of inspiration.

But then you decide you’re not quite ready to unveil yourself. No wonder many embrace the familiar comfort of apocrypha.

Eventually you’ll grow into your own blogging skin, but until then, do you read me? or do you worship the likes and praise the shares at the button of my page?

Bubbles & Sunshine

The yellow pages of life does not promise a forecast of  bubbles and sunshine. Many times we venture to different paths and end up toiling unsuccessfully. We take risks,  casting all including our soul into the wind, and still  it makes no substantial difference.

Being unsuccessful is a tedious lifestyle nobody chooses, rather it chooses many. Sometimes doing what you love combined with  maximal effort is not enough.  Often I’ve wondered if i’m really that bad a blogger, sure I can admit that I don’t pay attention to details and several times I was ready to abandon my journey  and cut my losses.

So why haven’t I vanished from the blogosphere?

Well if there is something that I’m even worse at than writing, it is quitting. Never done it. mmhmm, well maybe that one time.

But who am I kidding? The exhilaration I get when the nerve endings on my fingertips presses against the keyboard is beyond comparison —no pun intended—and I especially love making people wonder; “what the F is this post/poem about?”.

They say people won’t listen to you until you’re worth listening to, but no matter how good, bad or funny one is, determination always changes the rules of the game. Determination is what makes me a force to be reckoned with.

And art exists in every level of the ecosystem. One can ignore it, but surely can’t deny it, even the way people speak is art. If you’ve witnessed two individuals or clans from a region speaking the same language, then you understand it. Bottomline is, so I’m a bit of a messy frantic misfit, In the end, I’ll write what is good and pleasing to my heart, because what my ventricles forcefully eject through my Aorta to sustain me in the land of living, itself is Art.

And now I’m done writing.

Just kidding.

Seasoning with secrets

There is a something circulating downtown

The Turtledove sang a cinquain into the eagle’s ear

before the dawn, look up to the sky

and see the moon kiss the ocean while the stars watch

But you see that’s not much a secret

the moon and Ocean french every night

But when you stand out in your balcony

you’ll see shards of a broken face staring back

your mirror’s reflection sells broken dreams

to the woman you’ll never become

So now we’re casting lots, spilling beans

the boys we’ve lusted for and what not

What I love about you is like a minute diamond

and everything else reeks like death

Oh so we’re not gonna speak no more? mighty affable

Girls will be girls like boys will be boys

Is someone hurting your feelings, who me?

I’m only listening to sounds you make that I can’t hear

Words are like dust swept into a corner

spring cleaning came early, open Pandora’s box

Let it all hang like blood splatter on wet marble

Let love to argue loyalty and blame

Your secrets both entice and appals me

Such a powerful sword you wield

but an act of nobility you’ll fail to see

Not until the day you choose to let sleeping dogs lie