Every Wednesday,

I intersect

their gathering

at 8 am,


Before I cross

The urine-drenched

Corner guiding

Me to Main Road.

All blue and white

And tidied up

They counteract

The uniforms

With weed, booze and

Kendrick Lamar.


Mother City Haiku

Each morning, I wait

Behind the two iron gates,

Like a caged-up bird.


When I step outside

The sunlight keeps telling me

That I’m a template.


I cannot help but

Be aware of my own skin:

Tanned, with pale remnants.


Locking doors, I think

How fences seem offensive,

Almost violent.

20.32: same place

Four hands intermingle besides

Two empty bottles of

One inch old coke.


Lit candles sometimes pierce the room,

Filled with the ardent steam

That is my breath.


I smell my henna-coloured hair,

Like dry earth in the sun.

I don’t like it.


Still, I lean over in my chair

To un-hide from behind

The marble shafts.


I think how I could write a note

With something loveable

To say to you.


I’d hand it over when I pass,

Sweet dreams are on replay.

Like my heartbeat.


I swallow the last luke-warm sip

And slide into my bath

Of narcissism.


Perhaps you’re peering at me, too.

It’s easy to think that,

In tungsten light.

My Island

The sofa bed is an island

At night,

When the multi-coloured pillow patterns

Line up accurately.

The sofa bed is my island

Before dawn,

Before you’re lighting up

The day on me.

Outside my sofa bed, the island,

Your breathing is the sea,

Of which the waves,

Last night,

Withdrew from me.

Safety Instructions

In case of an emergency,

Please call me back,

In case of an emergency,

Don’t push me off,

Jump and slide,

Give me a chance and

Brace positions.

Listen, what I have to say,

Check and open door

I need to talk about our

Safety instructions.

Don’t hang up

In case of an emergency,

I need you by my side

In case of an emergency,

Don’t go away, don’t

Jump and slide,

How can you dare to

Brace positions.

I’ll be waiting for you,

Check and open door,

Don’t forget our

Safety instructions.



Your hands, they tremble

Your hands, they fumble

Your hands, they sense

Your hands feel tense


My hands assist

My hands insist

My hands, they bustle

My hands, they rustle


Our hands, they seek

Our hands, they sneak

Our hands, they flit

Our hands don’t quit


At last!, I moan

Good God, you groan,

We sigh at ease

We found your keys.


I did not want to be the warm body you crave at 2 am

On the left side of your queen size bed.

I did not want to be the one to take pretty pictures

While you stare out of your third floor window glass.

I did not want to be the one you hug a little longer

Than you would hug anybody else.


I did not want to be the one you prepare breakfast for

On a sleep-deprived October morning.


I just wanted to be the one who shows up.

At the right time.

And then again.

Self Conscious

I sat there and shaded my head with my hair.

I sat there contracted and I sat there rejected.

I sat there and dried my hands on my tights.

I sat there pretending that I didn’t care.


I lay there digging my head in my arms.

I lay there unwanted, I lay with desire.

I lay there and swallowed my words with my pride.

I lay there and made you think I was asleep.


I stood there unsure what to do with my hands.

I stood there swaying from left to the right.

I stood there and feared that my back was not straight.

I stood there and all I could do was just wait.

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