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A muse in Patron

It don’t matter how many selfies you take.

What matters is if you can accept your own mirror reflection.

No time to flinch.

No time to hesitate.

Free to stride across abundant valleys conjured by a sweeping imagination.

God, when she weeps!

I collect her tears.


Thankful for the martyr,

My patron muse.

Crystallized an abundant array of gifts .

Perhaps it is a silhouette…

Perhaps it is a rainbow’s smile illuminating intrinsic hues…

These words could reveal Science’s stuttering staccato voicing his love for nature.

For all her might

For all her brute

Which one is Beauty?

Which is Art?

What if you believed the sky is indeed blue?

Alone with my phone #nationalpoetryday2018

In the twilight of my mind

I arise from my slumber.

A perfect piece of calm envelopes my sacred space.

It intertwines with my beating heart.

A knock at the door.

The man from two doors down-




He mutters about galloping away from his latest nightmare.

My child –

Her peace disrupted by a primitive, feral sound.

I breathe,

Desperate to inhale pure oxygen.

Disruption causes me to

Choke on my anger.

I’m forced to close the door, only because I’m fair.

A warning odour of familiar carbon monoxide threatens to extinguish all hope.

The scales tip


I fear I’m falling to the ground.

A piercing tone emanates from my mobile phone.

The one who I hold dear in my arms can’t get out of her abyss,


Alone with my lonileness.

I think of my cat.

Force tablets down her throat.

She pukes up bile.

I weep wearily .

She needs to cough up fur balls not green mucus.

Get better my loves: My world.

I peer out my windowed prison

I look above.

There goes a bird

Wings spread soaring above.

It reminds me of the phoenix

I reach for another kleenex.

Blow the ashes from my grey matter .



I reach for my phone.

Its time for the school run.

My child needs to leave home.

One day she won’t look back to see me smile at her regal pose.

Another day in this world.

I see the real life heroes,

Walking to work,

Catching buses to fill the void from their hurt.

One thing is certain I’m not alone in my loneliness .

We are a collective of souls


Queuing up for a moment to peek a glimpse of Elysium.

I pick myself up off the floor.

A needle and thread catches my eye,

I stitch myself back together.

I open the door.

Times run out -it refuses to stand


I feel a sense of the ghost of his Holiness.

Unrevised stream of consciousness .This needs a lot of work.

Inspired by reading a poem by, Kathryn Maris, called ‘School run’.

National poetry day 2018

Queen of Trisetess

Stone cold.

I sit in silence.

Tears betray the death of another beating heart .

Distant to my heart ache.

Love is meaningless

accented by meaningful nuances.

Hunger strikes,

I’m alone with the pangs,

Unsure if I want to feel the caress of familiar hands


if I’d rather escape to a nether land.

Conjuring Magicians ready to sell inconspicuous  potions.

Allowing me to flee from my skin.

Threaded by veins

Morose in temperament.

Aloof to the consequences of escaping this reality.

Complicit to the sadness that shrieks in my gut.

Pierced spleen.

It’s not nearly as stomach able as watching the chambers of my heart  in my hands


For the moments tangled in lust.

The desire to be a part of some one else’s sun.

To inhabit their orbit.

Study the stars,

share butterfly kisses,

break free into a wild run.

Freedom is a state of mind.

Release me from the bonds of this exile.

I am the hunted.

I am the hunter with the blade ready to attack,

For this is my vessel.

My only means to move forward.

Cut the strings

for this puppet will not be coerced to dance nor sing-

until I find a simple hymn.

One to attest that another mortal respects I am more

than my sin.

Words hurriedly  apologise to re capture that soul;


In the glimmer of dawn — it cowers fearful

deep within.

Have a piece of my heart.

Have a piece of my words.

Sully not my thoughts to taint my heart with more leacherous poison.

I am breathing-

merely existing to find out how to win.

This  is Life’s charade.

the cards dealt to each hand.

Thanks to Allah for I have both in tact .

I’m able to use my body,

I’m able to use my mind to forgive.


Not give in.

The melancholy of my aura glitters like a Midas collectible  when he touches the man I call my king.

The weight of this gloom

Thunders over me.

Cajoling me.

Repressing my desire to quit killing myself.

Smile authentically — blossom again for it’s not time to hide away under bed sands , muted enough to make me think I’m still not thin-


These words don’t do justice to how I truly feel.

I lose people I love and gain friends who form a circled ring  around me.

I have to reach out and allow a hand to bring me full circle.


I contemplate.

Fighting  for the thud in my  heart

Fighting for another hot flushed blush.

Wondering if I have already died.

Is living not for the likes of my kind?

Am I here to exist glibly in a ruin of poorly constructed pyramids?

I sit here in silence , blowing out smoke rings made  out of my woes.

I’m the queen of Tristeness.

My position is to not give in.