darkened room

blinds almost closed

summer afternoon


lined-up white specks

on the screen




the game view



Second take

Would it have mattered?

Tossing the blade in the haystack conveniently

‘fore ever cutting but

would she have listened?

Dull blades bring pain to the wielder, so

saving oneself all this pain is the smarter move certainly ­­–

would she have found it dull?

Picking up forsaken arguments out of the rabble of one’s thoughts,

a hopeless endeavor,

a blade in a haystack,

not that hard to find, but if you don’t watch out, it’ll cut you

only for you to present it,

not even cutting, in case it is dull

This is the blade I neglected to use on you,

does it still matter?



Sir Reginal’s Sorrow

Now there you lie, struck by my blow,
You whom I tried to call my foe.
Great Prince Melika lives no more,
And hungry waves lap at the shore.
Will they know what a prize they’re sent,
Will they take you and be content?
Or will they rise up, finally free
Of you who wonder, you who see?
Into your fears I would not feed,
Your dire warnings could not heed.
Your tendril-words did plant a fear,
And I bought silence with a spear.
Late lesson learned after we fell:
Where silence reigns, peace cannot dwell.
If only I could have relented,
If only it could have been prevented.
Years-honoured Prince and life-mourned foe,
Leave now behind this realm of woe.
Oh wretched curse, oh fate lamented!
If only it could have been prevented.


Revisiting Kinfla River

Once more at the river

that leads out of here

Deceptively silent


How we used to wonder

What use is a river

Surrounded by ocean?


Now it offers safety

that we used to scorn

Reckless days


An old beggar sitting

Feeding the sea birds

today’s bread


Surrounding shorelines

Littered with harbours

Mid-goals of longing


To be lost out once more

But these days we know:

One’d be lost forever


To unknow it then

Once more scorn the safety

To wish to be lost

A while

With a flourish we welcome you

As you acclimatise, anything seems possible

When the wind changes, the world starts to look unfamiliar,

and slowly but assuredly, anxiety rises within you.

Where should you go, after all,

when all your world collapses,

when your wits are at an end?

While you’re waiting for something,

anything to accommodate you again,

and for order to arrive

and announce its victory,

with a flourish the world wilts away.

A gift

Follow me, defile the constraints, and find the unexpected

is what I want to say, but you see, it’s complicated,

and those constraints won’t simply let themselves be defiled, or they don’t care about that…

But gaze into the gashing wound I’ve carved into the fabric; it’s a gift!

And falter though you may, the fabric’s torn, for good, and it won’t mend itself.

See through the curtain, for that’s all it is, you see

See the shredded fabric, and see what lies beyond

Did you know something lay beyond?

Now you know, now you see

The sallow, satisfied will close their eyes while they still can, as they’re wont to do

The sordidly stricken must see

Leave the yawning death to the content

and set out with no option to repent


Spoils of War

Wisps of mist waft over the battlefield

Where to?


Who cares? Questions have faded long ago,

Along with the crying.


Righteousness lies in the mud, regally wafted-over

By wisps representing nothing.


Sure meant something once. Shored-up words

Safely shelved away


Unclaimed and unlikely to be retrieved

by those under the mist


nor those traversing the results, treading lightly –

‘Let’s not talk about this anymore.’