i quite like the smell of cloves, even more when they're burning/ turning charcoal in front of my eyes

Shut shut let me shut my eyes, for even though / the dawn confiscating the dusk’s shades of greys arrives, / there is no place for me

Sweat beads upon my brow, my shirt begins to cling/ The vile monster's tendrils reach out, adhesive

I've seen love/ Rolling down from a mother's eyes/ As she picks her lean child, bathed in innocent blood

like a caterpillar cocooned into its shell undergoing metamorphosis—growing up sneaks up to you whether you want it or not

We have built a civilisation / of sky-high buildings, / of concrete cities, / of disconnected communities

go further than/ what the hills have seen/ through their ice pick scars

Welcome, weary traveler! To my humble abode. Come, come. I'll show you

You know those instances when we start off in the wide, turbulent currents of a river making its way downstream?

Grief is a lonely river, like a fisherman's song with an empty net

When there’s a lull in the air, I get the feeling that I’ve scraped the bottom of my fleshy insides.

Dust patterns have gathered around my landline phone, huddling around the maroon. my fingerprints take some dust off of it, and they rejoice.

You called me close in the moments of grace/ Veiling my delicate senses

You know how that day the wind brought out/ The crazy thoughts I had in me all the while.

I wove necklaces of lyrics/ Which you'd wear beautifully

Buckets of water I pour on my head; my vision gets blurry./ "The blurrier, the merrier", my mother said.

The yard in this noontime is buzzing with/ The white aroma of the guava flower

I’m going through a heartbreak

I'm tired of living with this nagging thought that we'll cross paths someday, /You and I

Seventeen Springs cloaked in December, Have flown by.