Wednesday, 22 February 2017

night on repeat

black flies on the windowsill 
that we are
that we were
that we are to know
the sky opened up above
revelaving streaks of grey indigo
dotted with stars
         some fading and broken 
           some  disused
hiding in the folds 
waiting for the light to go out        
 I wandered alone
by the river that night
looking upwards
        then the earth   shook ///////////::::::::::
and I coughed

and coughed and coughed
and coughed and coughed
until my ribs shattered
inside my battered
heart, became exposed
                                                    but I suppose 
it was only a matter of time
there by the river
by the japanese pagoda
the gold buddha watching me intently
as I clutched onto my insides
exposed in the darkness
though in the shadows it's easy to hide
like those stars in the folds
shrouded by the forever universe

Wednesday, 8 February 2017

writing on the wall

 leake street 
     delirious concrete 
colours on the wall
              shapes that enthrall
the smell of piss and weed
    a single message to heed
'if you're looking for a sign
this is it'

woolwich life

tranquil vale
defiance avenue
zenith fried chicken
woolwich life
the blue flashing lights
the sirens
the road that lead into the river
the twilight sky
an elongated shadow
was it mine
it must have been
the atrium
the broken warehouses
tranquil vale
defiance avenue
zenith friend chicken
woolwich life

park bench

the moody twilight sky
streaks of grey and swirls of wonder
the crescent moon reflected in a puddle
cold air,
              everythings      a muddle
vague shadows,                
           weeds and rubble
absent thoughts
I settle,  on that bench
watching, breathing
                            by      leaving
footsteps in mud
     a trail would be left behind
                                                       rewind time
where did the years go?
shit, where did the years go?


ten thousand wanders later
a victorian pumping station
a conservatory in a palace
the paper city from a high place
crouch end
the bend
of the railway tracks
the secret door
exploring hacks
                        a packed lunch
a weird hunch
that it's better to go forth
 up to the white house on a grey 
hill, passed an allotment
wandering still
how many hours have passed
when did night turn to day
still finding
new places to lay
to rest old stories
past failures and faded glories
with each mile traversed
a thought unversed
surfaces, i held your tiny buddha baby
he cried
i looked at your daughter
she cried
but those dancing eyes
they defied
the sadness she was taught  
and that old coversation
that left us both weighty with guilt
wish I could explain
why I'm never around
why I never show up
wish I could make you feel
less alone
wish I knew what to say
to make you feel like you're home
when we're together 

but there are no words

life inside the square

everything is alive
the pigeons in the sky
they flit over the water 
over the stone lions
some gather around me 
waiting for crumbs
for crumbs
she hums, she waves
he sweeps,
I gaze 
into space
I watch them
I watch the people pass by
an old lady takes a seat beside me
an young man gets up to leave
the busker
sings a sad drawn-out song
and then another, so she prolongs
a silent conversation
with herself, and everyone she had ever known
there alone, with pigeons in the sky
with the stone lions
everything is alive
where do we derive
our inspiration
if not through watching 
simply watching the world
observing encounters
they gradually unfurl
and give way to clarity,
a thousand lives play out,
       inside a cloud of profanity
                      kind words, and vanity
the world is a theatre,
                              ////sweet banality 
there is beauty, difference, there is life

after watching a blip of it
I went to watch paterson
watch the world
through the windows of his bus
in that empty theatre
I watched him watch life
the small details
to find peace and beauty in them,
every day is filled with beautiful surprises
fiction satirizes
fact, and everything is alive
the pigeons in the sky
the poems we write
the things we see
places, people, and objects, 
the things that render us free
the imagination, faith, hope
a thousand ways of seeing

everything is alive

imagining freedom

floating up and down
at night in the museum
and then it plays
if you want to view 
paradise, simply look around
and view it
and a smile crossed my face
and a feeling entered my heart
a feeling of pure joy
so powerful it could destroy
every molecule of ill
everlast everstill
in awe of life, and living
the beauty of imagining
for in dreams
we are forever free
for in dreams
we can forever be
wherever and whoever
we desire
so live in dreams
where you will never tire
of the sublime too ordinary
things that make up existence
/////life is for the living///////////

your card has been declined

scars all over your face
red gashes and cuts
you were a costume maker
you said you couldn't remember
the name of the man you fell in love with
so you just wrote gorgeous man

how we live

sugar house,
limehouse cut /
                         the slaughter
a barcodeless bottle
                                         of stolen water
and the future is just like now
but in a little while
                            so surrender
          and just smile,
at that stupid giant thing
on the wall
the barnacle geese
are landing on the water

 and the house boats
and the anecdotes
and the lessons learnt
the shits that burnt
a little bit of our insides
the red squiggle
the lidl pastries
the path, the past, the daydreams
the trampoline
                                 us in the air
up in the air
not a doubt, not a care
just the moon, and following lights
the neon, the scribbles
the fading nowhere nights

ethereal delights
small details

living london
is that what this is

our friendship is forever

and this is how we live

wild horses

wild horses
running through the green
one after the other
so free so free so free
the wild horses inside of me
are running still
the ocean
it will fill
every gash and gap
every undefined avenue 
on the map, 
that is you
the heavens cut in half
everything is new
the lights spreads, and reflects
and seeps in
the ravens ride the wild wilds winds
over the hills, these ancient hills
for a moment, everything is still
wild horses
thy're are running 
      they running away

Tuesday, 7 February 2017


sioux and buxter
sitting in the morrocan garden
dreads in your hair
a smile, a can of beer
beneath the trellick tower
you gave me your number
suggested I collorate with your son
the musician, the photographer
i said maybe see ya later
and wandered some more
wandered some more and more
into the grafetti yards
the trees were covered in ink
and the grounds were empty
colour but no people
silence, no noise
a thousand little windows
that brutalist building
the world is with you

australia reveries

all those rainy and sunny
afternoons spent on a ferry
crossing the sydney harbour
alone, with time to spend
all those days in the botanic gardens
lying on the grass under
the winter sun all those days
in australia
all that time spent alone
all those journeys
and sunsets
and bush walks
and regrets
all those conversations with the dogs
all those sad nina simone songs
all those pages, filled with all those thoughts
///the dog ate his notebook

Monday, 6 February 2017

old school wanders I

a wander, sunset fades to twilight
pass the cemetery with ancient trees
through the aboyne estate
pass the estate boys who would light the fireworks
over a decade ago
but no, they grew up
these boys must be their boys
and there's that corner shop
where we would buy giant strawberries
the autumn leaves are strewn across the pavement
the colours in the sky are fast changing
fast changing
so many memories
 fast fading
and I’m making
my way to school again
only now, everything's changed
The school
The trees
still a fool, still too free
nothing remains, so I go around it
Peering in
Peering in
feeling strange
In my school girl skin
Sad, life passed by so fast
How did that happen
And where am I
a golfcourse
Remnants of the sky colour, over the green
Through the hospital
Through that hospital
Past the church
The old victorian buildings from the past
A shadow is eating a shadow banana
And then there are those colourful painted houses
the recovery centre
so magical and sad
They don’t look real
Like an obscure apparaition
Dreamed up by a dreamer
Wandering at twilight
In a place where real is an alien concept


I've been thinking a lot 
about life and death
about the way we left
 funny how change
 about revival
                            a tidal 
wave of emotions
                    come crashing
so many fixed notions
                begin unlatching
they come undone
and you become 
a free bird again
but i still remember 
when all i thought about was you
it's always a rainy day in march 
when i think of true ____

Wednesday, 1 February 2017

lazy day

a boat called lazy day
fading and rusting, 
net curtains all frayed
it looked dirty, upkempt
the signs on it were bent
all funny, a barnacle geese
passed by it, heading shaking
eyes steely, as if to say
get your shit together lazy day!

Friday, 23 December 2016

thieving grey wind

the broken factory
the lake with jagged waves
the sad greyhound stadium
the empty studios
everywhere is without
the diner, cemex,
the railway tracks
the grey city
everything is without
the wind took is all
the great winds
they swept it all away
the jagged waves
the bopping swans
the enormous lake,
up and down up and down
everything was without

it will one day come (inshAllah)

will i ever change
will I ever change
     will I always wander
will i always be blamed
for falling short
will I always resort 
to writing
will I always write 
in spite 
          of what it takes away from me
will i ever seek comfort
                            in a lasting eternity 
in more than just
those everyday miracles
that evoke spiritual 


ever healing
never feeling
but always believing
it will one day come

will I ever change
will I ever change 
will i always wander
will I never remain
    <in one place> 
in one time/ in cosmic space

will I always withdraw
will I always ensure
that no one gets too close
will I always close 
the door behind me
will I always choose to be free
instead of loved wholly
is it a choice 
is it either or and
will i ever, will i ever, will i ever
will I ever stand 
                      on solid ground
or will I just float on
until I'm gone
from this world

<<<<<<<Ya Allah, please find me again.

Sunday, 11 December 2016

a day well spent (hometown reveries)

life unfurls in tooting
        all is noise
in tooting
all is noise,
             I tried muting
        out the whole world 
save the sound of the wind
and the cry of the sun 
                          save the sum
of the elements 
inside and out 
 a series of encounters
        removed all doubt
                      that life is unmoving 
that history is reducing 
us to mere cogs, sequences
             so I found myself
in spaces the living (and non living) traverse
the denstists
 the cemetery
the light streams
the ancient trees
whisper secrets 
to one another
the wind carried them away
the sun had nothing to say
<an elemental cry>
the hospital
the sky is pink
the prayer room occupied
and that small chapel 
an old man on a trolley bed
that painting on the wall
<of a lone figure by the sea>
and the primary school at twilight
there it was still
there it was, that deformed snail creature
molded from my child hands
the last stop: the college 
everything is darkness
/////cutting the glass
soldering the broken pieces
watching them pass by
lives on short leases
moments that make up
a brief eternity
to live eternally

in a single day, in tooting
////// hometown reveries

old school wanders II

the gates were open
I went in this time
it didn't feel like my school
nothing was dilapidated
grey was now saturated
everything was shiny
everything is new
the security guard saw me
and opened the window
I know I know I know
I pointed ahead smiling
as though
I knew where I was supposed to go
he just smiled and nodded
and I continued
towards the hall
in it there were a hundred strangers
strangers at twilight
in my old new school
real life
doesn't exist
and so I stood outside the door
I looked to the ceiling and the floor
she stared, a woman at the desk
and on the stage ahead
old men were playing violins
and other instruments
nah, i never went in
I walked out
for it was time to begin
again again again

Sunday, 31 July 2016

mystic night

         they board the bus
the old men from trinidad
wearing top hats and smiles
smiles that break out into chuckles
chuckles that subside
                                         into a glorified


                    ////life is for the living

a young woman
sits quietly, with earphones in her ears
behind a young man, 
into cosmic space he stares
delving deeper and deeper into the thoroughfares
of a reality (untold)

she disembarks
her face half hidden,
behind swathes of wild hair
dressed in an attire she may never wear
in the cold light of morning

                                                   <someplace in between>

the bus zips through
the city roads
bypassing the 3am congregation
of drunkards and dreamers
wanderers and dealers

nowhere folk
squatting on nowhere curbs
eating spiced kebabs
exchanging no words

no words
to speak 
sets in
(the undying kind)

some are running, still running
still stumbling and falling
                                                     still coming
to terms with          a slow death
for each and every breathe
                                        is excruciating

////death is for the dying

the bus zips across the bridge 
over the river

it alights
                  the mystic
for he delights 
in not only seeing
but delivering
------- kindness (in no small measure)
to those most in need

so he treads a path, guided by burning lights
 through tunnels, where the smell of urine divides
men sleeping rough
from those who have enough
----------------to not endure the worst of it

and he leaves each sleeping soul a gift
an immaterial gift, to lift

that fragile human spirit
(the eternal moment, when you lived in the light)
the light the light the light

Sunday, 3 July 2016


where did you find it; the missing piece

somewhere on the outskirts of reality
somewhere in the suburbs of reason

where did you find it; the missing piece 

hidden behind the overgrowth
hidden in a place that no one knows

in a place                     
       no one goes
                     but i suppose

you knew that
where did you found it; the missing piece
                                    was it            by a secret creek
on that antique
of yours

where did you find it; the missing piece 

bumblebees, prehistoric rubbish
butterflies, a pair of medieval crutches
somewhere in that broken scene

by the creek

and you shall find it

you found it; the missing piece
                         covered in leaves

37 degrees 
                       south of many winds

Thursday, 13 August 2015

prelude to life

it was always supposed to be
just the prelude
living london
it was the prelude to what was next
but what was next, never materialized
so many years passed
then one day I realized
the prelude had become the entirety
living london, I was entirely
in the manuscript
that was my life
it was only supposed to be 
the prelude
so often
we delude
with real lies
only to realise
that real life
is passing us by, 
for that's all they were 
they were all real lies
I told myself
and real lies
don't mean all that much really
because the prelude is everything
and all we have is the present
so no matter 

<this is where I cease to wait /for you>
this is where I start again, wholly anew

///the beginning of real life-----


Wednesday, 24 December 2014

the space in between

another dream falls short
I wonder, has life really taught, 
me anything, any single thing
                                                     to feel the sting
of disappointment, 
                                   time and time again
to wonder
                                                       when, just when just when
          you'll ever make it through
whether you'll find the courage
to renew
all intentions
to find new meaning
free from pretension

another dream falls short
this time, a dream I fought
so hard to make a reality
the space between
fiction and actuality
is gaping, 
the space-
it's making
me wonder why
I ever bothered 

another dream falls short 
no matter
I always sought

to be free
                  from dreams

-peace, maybe it lies 
in the space in between-

Monday, 22 September 2014

you are loved

september already
not another goodbye
so I keep my distance 
at least I try
to keep my heart
from breaking
at least I try 
to stop myself hating
you for leaving
for leaving, for leaving
you're gone now
just like the rest
one less
soul to keep me sane
one less
soul to help me gain
clarity in unity
so I'll go to that hostel alone
and I'll watch the stars shine 
and listen to the sea waves roll
stay close to God
you said, pray for me
I'll pray for you too
meow, you said
know that you are
very loved
know that you are
very loved
the words ring in my mind
know that you are
very loved

Friday, 8 August 2014

what about my cat?

three beautiful little boys
brothers, with curly hair
dimples and an air
of care
                  free, three
                                                      beautiful little boys
their smiles brought about joy
                  pure and simple          
                                      each a symbol
of all things right
in the world,
                                      it was almost like
 their smiles eluded peace
I said 'where are you kids from?'
(perhaps somewhere in the middle east?)
they pointed upwards 'that estate' 
and also palestine
we're from palestine, 
said the eldest, 
                    he looked about nine
I frowned
               and he looked down
his brother then said
they're blowing up home
boom boom boom!
              my cat got left behind
but we'll pick him up soon soon soon
my aunts looking after it
            but she's half blind
we're from palestine
and so is our cat
         they're blowing up home
                    they're blowing up home
boom boom boom
soon soon soon
we'll pick up our cat
(we'll pick up the pieces)

they ran off then
to play football
with the others

boom boom boom
soon soon soon
(we'll pick up the pieces)

Saturday, 28 June 2014


i'll come round
to your yard girl
i'll let you know
next time i go
to the secret garden 
in springfield
we can listen to 
woh lamhe

woh lamhe

woh bheegi bheegi yaadein


then maybe liberation
lies in realising 
that it really don't matter
nah it really won't matter
then maybe liberation
lies in knowing
that its the former 
not the latter
where needs lie
so you don't hafta try
to get by
                        just float
for the end is neigh
the end is neigh

raining in niagara

hiding behind a lens
the last few months spence,
you've been more of a friend
to me than anyone I know
spence in so many ways
you've helped me to grow
better, stronger
I long for
us to stay friends
the qualities you possess
are nothing less
than beautiful///////////
patience emblazoned
with a nervous calm
so I wonder, can't you just
stay here
for I'll miss you so much
I'll miss you so much
I'll miss our adventures, spencer
I'll miss
traipsing around
in storms,
I'll miss
all our sketchy places
distracting     from the sketchy dark spaces
that lie within us
you know what I'm talking about
spence you know
what it's like
ink and light
hands across the sea
connected we'll always be
girl, how do I say goodbye?
I die 
a little every time
the rain is falling
in niagara tonight

Sunday, 8 June 2014

explore and restore

the places i go
they be so dope
that the mind expands
facts cram
fiction together
and dreams 
become string
tying in truth

Wednesday, 4 June 2014

what i got

you looked so beautiful
at the wedding
the niazi wedding
one of ours

i was there floating

smudged eye liner

a fuzzy mind
a new sister in law
i had to remind
myself, that i was there

not in a dream
lately I've been 
living in a dream
with nepalese music
clouds a discoloured cream

I lost my life
I lost myself
I traded it in

and there you looked beautiful
you brought me back to earth
girl, I kept bumping into your twin
hers eyes sad but filled with mirth

she told me i used to be so much fun
she asked me why I changed
why I had no phone
I bit my tongue, I refrained
from saying a thing

she said i had the perfect life
she said i have the perfect life

she said I had the perfect life
was she right
is that what I got?