an orange swirl of 

cream, caramel, and salt

a play on lightness and warmth flowing to my toes

i can almost taste its air-whipped, tangy, mousse-like texture 

marrying into a citrus scent of nectar 

a lover’s liquid-golden touch 

a melancholy waltz 

the soft sun 

the star of the show 

makes its mellow descent 

across the dripping sky canvas of heavens

and into the turquoise gates of the sea-washed kingdom 

i am lulled under its spell…

i am drowsy 

in the intensified honey glow

my eyelashes flutter shut 

like the closing scene of the final act 

lush blood-red curtains falling into place 

ripe, rosy, fragrant

i inhale it fully 

this milky smooth mélange

of soul and peace 

all found in a wholesome

brew of orange 

swimming in a flavourful cup of tea 

a treat

that i have swallowed whole 

from which i became warmth itself 

even upon the amber orb’s departure 

Footnote: An ode to simply being here on this planet, at this very moment.

Have you ever considered 

what it would be like to hold a conversation with your shadows?

Familiarize yourself with them.

Invite them to dinner. 

Ask them what they are afraid of,

and why.

After all: 

there are strange and wonderful things 

in these lands of darkness,

and you might learn a thing or two

about the secrets of you.

Footnote: When shadows become friends.

12:58AM: 

a dreamer on the rooftop 

she fell in love with the sadness of the city lights 

but the light in her eyes 

still remained bright 

throughout the milky smoke of the night, 

she wouldn’t have minded sharing this lovely night

a dreamer on the sidewalk

he sat in solitude against a lamppost

mouth curled, eyes closed

he basked in the husky tunes of the saxophone 

among the slow humming of the city noise 

wondering if anyone else feels as lonely tonight,

for he wouldn’t have minded sharing this lovely night 

Footnote: An imaginary scene about loneliness, longing, and hope. Please note that “she” and “he” are only used narratively and can be used interchangeably to reflect, embrace, and honour all forms of identities, relationships, and expressions of love!

she makes me think of 

wildflowers 

growing freely & unapologetically 

she is beautiful.

for she surrenders her heart to the brightness of living 

until she’s breathing 

energy itself 

found growing even in unlikely places

she occasionally blooms in 

cracks & crevices 

but she needn’t fear 

the darkest of nights 

for despite being delicate

she is strong 

drenched but not drowning  

all wildflowers know 

how to weather a storm  

Footnote: On being alive; on resiliency.

the pull is strong 

falling into the orbit of 

old patterns

so familiar 

that I feel it 

expanding and contracting 

in my bones:

the structure to my home.

tell me

how does one  

change the foundation of childhood 

without the risk of 

capsizing? 

where can I 

seek refuge? 

Footnote: On breaking free from childhood trauma. Trauma refers to anything that distresses and overloads one’s system.

And then there was 

silence 

after the storm.

the dust settles,

the whirlwind gone –

but now I feel 

like I don’t belong,

I don’t belong.

for I am chaos 

with my human yearnings.

how do I learn 

the art of 

quietening

and sitting

still 

in 

this 

SILENCE?!

Footnote: A reflection on how it can be hard to let go of mayhem, especially when it’s all you’ve ever known. The chatter is what feels familiar, while the new is different. New can be scary. But new can be good. 

One night:

in the midst of a thunderstorm 

I had ripped open my life tapestry

in a macabre fashion,

witness all its contents 

                            burst forward 

      in extraordinary speed,

just in time to taunt me.

it was madness at play –

     and as reckless as it may seem,

I was simply an orchestrator 

searching for a cathartic 

                        release,

teetering in between the unhinged edge 

of morbid fascination

  and an insatiable hunger for

           self-destruction.

neither part of me 

could tell 

whether it was more delicious 

                      or horrifying.

  spring in my steps 

feverish fingers,

I plucked till red, 

till I could taste fire and tears.

        in circles I danced,

  faster and faster –

unwaveringly agitated,

lavishly desperate,

entangled in threads,

     wild hair matted,

fist after fist 

after fist 

after fist.

a fitful trance.

oh how there’s exhilaration 

in unravelling acceleration. 

And – my. god. 

       the crescendo,

it is beautiful!

to unleash 

     the Wrath –

I trembled in its presence,

tearing apart 

like a mortal wound,

louder than the roars of the sky,

of what appears to be a lifetime of tragedies 

spilling forward.

and fearlessly,

within this chasm,

I fell into a prostrated 

position,

allowed it to swallow

me 

whole –

enraptured in

an unmarked burial site,

awashed,

anew, 

in the dead of the night.

this was how 

acceptance was born –

with all-mighty

rawness and

sensual clarity. 

I will admit,

but not in defeat,

that I am.

(still)

angry. 

Footnote: A reflection on catharsis and the strange beauty in feeling fully. The truth is, it can be frightening, disorienting even, to experience our emotions – especially the intense ones. Numbing or avoiding them is a coping mechanism many of us adopt. This poem explores the power and release found in confronting strong feelings, emphasizing that acknowledging our emotions is essential to align with ourselves and the life we want to create. Doing so can be profoundly liberating – breathing movement into stagnancy and creating space for healing to take place.

Here I sit 

in my chair 

thinking of strips 

on a watermelon 

I suppose 

they remind me 

of imprisonment

the repetitious dullness 

of living 

a spirit 

in captivity 

mechanically 

spiritless 

rallying up 

the number of days

of boredom 

tick tick 

goes the pencil 

tick tick 

goes the clock 

striking away 

at my lifeline 

        like a matchstick

and I wonder 

what would it be like

to go on a strike

instead of sitting in this chair 

so mundane-like

because then 

I would not be sitting here 

unimaginatively 

thinking of

watermelons 

Footnote: The commonly shared sentiment of following the “right path” or “expected path”, which doesn’t always lead to personal fulfillment.

what are we doing?

swimming out in the dark, 

paddling further and further away

from the city lights 

on a mad hunt for adventure.

restless fervor beating through our veins

as we push through the surface 

spluttering,

every now and then 

at the spray of the ocean

yet drawn to the taste of danger.

skin soaked, clothes heavy

we are rising, falling, and sinking

the warm seawater laps at our necks and cheeks

strumming, thrumming onto our backs and chests

occasionally caressing our eyelids 

face flushed in between fever and passion 

drunk on the rolling of the tides 

tossing, turning, reeling, and tumbling

seduced into their confines 

you had promised me a good view 

despite knowing my fear of the dark 

you lulled my demons, swayed me into submission 

by igniting my impulsive spark

but

what are we doing?

it doesn’t feel right

swallowing saltwater in the night 

submerged in an unfamiliar

territory

not a single soul out in our sight 

naïve and trusting, but ever so uneasy 

my movements have become tired and slow

the waters churn

they lurch and surge

plunging me from high to low

wearing thin, I am afraid 

of this element engulfing me 

but you did say 

that only I can fix you

so here we are in this raging sea

crashing waves

thrashing my body

and I know 

that the bruises are forming

yet I can’t seem to find the heart 

to head back to the start

I can still hear the ocean’s calling

for out in this sea, you did say you needed me

it’s two of us against the world 

for every blow, I still intend to follow

so, into the sea we go

into the sea we go 

yet I’m sick of the to and fro

I’m winded, depleted, entirely defeated

and I’ll have to deal with this tomorrow.

what are we doing?

no – what are you doing?

you’re not giving me time to breathe

deeper and deeper into the foamy depths

to the murky kingdom beneath

I’m a wreck, let us go back

the violence of the current still shocks me

you would think that by now

I’d be stronger

but the truth is

I am slowly drowning

and amidst it all 

the deranged sea motions

I finally saw the turmoil reflected in your eyes 

in disbelief, vulnerable as it is

I cried while unraveling your lies

heaving, broken

you destroyed my trust

I should have known that your eyes were full of storm 

I took a breath, and tore away for the shore

it’s time for me to go 

home

Footnote: A reflection on heartbreak and the difficulty of letting go of unhealthy relationships. Emotions can feel like a vast, unpredictable sea – overwhelming, confusing, and relentless. This poem symbolizes the experience of being caught in those currents and the challenge of finding your way back to safety, clarity, and self-compassion. Being swept by the current can sometimes be part of learning how to swim again.

I sit in the vortex 

of a home 

and yet 

I am unhappy.

I wonder

if belonging is a myth,

or if my roots

refuse the soil

they were given.

Footnote: A reminder that appearances can be deceiving. What looks whole from the outside may be fractured within. A house may stand, its walls intact, yet still echo with dissonance. A house, after all, does not always mean home.

"Fairy Lights":

The most magical thing in the world. Under its austerity, there is something so warm, so kind, so sincere, so forgiving, and opulently imaginative about it. It makes you feel as if you, a lost traveler, has stumbled upon your very own Xanadu. Intoxicated by the beautiful suddenness of it all, you enter, like a child, a small smile that hasn't been there a while ago, trembles delicately on your lips - and you, you soak it all in, the quiescence, the amenity, in awe, in wonder, with gratitude, in a daze: "is this a dream?" you murmur; yet not waiting for an answer, you delight in the ever-replenishing comfort and nostalgia, knowing, but not ready to know, that one day you'll have to go back. 

And so, just like that, you become inaccessible to the outside world. Just for that one moment, in an unrepentant time and place, you realize with a profound amazement that you have everything you've ever desired, everything you'll ever want, right here, right now. 

And so, you stay. 

Footnote: An appreciation for what your inner child loves.

A homage:

as we welcome the new,

never forget the old,

never forget the past.

we may make the future,

but history still makes us. 

Footnote: Don’t seek to break ties with what has passed – seek to make it part of your story. Like in many Indigenous worldviews, the past is not behind us but walks with us, shaping who we are.

A dance with the rising sun

in worship of its vibrancy,

in hope that as we embark on yet another rotation around it, 

we’ll expand into the flow and opulence of living,

breathe into our highest potential,

invite in love and nourishment,

and manifest each and every one 

of our own definition of warmth, richness, and happiness.

Footnote: A blessing to the beginning of a chapter.