The Beginning

Hours have passed, she’s not sure how many.

Seems like alot, but then again maybe none at all. Nothing here has changed, it’s still loud and cold. Faces have been coming and going, some of family, some of strangers. There’s constant noise. A continuous hum of chatter tries to muffle the monster of worry that is taking over her, but it’s a losing battle. Everything hurts, the pricks of needles are now one too many, and this bed is becoming unbearably distressing.

She takes a deep breath and looks around

Screens and beeping machines are tied up to each other and to her, while watching the rise and fall of her body and pain, she listens to the rhythmic beat of new life echoing from one of the monitors.

It’s now almost midnight and the 9 month journey is coming to an end. It’s loud and bright, cold yet she’s sweating. All sorts of devices are clanking on sterile metal trays, some are whirring, people are talking, tension is so high you can barely see it. It feels like jumping, falling, spinning out of control and barely seeing clearly, it’s like a haze has fallen upon her dark brown eyes, eyes that are shedding a single tear in the hurricane of needles, doctors and nurses.

Another deep breath.

Just like the sunrise, peaceful, warm and quiet, her angel came to her arms. The hurricane has subsided to a warm breeze twirling around them both, engulfing them in bliss. The sun rose and lit up his face, the way it lights up blossoming tulips in the gardens of hope. His tiny nose and mouth nestled between rounded cheeks. His eyes closed as he sleeps soundly, she watches his chest rise with every breath and his fingers twirl around the edge of her palm, looking for something to grasp onto. This is when she became his castle, no matter what storms are coming ahead for him, her rooms will be his shelter, her gardens his playground. He will learn to walk on her smooth cushioned floors, and will learn to talk over breakfasts and dinners. His laughter will be always echoing in her high ceilings and his cries answered within her vast walls. She will be his home.

Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead the way diamonds shine on crowns. She holds him tight to her chest, he opens his beautiful dark brown eyes.

A son and mother are born.

My drafts folder ever growing, my published one dying….it’s a desert here, almost as if the happiness chased away the words. 

I’m making an active effort to get back to writing and giving life to this blog again. Stay tuned 🙂

The vast reds, whites and oranges are stretched out. With a happy breeze, the scents are carried on, twirling around us. We’re intertwined yet again, mind body and soul.
The winter has finally passed and we have made it, we have made it together, hand in hand and heart to heart. Seeds have been planted and the soil has been watered. Poured our love onto what is ours and watched it grow.
Come beside me even more, but this time, we’ll be dancing in our flower gardens for forever more.

Leila

I’m an astronaut and she the sun.

We’ve been waiting for this for far too long now, all the sleepless nights , the deadlines, the grades it’s all history. We’ve earned this party and no one could ruin it…except for Leila, my sun.
I watched her from a distance , the way flowers look up to the sky, waiting for rain, for warmth, for a smile. Watched her tie her brown hair back showing off more unattainable skin. No one really heard what was said at that moment, but a raspy “How dare you” from her was enough to start a commotion. Chairs, tables and punches were thrown, all in defense of Leila.
She’s the sun and they’re all jumping into the first spaceship. A silent raise from her hand was then enough to bring the fight to a halt, we’re graduating and the sun is setting. “Fights are for boys” she says trailing off into the horizon leaving behind scorched hearts. Not knowing that I am no longer a boy, I’m the astronaut that won’t leave Earth, wouldn’t stop staring at the sun, and would never dare love the moons.
I’m an astronaut and I love you Leila.
Vacuum.

Finally

It has been a harsh winter, years worth of winter. The trees bare and the roads slippery, no one to guide us home.
It has been dark and it has been cold, but the frost on these flowers is finally melting. Come, let’s watch our flowerbed rise from the snow, as proud, as powerful, as beautiful as it can ever be.

You can let go

You don’t get it.
You don’t get how much it scares me, watching you with her, dreading the moment you’ll pull her tight, kiss her lips and breathe in her ghastly beauty. It terrifies me, that grip she has on you, like the grip of death to hospital rooms, like the grip of grief to cemeteries, she holds on to you, relentless like the cold on to cadavers, like the shiver freezing up my spine.
Her hair, the dull of all that is gray, to you a million silver linings. Vacant eyes glaring, and you peek back to brand new possibilities. Her lips, cracked like barren land, yet you’ve managed to find shelter under every rock. Skin so ashen it’s barely there, still manages to illuminate yours with renewed bliss.
Your corpse bride, scalding your cheeks, burning your lips into a smile and suffocating your mind. Spinning, into an endless whirlwind till you drown in her aura, so thick is the smoke around you my dear, you have become a mere haze. You’ll kiss her I know, kiss her every chance you get, breathe her in, let her invade your lungs, make it her shrine, reminding me that you’re not all mine, reminding you that you’re not all yours, reminding us, that there is no queen here but her. No right-hand men, no council, no advisers, just her. And you, an obedient lover.
You don’t get that you can walk away, you can run, sprint and break free. Run like you are chased by death, a thousand times over I’ll cheer you on.  You don’t need to wait till you have to cough her out, because darling, that cigarette will not hesitate to pull your soul along with it.

 

Paintings

” I bruise easy”

Mesmerized by the city’s colors, she lets it paint her skin with the burning oranges, the bleeding reds. Like a child with a drawing book, this city is filling her in with the cold blues, piercing purples and bruised blacks.
Wearing her paintings with a proud smile, she roams in endless circles, the beautiful city of Stockholm.

Alter Ego

My name is Karma.
I will be the shattered mirror that pierces through your soul. I will become you, only more patient. I will be the champion you never were, will hit bulls-eye every time I shoot. I will be more powerful, will be the perfectionist you ‘almost’ were. Not leaving a trace, a speck of dust nor a whim of a tear. I will be more cold, will not panic when you bleed, will not flinch when you wail and will not let go when you resist. I will be you.
My name is Karma.
What went around, I’m going to bring it back around. Like a desperate cry over the canyon, it will echo your screams, your cries for help. Like a typhoon, like a car crash, like a nuclear bomb set within your soul, it will topple worlds around you, crush the walls in, push you over the edge. It’ll come back around and it will engulf you, will deafen you and it will break you.
My name is Karma and don’t worry, I will never let you go.

Triumph

The stench of his cigarettes filled her lungs like poison, burnt her eyes and clung to her hair like hairspray, holding it messy. 

Carefully stepping over a toppled chair and around a table crooked, she bent down and reached for the phone, the one with wiped off numbers and with steady hands started dialing. 
Looking around as the ringing pierced her ears, she said goodbye to what was once her home. A mirror at the far end corner shattered into a million stars, illuminating endless nights that were spent on the floors weeping. Weeping for the loss, the pain, the humiliation brought upon her daily. Curtains on the opposite side, used to being drawn shut, covering the lies with floral pastels have finally broke free and were dancing into the breeze. And all that was in between, was broken beyond repair. 

A voice cracked on the other side and she smiled triumphantly at the calmness of her own. 

– Yes, hello…. Yes I would like a cab please, 21st Lawrence street…..5 minutes.Okay. Thank you.

She snaked her way across the room, opened the already bulging suitcase and rummaged through till she pulled out a pair of black heels, tossed them across the floor. Pulled out an eyeliner pencil and bright red lipstick, tossed those. Knee-high stockings, a hair-brush, a bunch of bobby pins all tossed around like trash, which they were. She held on to them earlier, hid them to pretend that they didn’t exist. Like they weren’t left behind carelessly by a woman who was not her, a woman who was far more confident, far more pretty and far more charming . A woman who was supposed to be ignored the way a traffic light would be ignored in a hurricane, the way a feather would be ignored in a stampede, the way a tear would be ignored in the fire that brought this house down. 

The stench of his cigarettes filled her lungs like poison, burnt her eyes and clung to her hair. One last time. Looking over at his sprawled body, she tried to feel sorry but didn’t. She felt victorious. 

Walking out, with teary eyes and a satisfied smile, she was far more charming, far more pretty and far more confident.

Dreams

In my red dream jar, 

• Is the resilience of an English soldier

• Is the sweetness of summer’s melons
• Is the strength of a timeless Camaro
• Is the beauty of a young rose
• Is the purity of blood
• Is victory.