Clarities, in startling rapidity.

It’s remarkable how much gratitude will let you see. ♥️



Let me be verbose

in this world of

shrinking attention spans

Flickering screens, flicking hands

I can’t stem the flow

It’s my veins singing

pulsating the inking

All these songs of me for you

All these songs of me, for you

These songs of you, for me

These songs of irregularities

of patterns in the matrix I fell through

of stuttered heart beats

Let me sing, love, let me sing

Projectiles verse from fingertips

Tactile, light sensitive fear

insomnia spills from numb lips

onto stray easels left bedside

Paint, pen, phone, crayon, still soft clay

Creation does not well limit

Into boundaries of reason

Rather on the edge of whim

of fancy, of breathless exhaustion,

Bodies replete with attempting

to manufacturing more living for

nightmares in the making

destinies unshaped

We have our muses, mediums, in

our own skewed tastes

Let this one be

mine, unfettered, stray

unbridled, free

Let me write you

my irreverent, formless






Ripples | Yusra


Caution to the Wind

Just as I suddenly had reason to go, I found reason to come back.



I woke up apprehensive. Someone good has happened to me- and good things rarely happen to me. Fear of an occurrence with fear of its fading, so to speak. And then I found reassurance from the most unexpected of places- myself, from the past.


I’d written a fictional piece about a year ago, a sort of ‘if only’ about acceptance, flaws and damage and all. I packed the dismay of having being hurt next to the hope of being held and allowed to heal, wrote it down, and banished the dream from my head.


It became reality. And today, when I woke unsettled, it pulled back to the wishful thinking I’d put down that night, and pointed out as clear as day- this is now truth.


There is now someone who doesn’t care that you were hurt. And he will not, at least intentionally, every hurt you.


If there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s that cruelty is a choice we all always have.

In some manner of survival instinct, we have evolved the ability to hurt, to cause pain, to inflict indignity, even when it serves no discernible purpose, yet soothes some reptilian part of our mind that derives satisfaction from it. It could be as simple as being hungry and a little terse, to downright poison tongued, orchestrating cracks in people’s skin that deepen and harden into crevices through which they remain forever exposed to the elements.

And bare nerves seeking shelter… are cruel in self defense. It doesn’t stop.

Choose to not be cruel. Choose not to be unnecessarily cruel. Choose not to have the marks of your bad day or rotten mood be the point by which someone remembers their day. Choose not to be the reason someone looks back at a memory years later and realizes that you had chosen, in that moment, to be cruel.