Archive for September, 2009

writers block ¤

¤ 29/09/2009

Countless requests, urgence, persistence brings me here to gnaw myself out of this state of blank towards something of a collective expression. I never realized how hard it would be to dilute this longstanding writers block, but then again a rapidly changing human mind is anything but (“emo”-chemically) solvent though I wish that were possible. In essence perhaps what I am trying to do is refine some of this torrentially, dry & wordy sandstorms of intellectual deficits, growths, pursuits, resonance from the depths of my existence, pack them in little pretty bubbles & bring to the surface.

Writing used to be an outlet at a time, words would flow out of my heart & some would be easily written off on virtual notepads with these clicks I fire off on a well compensated Toshiba laptop. Ah yes, all i can draw my conclusions on, is that i was naive then, watching this universe from my well-protected windows with rose-tinted glasses. I remember being a total doll! With innocence, a sense of goodness, compassion oozing out of me. . . I suppose I can say I’m more realistically evolved to “survival of the fittest” theoretical nowadays, which just might be the reason WHY I have this writers block that totally refuses to just go away. After-all it’s not like I’m asking my  conscious to let go of its guards & show itself to the entire world, just for me, only for me.! I can do that for me, I like to hope!?!

Moments before now i dragged my tired body from the most comfortable sofa, hoping to maybe catch some of these thoughts that descend on the streets of my consciousness, dancing away madly, engraving their imprints through another midnight hour with tired eyes but the sharpest state this mind every conjures to within its circadian rhythms. It’s odd how so many conversations, so many things to say were speeding through the corridors of my conscious minutes before & now they draw a blank. Must be the light reflecting off MS WORD!

&& yet here I am now, firing off whatever comes to mind but none of this is worth it. It’s verbal diarrhea @ best blocking my intellectual receptors, scattering gazillion thoughts in one go, all irrelevant to what I really was thinking (but who else is going to make it through reading this jibberish some 3-4 years from now so it is ok, I forgive me! For wasting me time, now & later…)

But i can feel my heart pumping, beating slowly as it has been since the aches got weaker, time did it’s bit of healing magic (not moving away from it :))


¤ confidence

¤ assurance

¤ indecision

. . another night I spend in bed with these dominant emotions, one-way conversations with God will eventually lull me to sleep again tonight, whilst soothing powers of Enigma’s musical genius procreate new realizations, recreate old emotions/realizations & I will fade off with another “I know” smile for myself.  It’s always the same. Navy-blue skies engulf me, starless nights embrace me; I run from me.

I wait for difference within myself, I wait for change in my vision, I wait for strength to walk away from the life that betrayed. I wait for the day God will give me the green signal to take on this new life, this recurring cycle of life; with irreversible confidence, brand spanking new solace..

None of it makes sense to me any longer. The fight, the sacrifice, the injustice, the untouchable, the invinsible tragedy, the defeat of purity, the victory of evil. (& I look to the sky for answers why . . why God, is this fair? In your court is this fair? . .)

I continue walking wherever life leads me, faith seals me, God takes me, searching for reasons, 1 reason perhaps, to believe in happy endings again, to return to innocence, to fiercely believe in something again.

. . I will never understand why we must hurt one another, i will never understand why good always suffers. I have given up trying to understand why it is next to impossible for many to change for the better, there are simply too many reasons, too much cause, none the better.

Silly me, I still hope on good nature of the human race while i watch with these eyes widening beyond physical perimeters just how far people go, to get their ways, how many invisible murders we commit, how much we fail to see a damn thing.

The lifespan of the child within homo sapiens continue to decrease every year. Beauty is superficial, a sappy advertisement to produce propaganda. We grow up faster and faster, forgetting all that matters, all but our individual selves.. why are we humans such monsters in disguise?

{{ps . maybe I will know the answer when I read you years down the line again =) . .}}

© .S K.


Lifehouse – Broken

The broken clock is a comfort, it helps me sleep tonight

Maybe it can stop tomorrow from stealing all my time

And I am here still waiting though I still have my doubts

I am damaged at best, like you’ve already figured out


I’m falling apart, I’m barely breathing

With a broken heart that’s still beating

In the pain there is healing

In your name I find meaning


The broken locks were a warning you got inside my head

I tried my best to be guarded, I’m an open book instead

And I still see your reflection inside of my eyes

That are looking for purpose, they’re still looking for life


I’m falling apart, I’m barely breathing

With a broken heart that’s still beating

In the pain there’s the healing

In your name I find meaning

So I’m holdin’ on, I’m holdin’ on, (I’m still holdin’)

I’m barely holdin’ on to you


I’m hanging on another day

Just to see what you will throw my way

And I’m hanging on to the words you say

You said that I would, would be ok


The broken lights on the freeway left me here alone

I may have lost my way now, haven’t forgotten my way home


I’m falling apart, I’m barely breathing

With a broken heart that’s still beating

In the pain there is healing

In your name I find meaning

So I’m holdin’ on, I’m holdin’ on, I’m holdin’ on,

I’m barely holdin’ on to you


I’m holdin’ on

I’m holdin’

I’m holdin’ on

I’m barely holdin’ on to you

23/09/09 : 2.25am

It’s that time of the year, when the world around me dances in celebration & silent pain within dead quiets of the nights. As winds go from warm to breezy to chilly, it invades every sense, my disposition becomes cooler as the nights progress faster within its slumber, leaving me to reflect upon the cards of destiny dealt thus far. My senses heighten at this time of the year. I take in every breath, feel in every person, sense every smell, observe every expression, recall 23 years of scattered memories, passionately fall in love with the burning smell of wood on chilly mornings & taste the very last drop of freshly brewed Arabica coffee.

In this very moment. . I’m surrounded by absolute silence as the world around me rests in deep slumber while a quiet blanket of seeming serenity has encapsulated this town. The leaves are turning crisp shades of auburn, subtle winds gravitate weightless leaves from their places, turning this town into shades of auburn all around. It is truly a beautiful sight, when Canadian autumn arrives. Such melancholy, such heartache, such beauty, it is the season of change, of loss, of passion, it’s Autumn.

Off in the distance, I can hear the sounds of cars speeding past off a highway ramp. Such ambient sounds take me back in time, of memories drowning in wine, conversations laced in intrinsically pure aches from the deepest corner of a heart, whilst her demons danced on her walls. I still remember my reflection on a wine glass half full with chardonnay, verses & stanzas raining heavily in my head. I still remember everything as if it happened yesterday . .

For I know, Autumn was when I was born again, little less rigid, embarrassingly transparent, lost within life’s first real test, clutching to faith but ceaselessly, pure.

But for now, I will continue to rock in this chair, watch my shadow on the wall, lose myself in intoxicating sonatas of Arabia, wish on this beautiful night to stretch just a little longer for the only thing to complete this moment of melancholic memories is cup of coffee before I may disappear within the night once another day more.

for “I take my coffee black, black like my heart” black like my soul . .


& my words remain scattered, nowhere is there continuum, nor flow neither composition, there is as much silence in this heart as there are voices in my head. It appears, some souls truly come alive when all else dies.

& written words can never do justice, for they cannot slightly capture the beauty in tragically beautiful chaos. For now, I wish to hear the sound of rain lightly falling over my windowpane, rain on me, perhaps release me from my memories, just for a little while..¤ 


© .S K.

As the wind blows while sounds of distant oceans waltz around her sullen heart, she lay there alongside deafening silence of a midnight celebration. All she could feel were reels of her memories, of sunsets over the Persain Gulf, sanddunes slipping through her fingers, wind caressing through every strand of her dishevelled hair.

Her mind wandered to an age of curiosity from the eyes of a child, charred by emotional voids but nothing like the impenetrable pain she felt pulsating through her being; some 15 years later. Time almost stood still for a few minutes, invisible ghosts of her past wakened, demanding their rights; whilst her icy eyes glazed in crystalline. She sang herself to sleep.

“. . hush little baby don’t you cry, one day you are going to be alright.”

© .S K.

fleeting banters

 20/09/2009, 12:47am

Having forsaken creative writing years before, my mind is an empty slate washed clear of clickable words on a digital writing pad. Even though, I was never much of a traditional “writer”  I find it difficult to bring myself to “write”, in essence for much of my optimistic allure, curious voice has succumbed to unfortunate turns of fate.

As the fleeting carousing moments triumph and tragedy, appear then disappear within the alleys of my core whistling away like breezy summer nights . . I am absolutely aware that no amount of expressed words can do justice to the intellectual eloquence of the voice within myself but I may try, perhaps one day succeed again. .

. . to write again, in the death of nights when my soul truly comes alive, however fleetingly. . . to be able to express myself perhaps, through written words, rather than watching the beautifully wrecked tragic chaos within myself do that intoxicating dance they do, as I continue my journey with or without any light at the end of my tunnel. 

God is my witness, so is the universe, I must go on.

© .S K.