Image by Kelly Sikkema



Start Anew

Start anew, dear friend of mine, and wither thy remains; Let be known it to thee, that all clemency glistened Take out thy spike and concede to life that constrains Stride o’er, thou rover of lands in woes bristled. Start anew, dear friend of mine, and dope Thy tears in glee. Tomorrow thou shalt Ask of thee what hath become. Then probe What hath become of me, ‘tis thy unearthly morale. Start anew and be held not against thy will, for thou Art not a thee, but a ye; thou art not but one thede. Disrobe the hefty dominion, abandon the curbing prow. Break free of thee and turn, dear friend of mine, to thee. If thou wantst not the ache, the clamour Then thou shouldst ask not for the glamour.

Lost Soul

Deviant, I know what you want. I shall not give to you what you ask of me. Say it aloud, say it to me. Daunt Yourself not, for it shall come to thee. Deviant, I know what you crave. I shall not abide. You shall realize That all things aloft, in the conclave your sins, upon thee, shall not surmise. Deviant, he has been chosen by Me. O'er lands painted afar, you shall Travel with heart. Thou shall sty To mountains of reclaim, to the glorified salle. But you shall stop there, oh deviant, and you shall retrace What was said to thee. What was meant to be, in what rephrase.


Eve and day they meandered,
With no gist but guns and grudge,
Faces of cold blood wandered,
Determined to push, pull, and nudge.
Extraction made easy, they proclaimed,
For this land shall be ours in no time,
For that we shall not be judged nor blamed,
And the natives shall give up every dime.
Factions wandered, stole and murdered,
Innocents escaped and others warred,
‘Til this day the former is not burdened,
And ‘til it the latter has been barred.
Justice was forsaken, and for no risks,
It remains a token for those seated
On leather chairs behind mahogany desks,
Justice remains in the ether; cheated.

Nor the factions shall prolong or remain,
Nor the justice shall be in disdain.

Short Poems

Love Me Not

Stay away. There. Stop. Take a step no more. Danger awaits you. Precaution is necessary. Turmoil and war. Anguish and a heart bloody sore. Defeat. No victory. Loss, crowned with frosting and a Jerusalem cherry. Independence. Annexation. Defamation. One loud roar. It all crashes down, thrashes about, hefty with adversary. So I advise, random person, to stay away. Turn around. More, more. Now go. And love me not. For love, if directed toward me, is mercenary.


Sharper than ever he was. Lost, outcast, and never found. At dawn he strayed, at night he frowned. Out of ceilings he made friends, Out of darkness, family. And unreal fiends. Tried, he cried - his tears never dried. Tired, he wished to be rewired. Or devoured. Life understood him, he never understood life. Yet with all its might it tried him. Tired him. Deader than ever he was.

An Ode to Gray

Left and neglected, it sits like a mistake. The bottle of gray sobs, truly in ache. To be avoided like the plague. That's a cliche writers hate to make. Artists too, if you know what I mean. Mundanity is often misunderstood. Gray is never to be touched. Not to be mean, But it's just boring, securing no livelihood. It's just not that great. It's a dull mean Between good and bad, truth and falsehood. Between white and black for everyone to demean.

Fictitious Fiction

For winds that blow in trilling manners And rain that hits hard the slick window Undettered philosphers in high banners Falter to make a coherent lingo In what seems like an everlasting night The artist may not go back again It is either a yes or a no; a glorious fight To be fought whether or not in pain Lest you make a realistic fantasy Then we shall cope with what is real Because even for what isn't a fallacy Fiction can never be the final seal For even the most realistic fiction Can never be fully reflective For even if with decorative diction Fiction is often defective.


the audacity
of such a people
to claim things as their own
and disparage all.

the sheer impiety
and the ignorant minds
for which history books testify
mark the beginning of the end.

Other Poems


And here I am. I. Lonely. No one is here. And yet when anyone is indeed here, I am still lonely. And believe it not, you prying prick, I grow lonelier when you are present. I am not loved; I have not asked for it. I ask of people to stay away. To shun their faces From my eyes, from my interested glances, From my innocent smile, when my teeth appear, From the weirdness of my sight, when I sit and walk. A fact I can tolerate. A truth I can bear. A life I can live. Love is unneeded when 'love' is supposititious. Love is unneeded when your smile is as false as your dreams. Fly high above me. Go on, may you never fall to the ground. Fly high above me but leave me alone. Of you I want nothing But to never see your face. And if that is hard to do, then please Tell me. And I will, as child's play, remove myself for you.


Born, unwillingly, into a life not their own. Do this, not that. No questions asked. Be this, be that, graduate college with a loan. Undettered, they lead. Dictators jacked. A beautiful template. Like an Apple phone. Predetermined lives, programmed and hacked. A JavaScript void. Stay alert and never yawn. "Now off you go! Be happy," they quacked. But never gave the liberty to the coded clone. And now there it goes, expressions blacked. Years pass; clones are led to the Death Zone. "RIP," they say, after having its dreams attacked. Now the other clones forget, like their code's shown. And the cycle continues, until the end of their contract.


Remember when you sat down
On the balcony and cast
Your sight upon
The gleaming stars?
On a dark, chilly night, of course.
That’s when I promised myself
That I will change my life.
But I didn’t.
And it’s all because of you.
You act like you care
But you don’t.
You think I need you in my life
When it’s you who needs me.
You marginalize me over and over
And make me an outsider.
I had enough.
I’ve always had enough of it, but I didn’t show you
The painful feeling of subordination, of negligence.
Today I really had enough. I must stop you
Before you assign yourself as God and judge me.
And maybe you’ve done even that,
In your daydreams, in your vast imagination.
It was that night.
When I asked you about the lit stars.
‘Will they ever become dark?’
And you looked into my eyes, yours as shiny as mine,
And smiled to the question you couldn’t answer but tried.
‘I’m sure they won’t.’
And I never thought I should question your answers.
I didn’t.
But I do.
Because today all the stars in the sky have gone dark.
Darker than the night sky.
And you’ve gone dark too.
I don’t know you anymore.
And thinking of it tires me, makes me feel that I didn’t know you at all.
I remember one day you told me,
‘There is an end to everything.’
And this is the end to us.
To everything.

A Catastrophe

The artist is putting on a show The parliament is prepping a new law The police are overlooking what they saw The writers are hiding, never to be seen The poets are avoiding the whereabouts of the scene The lawyer, the victim, and the defendant are all keen The loss of a human life The ruckus, the disdain The murder of an innocent wife The outrage, the campaign The victory of a human soul The calm, the quiet The retainment of the whole The fading of a riot. "It happened again," the newsmaker screams They all sigh, approach, and make new schemes.

Rights & Favors

Justice was forsaken,
And mightiness was reduced
To one single declaration.

Those who don’t have
Gave those who don’t deserve
The rights and validity.

Excited they were,
Like a lost people who found home
To take “home” from others.

Off they went,
Having returned home
To claim what is supposedly theirs

Lives lost, rights evoked,
Favors given to pivot
National interest

Insolent Brit and ignorant Franco,
Met on two fronts and conspired
To demolish hope

Back home, an old farmer’s dream
Was to bring food home
To his hungry children

Careless and indifferent
About toxic politics
And poetic statements

About fancy terms
And foreign names
He couldn’t pronounce

Rights were forgotten
And new laws were premade
To usurp lands and dreams

The Middle East was,
In all perspectives,
A playground for B and F

So they could become BFFs,
Steal Mosul oil,
And dissect lands with a ruler

The B was Sykes,
The F was Picot
The last F is a forever failure

Two peace-loving men
Brought peace and prosperity
To people who never asked

Uncle Sam joined the race,
Confident with his preach material
His black cape hiding so much

To contain in a poem.

A Colony

By the mist of night
And the forsaken light
By the dim of Poe
And its musing beau

By the littered promise
And its utter deplorables
By the ignited flames
And the patron games

Upon them it shall be decreed
That no one is good enough to breed
A slate of ruthless crudes
A convoy of insolent lunes

Amid nights of dreary beams
In shafts of glorious reams
Indispensable and antique
Slaughter and murder at peak

To speak in flavorless terms
Was the way in these realms
And to bargain and dispute
Was the way for which to root

By the asylum and the diaspora
And the lands of misty Ankara
By the ignorance of the fist
And the fowls in their nest

By the lands of sacred mold
And the dome of ancient gold
By the light colorless scarf
And those idling by the wharf

No name but lunacy
A nation with no euphony
A people without culture
No legacy but to rupture

Kill, Kill

Observe the kid with the stone,
Or that senior with the cane,
Or the journalist with the phone,
Or the little girl under the rain.

Observe with your tactical scope,
The power and the impower.
Observe but don’t approach the slope.
They shall approach and cower.

“Kill, kill,” his innocent eyes shouted,
As if they spoke the same lingo.
What should be done was rerouted,
And the soldier yelled “Bingo!”

Observe the mourning house,
And the birds silent and still,
And the kid’s pale blouse,
Drenched in blood downhill.

Observe the kid with the stone,
How it drops down and fades,
How the terrorist becomes known,
And commence thus the house raids.


Quote 1

"At the heart of every chaos, there is stillness and tranquility, and at the heart of every quiet, there is war and turmoil."

Quote 2

"At times, principles are worth a lot more than lives." -Petal Lambert, Mortal Past

Quote 3

“Politics and literature are inseparable, for the former is conveyed through the latter. Without it, the world is a blank canvas.”

- Liam Grossman, Deadly Sand

Quote 4

“The truth is burdensome when you’re knee-deep in the lie which you have fashioned.”

- Andrew Wilson, The Greatest Speech