Who Are You?

Who are you?

A poet that plays the guitar.

Who are you?

A poet that writes bad poetry and hopes for the best.

Who are you?

A poet that is waiting for the rapture.

Who are you?

A poet that listens to people’s bullshit and stays silent.

Who are you?

A poet that thrives and grieves in isolation.

Who are you?

A poet that knows and understands.

Who are you?

A poet that stays in-between, belongs on the margins.

Who are you?

A poet which is not a poet.

Who are you?

A poet that looks at idiocy and has to endure the fools in this long walk of life.

Who are you?

A girl. A Fascist in life.

Who are you?

A visionary with an apocalyptic mind.

Who are you?

An anti-poet.

Are you who you think you are ?

I am who I know I am.

I am the girl with the transcendental views about you.

I am the poet that uses what you tell me against you.

I am nobody and everybody dissected on the wide space that covers my face.

Look at you… Look at me… Can’t you see yourself through me?

Can’t you see who YOU are?

Jessy Jameson

Before the moon touches her shoulder, Jessy Jameson rushes into the nearest pub

She pours and drinks in search for balance

But alcohol only offers an illusion of balance

The balancing act she performs while sitting on the bar stool resembles the big blue marble circling the star of flames.. Thus chaos

Her balancing act spreads chaos around the universe !!

The glass of Jameson sits on her palm like a baby rests in a cradle

However, she is not aware of the chaos

She drinks in peace

She.. is in tranquil chaos

She is madness and affection

Jessy Ann Jameson is one with this chaotic universe.. 

Painful Lust

Struggle has a beautiful face

Her cries of pain is singing to my ears

Her moans of agony plays a joyful melody

I thirst for her open wounds and lust after her broken nimble limbs

The clouds, oh how i miss the misty clouds where her tears mingle in the rain

Her touch is torture for every being.. yet arousing


Astonishing is she when she bleeds

Appealing is she in her stained white dress

Breathtaking is she with every step she takes

She trips and stumbles gracefully again and again


Amusing is her suffering

She suffers and does not plead

She suffers with great joy


I, however, lust, the painful lust.. 

Three Pops

I put out the cigarette and closed the door behind me,
Although nobody was home..
Am I the only one or you tend to do that too ? I don’t know.
I took off my clothes,
I rinsed the shower walls and floor with the faucet,
Till the water got warmer..
Got in the shower and swilled myself.
I did my hair, twice,
You can never be too sure can you..
I popped the lid of the shower gel and squeezed,
It wasn’t gel that came out,
Bubbles ! Three bubbles floated out.
Surprised! I guffawed !
When was the last time I saw bubbles ?
I couldn’t remember.
Was it that long ? Have I forgotten?
I don’t remember. I don’t know.
It should have been some time that I saw
That transparent, light, innocent, opaline,
Where are you? Has it been that long ?
Two of the bubbles popped against the wall,
And the third mid-air.
Three pops and the portal was sealed.
Life is too short to be indecisive, life is too short to be clean.

The Captain’s Cabin

The Captain’s Cabin is my temple and Rhum is my savior.. Cheers for whom the bell tolls !


Dive ! Dive into the abyss of thought

Rise ! Rise from the wars you fought

Spit ! Spit into the fire of delusion

Murder ! Murder the seed of timidity

Burn ! Burn down the tree of affliction

Escape ! Escape the garden of Eden !


Pull up your anchor of submissiveness and sail to freedom

Shatter ! Shatter your tombstone and climb the hills of serenity

Serenity.. sweet sweet serenity..

Concentration, clarity, mental stillness, my hands fondling the glass bottle and I say: The Captain’s Cabin is my temple and Rhum is my savior.. Cheers for whom the bell tolls !

Kill the King !

Eyes are blinding

A king is not who wears a crown

A king is not who calls for peace and justice

Every creator of virtue is a king

Every man searching for rainy clouds is a king

In tranquil chaos a king lays naked in the rain

Thoughts like rain drops bombard his skull


A king is equivalent to a mustard seed, though it is smaller than other seeds, 

when fully grown from suckling on rainy clouds it emerges as larger than other garden plants, 

hence superiority


Bats are sensitive to light and rest under trees

Men are not equal and not all men are kings

Now let the kings slaughter each other and the bloodbath begin !

Kill the king my brothers and sisters !

Kill the king !

Thus spoke Ibn Rishde

The Loss of Innocence

What is a bar that lacks beer

What is an umbrella on a sunny day

What is a breast that lacks affection

What is a child that lacks protection

What is a construct under construction

What is a light in the face of a black sun


Now tell me what do you call a man that holds a gun

The cost of innocence is the loss of innocence

Justice for all ?!! But what is justice ?

Thus spoke Ibn Rishde !!