The City

The mast rises beyond the city roofs

Black and white in the city lights

Hungry stares around a fire



It will be night soon
The chaff will be thrown
Over the edges
Of the cassava farm
The goats will bleat
The dog will twirl its tail
But music?
It goes on

Little musings and its rhythm
Are antics for little swans
Jolts its way through
Buzzing bees
The sound lulls you to sleep
Tender and soft
Baby, wake up
Take your foam
Up the terrace
Lets catch a view
Of music

Mould you on-
Turn your flesh
This way..that way
In your blush
Of literary fantasies
It is worth everything

–Marvis B.


There are days it’s hard to be-

To toss aside the half-sweaty sheets, drag your tired self to the shower. Water slipping on skin . Alive. You’re to float through another Today and keep those emotions from spilling over your sore edges. Just remember to breathe. Oh how ordinary it all should look.

This doesn’t help you know. Yet what else?

Other days life flows. Soothes. Fulfills all its promises. Laughter and blue skies. Hugs and sunshine in your belly. Your prayers aren’t a knot of unreached words in your chest.

24 looks good on you. One of those off point remarks someone made at your birthday party. So you turn off the lights when you’re alone and try not to overthink. You turn the lights back on, take off everything -slowly, unfeeling- and stare at 24 years of skin and shadows. It doesn’t hurt. You’d thought it would.

Sam chokes on photos 30 minutes later in front of his clients. And swallows. He feels like a great husband. One only gets to realise these things when the sun has set. Something less terrifying.

“You’re having a midlife crisis. Lol.”  It is Sam. You’re still here and nowhere. Waiting for 24 to feel good on you.


                colours in twirls of smoke

                                              gone in whispers,

                and nothing else. Now she knows.

Photo Credits: tumblr arts


She is afraid
In that way

A child screams
At darkness
Where things hidden
Fade. And heal
Or don’t

A mind afloat
Till it doesn’t,
Tugging on old years
Of scents on the subway
Ash and clouds

Turned against each other
This isn’t you
It is never easy
To forget
One’s shadow