The Naked Powerline

“What exactly do you like about the rain?” She almost whispered it to his ears. The heavy pour was making all the sounds disappear. The thunder was roaring once in a while. He knows she doesn’t usually like to raise her voice. But this time, she did raise her voice even though it came out like a whisper. “What is there not to like about it?” he said. Her chuckle which hid her scoff cut him off. “Wha…t? What are you scoffing for?” He was expecting her pretentious, almost always pre-formed opinion about it. Not that he hates it, it just kills the mood or his fervor when it happens. His fondness for rain couldn’t be less changed because of this. But, he was giving her a chance to say more about it. “You know I don’t like it when you talk about things in hyperbole. This is just a talk. Not a poem or story. Just state it plainly. Like in the real world. Not like hanging up in some fantasy. As if you’re taken aback by the former world. So, what do you like about rain?” He wanted to say how n...

Foggy morning with light rain Wet pigeons in leafless trees Cold weather, jacket please! Oh darlin’! I forgot you're not here with me. It feels like yesterday when you decided to flee Since that day I became a vagabond of love Asking every passerby  to fill my cup and heal my heart “Oh please! Just a little piece! ” But this  venturesome heart only wants you That even these little pieces can't make this heart palpitate Cause you are the only fuel for it

You own the luggage, I own their essence. I am happier than you.  Your life: banks, mosaic rosaries, elegant secretaries, cognac, golden spoons, hotels and cashes... And my life: windy streets, owed bills of exchange, papers, rain, bread soaked in grains. Inspite of that, I can lay my head on the pillow and dream, As for you, only nightmares. I saw trenches, huts, and camps, Double what you have seen.. of salons, evening parties and luxurious restaurants.. And with these two hands, which have often scratched your soft fingers.   With these two hands, dozens of corpses were taken from the battlefields I sold bites and newspapers on the sidewalks of cities. I moved the boxes, in the stores, bricks and plaster, to the homes of the wealthy I washed dishes in cheap restaurants I worked in sewers, cafes, and bookstores for a hamburger roll... I walk the streets back home, unlike you... How often do you complain about boredom and satiety? As you dig out your rotten teeth with matchst...

My living body at that moment, the windows covered with their perforated curtains, as I lay in my bed, the focus of the fragments coming from my subsoil. My face is up to the sky and there is no angle to step aside,my hair is dusted with sun dust, and the air enters the cabins of a ship I send to sea, now and then, made of my words. My words are full of omens, omens, and the surprises of my days. It is heavier than the dirt of my friend's unknown grave in my hometown. No, I am not as lying low as you might imagine, on the bed of my solitude, far from reaching your glorious cries.The light smooths my face, and the vision July turns the walls of my room into a paper theater in which a match is lit. My hand might drop its load of words on this step-covered threshold and the wrathful,Faltering wind of the Lord scatters me on its march through the desert like a handful of wheat.This is me: the sound of my hidden bells in the flesh, louder than an impending storm. I don't wait for a ...

  You contemplated for a bit and asked if I ever found comfort in love. Lost for a certain answer, I smiled. I’m still in search for the proper nomenclature that could explain the weariness behind searching for comfort in something you struggle to trust. But do you want to know what I find comfort in? Savior complex, Suffocating obsessions followed by sudden disinterest, short lived infatuations, romanticizing people based on fleeting moments, attachment issues and almost everything that isn’t love. My comfort lies within acceptance of the possibility of love letting me down if i ever gave it the benefit of a doubt. Or shall i walk you through the times it unsurprisingly did? The heart is a muscle and love might have strained mine.

For the years that you have been at campus, it barely crossed your mind that there’s going to be a time when you will have to leave campus and start the unfamiliar journey of “independence”. unfortunately, that journey has no “how to do” manuals or mates who are going to tap on your back when you’re making the wrong turns in pursuit of your careers and job hunting. That lonely drive is scary and will drain the crap out of you when it finally dawns on you and you start doubting whether education is really a path to success as you have always believed.  On top of all that is pressure from your family who believe that when you go to school, a million dollar job is just a whistle away and just like that you are the family millionaire. At campus you had it easy; heated water using electric jugs and cooked with gas cylinders and electric coils without daring to pay attention to the power units that were incurred. You washed dishes under running taps with no scruples whatsoever about t...