Spirit Guide

Crow calmly stood on the path at the entrance of the shopping precinct.

The winds of time blew through crow’s walnut brain.

Crow solemnly gazed at passerby.

Crow had a crucial message to impart to an unsuspecting individual.

But no one descried crow’s black feathery presence.

Crow earnestly cocked his noble head,

Studying each pedestrian who strode past.

Crow’s pretending eyes would instantly know the right candidate to approach.

Crow, the opener of portals, stood right at people’s feet.

Crow had fundamental psychic tidings to impart to the susceptible:

But the people were too busy and in a hurry to notice crow’s shamanic presence.

Crow stood there, gazing upwards.

‘Hello. How are you?’ the man, laden with shopping bags, said to crow.

Crow titled his noble head in severe concentration.

Crow aware of the man’s penetrating eyes.

The man smiled at crow, and casually walked away.

Crow, graceful in flight, hobbled along the path pursuing the man.

The man felt crow following him, stopped, and turned.

Crow opened his dark shining eyes.

An ancient wisdom emanated from crow’s soul.

The winds of time blew through the man’s walnut brain.


Breaking chains

Darkness came upon my soul

Making me feel so strangely cold

The hear ebbs exiting my veins

Leaving my body writhing in pain

I sit upon the cold grey stone

Willing demons to leave me alone

Shaking my head side to side

Removing their poison from my mind

Determined not to run in fear

Down my cheek slides a lonely tear

What shall I do, don’t know where to go

I run towards the trees, for shelter I know

Branches loom over, darkening the sky

Running so fast, harder I try

Don’t look back, don’t see what’s behind

The demons flight, much quicker, quicker than mine

Help! I scream and rush from the night

That enters the woods much to my fright

I sense the warmth that can save me… so close

But alas, I tripped, fell and I lost

Footsteps come nearer, my sobs quiet down

I cringe, hold my breath, face in a frown

Closing my ears, holding them tight

My body is trembling, but to the death I will fight

I look into the black void

A swirling mass of temptation

knowing for me no hope of redemption

Threatening to take my soul

That has already began to feeel so old

I look into the depths of the abyss

I stand tall, and I tell then this. “I am here and will always fight

I will stand alone, backed by the light

That’s why I need a gentle spirit watching over me

Guiding and protecting on this journey far and free.”


Days of isolation

spent in contemplation

living in my mind

while in a state of vegetation

I will only continue the expectations

and waste hours on senseless sensation

forgetting the importance of active


falling victim to stagnation

motivated by fear and paralyzed by self-condemnation

searching through foreign eyes gifted inspiration

that instead presents self-doubt and motivates my indignation

where can I find preservation

of my childhood’s innocent happiness?

Does it lie in my perception or in nostalgic affiliations?

can it be found in my 5th grade converse

or memories from Imagica’s vacation?

How bout silly expressions?

Things I never related to, the start of shaky foundations

perhaps visitations?

or maybe,

just god?

Lyrics x Books

My skin screams out for redemption


darling you see: I think in words of fiction.

“I’m half a soul divided”

An obscurus hoards my soul,

and dementors are the face of my depression.

“The night falls with gravity”

How long have I been here?

The thought police have a habit, you know.

They keep us locked in here,

and I don’t know whether it’s night or day.

But I feel it in my soul.

The night has come for me.

“We’re running too fast, fast save us”

My mind is a maze

and I am the runner.

But I run too fast, too far

Trying to survive.

I grow weary of running this hard.

“Send out signals and red flags in waves”

But there is no one to see nor hear my pleas

I’m lost 10,000 leagues below the roaring seas.

The old man and sea are after me.

“I’m falling farther, I’m caught underwater”

Plummet as I sing

An angel of ruby falls down from the sky to catch me

Plummet as I sing

// swing low sweet chariot

For Real

Let’s talk about things that matter. Really, let’s. It’s so much more easier to get caught in the web of pointless gossip, than to focus on every single thing wrong in this world. And no we can’t change it. But, we can’t ignore it either. Maybe the only way you can change something is by acknowledging the fact that it exists. That it has been given birth on this planet, or that it didn’t die centuries ago. That war isn’t happening just on your screens, but it really is happening. That children are dying, that this world is burning. Let’s talk about the fact that half of this world is burning and the other half is feeding off of it’s remains. Man, let’s talk about the stuff that really matters. Instead of praising people for ‘looking good’ let’s talk about genocide. Let’s talk about racism, world hunger, global warming. Stop ignoring the things that are happening to your own people. Let’s start talking about how you claim that they aren’t your people. Let’s start talking about how personal beliefs have divided us. Man, you cares if you go for friday prayer in Mosque, or to Church on Sunday? We’re still brothers, we’re still sisters. Let’s talk about how borders have become barriers. Let’s talk about how we’re going to break them. There are millions of creative, talented, people that go undiscovered, let’s spend all our useless time discovering them instead of covering stories about who-wrote-what.

Hundreds, thousands, millions of children don’t get the chance to go to school, let’s educate them. There are so many things to do, so many stories to cover, then why are we covering something so pointless? It takes you two seconds to get over a dead Syrian child on the turkish shore, but months to get over what some irrelevant celebrity said? Man, look around. We are all so brainwashed.

Stages of Art

i– learning that words are far more powerful than they say, that the way we let them seep into us is a direct representation of who we are. The guide to you, to me, the way we navigate our way through emotions; apologies, I tend to feel things too deeply. It’s a flaw of mine, the first stage is realizing that flaws make good stories, which is why I should write you a poem.

ii– they love you, but the person they love is not the one who writes sonnets, just the one who nods. Obedience makes for a terrible plot line, art is raw and true. It is not you who needs art, the world craves it just as much. The difference between talent and its absence is, talent is all that you have pent up inside you, its absence is your flaw. You refuse to acknowledge yourself the way you should, love your soul and soothe your mind Art isn’t always meant to be attractive.

iii– your art is no different than theirs– every story has already been written, and yours is just an extension of something that already exists. To be original, you don’t have to be new.

iv– sit. breathe. art is not something you actively seek— it arrives when it wants, and it leaves when it wants. you are a garden it visits, sits in, and leaves. I wasn’t meant for more than what I will do, so if they forget you, it’s okay. You don’t have to be remembered to be valid, your existence was– is, always will be important.

v– art– there is no need to hide things, the world wouldn’t care if you gave too much of yourself away. Don’t hold back on stories.


Like this city’s busy streets,

my veins vibrate with the rumblings

of the motorbikes, cars and trucks

that make their way through

dust-covered highways and byways.

My veins, they echo the murmurs

and hums of the daily traffic,

as they rush to supply blood

to my heart- beating a resonant sigh

of longing- to be free, to be away

from the buzz of this metro life.

My heart, it screams of wanting-

to be where the skies meet the seas,

to be where the earth smells

of laborious hands and morning rain.

My heart and my veins, they commune

with my pained soul- depressed yet

hopeful, anxious but desperately

seeking for the kind of calm that

covers the world with the silence of

dawn, just where the sun begins to wake

and peak through the clouds.

My soul, yes my soul- it longs

to be free and is heading there, at last.