Dream catchers

Sleep is not a problem now.

It’s  the wakeful hours ,

when I inhale worries and exhale energy ,

that bother me.

The nights are different .

In my dreams , I breathe in hope.

I think my dream catchers

work better than my pills

and they have no expiry date .




One day at a time

I wake up to shouts of victory

Invictus , invictus , invcitus !

But as the sun dims ,

chants change .

As the stars appear ,

I wish to crawl into myself and disappear.

Thunder and my heart compete ,

I think I’ll deafen or be torn apart .

Then a lull , am asleep  and alive ,

until I awake to familiar shouts

Invictus , Invictus , Invictus !




His hands were promising .

She gave him every piece and bit ,

Hoping he’d put them all together ,

a mural , a mosaic , prettier than before .

He had so many pieces of himself ,

he could barely hold on to hers .

She crumbled , bit by bit ,

every piece pulverised .

She is dust .



I watched you engrossed

in a book ,

wishing I was a page

your fingers would skim through.

I saw you ride past fields

envious of the breeze

that kissed your face .

I was a sheet on your desk

on which you doodled ,

I was a mindless scribble

I was nothing special

but I was happy , alive .

Then I woke up ,

crumpled , like the sheets

around me .








Lonesome socks , worn out shoes ,

Some things old , some things new,

Faded pictures , dried up paint,

Books I will not read again,

Dried flowers from happy times ,

Secret diaries , broken chimes,

Votives that once brightly shone ,

Broken beads that softly mourn ,

Decluttered , but how did I start

Clearing up my messy heart ?







Heart of stone

The times that I pleaded

I was chided to be strong

when hopelessness gripped me

I was told to trudge along

The abyss pulled , their hands withdrawn

Your battles are yours alone

Now that I’m out and need no one

They judge my heart of stone .