The phone dims back to black and I’m left in the silence.

The quiet space of no conversation and yet, it is littered with words and phrases left in the space to be picked up…

Or stepped on…

The dilemma of choice playing the backing track to my current predicament.

I… walk through the mess of words separating me from my haven and search for the two that might allow me to say good bye to the day as I enter the next in unconsciousness.

I would like to say I was successful.

But I don’t know.

I do locate the two words I think I might be of use but that resolution lies at the end of a call.

So, I watch as the backlight of the phone light back up, as I insert the two words back into the equation.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

And then watch as the time ticks away as I await a response.

Anxiety, Coping System, Descriptive, Emotion, Late Night, Life, Love, Pain, PenPractice, Poem, Prose, Shorts, Sleepy time, thoughts, Uncategorized, writing


The room is cold. Harsh. Unforgiving.

But it’s safe here.

It’s home here.

Everything freezes in here. Left to hang in the air like unsaid words and unresolved emotions. It’s much better in the long run.

It’s better than the fires outside that are licking the frame of the door, begging that I open up so that they can engulf me in their responsibility.

In their warmth. In their potential for great things spanning countries and changing lives around the globe.

Their fire for making everyone around happy and content that I’m not a popsicle like the rest of them, but the rest of them are here and I can tell they are cool.

But this is better. Much better than playing with a natural energy source and watching it consume me. Why would I risk being burnt alive? What’s the endgame there?

Success or cremation? And they think I would risk it all for that?

So yeah, this is fine.

This is fine.

I agree my fingers might be numbing off from inactivity and the general lack of engagement for it’s better this way.

It means I won’t be able to carry anything after a while.

That said…

It is very cold…

Coping System, Descriptive, Emotion, PenPractice, Prose, Shorts, Thoughts, thoughts, Uncategorized, writing

Anti-Climatic Whimsy 

I do this a lot.

I dress my worries, concerns and ‘sigh’ stories in a series of unnecessary literary complexities because it has become increasingly easier to over-simplify the thoughts that race through my mind than to call them for what they are.


The thoughts, not yet spoken, bouncing around like a soda can about to be opened, and yet when the metal seal breaks it’s metal skin, instead of the expected rush of carbonated oral explosion, all I am capable of in that moment, is the gradual hiss of the sounds needed to ease off the pressure off my mind.

Carbon dissipates as the mind regulates back to norm, the coke losing the taste of what attracted its consumer.

I spend so much time navigating the whimsical nature of my mental landscape, as I and I argue the philosophical nature of the world I’ve been born in, often lamenting at how long the discussions take, and how little they manifest in reality.

Dreams upon dreams of change that I remain unsure as to whether or not they’d manifest in my lifetime.

One minute lost in the lands of Horizon Zero Dawn, marveling at the sight that a room of 100+ developers had managed to create, and the next minute, I’m sorting out the plans for my future, my scope, size and possibilities, seasoning the plate with relationship and familiar plans.

The world grows ever colder as the fires of hate burns brighter than ever. The broken branches of alliances being used to stoke the cold flame. The west and the east remain locked in a quiet battle as governmental figures joust with their words, their citizens being used as bet or worse, bait.

The rich acquire more as the not rich bleed the remains of their monthly gain into the pocket of the tax collectors and insurers. The healthy condemn the health service, hoping for dismantling even as the sick look towards the service that reminds them that they too are human.

We are taught that we are different, even though the we bleed the same red elixir of life when we are cut.

Truth is dismissed, regarded as a tool the media utilizes to control, as the people mistake facts for opinions. Lies become the standard of honesty, on the account of being able to “trust them to lie, hence implying i can trust them notwithstanding

 Fragility is one of the traits that represent humanity, in its delicate definition allowing humans to break… And be put together again.

And with our fragile hearts in its protected frame, we toss, pass and shoot like a game of handball, hoping that our hearts never quite touch the floor, but instead, make it into the court of whom our attraction is pointed towards.

Emotional landmines litter the wall of life like a battlefield, waiting for victims to step on and watch their fragile hearts explode in pieces.

Then we spend the days/weeks/months/years carefully putting together what we saw break down. It’s frustrating, it’s hard, its delicate and tender, sore from its misuse. But we took, day in and day out at working to ensure we are protected for the next time, because we didn’t learn from the first time.

And still.

Even with all our hard work and sleepless, pillow wet nights, there always exists a missing piece to the full puzzle.

The eternal evidence that we will never really be whole again.

And that hurts.

I live in a world where my skin acts as the unwanted filter to whether or not i get particular  life choices. Like an RPG game, where I’m hindered from progression via a pathway simply because I’m of the wrong race. 

But we deal. 

We buckle down and adhere by the rules of the land. We assimilate and confirm because it’s easier. Or so we’d like to believe. 

It’s easier to listen.

It’s easier to not be eligible to buy a house because I’m not eligible for a loan of sorts.

It’s easier to work twice as hard for a position even though i already possess more qualifications than my counterparts. 

It’s easier to be shot dead simply because i appeared more threatening on account of my height and my skin colour. 

It’s easier to be profiled before speaking, then re-profiled for having a good grasp of the nation’s language, culture and art. 

And yet, I’m still hated on account of me being black. 

And then there’s you.

The average person trying to make ends meet, and better yet, achieve those childish dreams that made you colour books and play dress up.

I’m only a voice in the corner of the internet, having whimsical conversations with myself.

But you.

You can be great.

Heck, you ARE great.

Now i don’t know if anyone has told you lately, but take it from me… Me, the written calligraphic words on your screen.
I believe in you.

Go be Awesome.

Life, Prose, Shorts, Thoughts, Time, Uncategorized


The world is currently amassing into groups and crowds as the global clock ticks towards the end of the day. The end of the month. The end of the year.

As expected, numerous blog post will post up new things to look forward to in the new year, or new outlooks to embrace, or games to expect or movies to anticipate, so on and so forth.

Some will congregate inside churches, dancing, praising and worshipping their way into the new year, while the others will congregate in clubs and bars and all, dancing and welcoming in the new year with unbound reverie.

The darkness outside forces me to cast my mind back through the year, to inspect on how the year has gone and all I have is a sober gratitude to my Maker that I’m at the door to the next one.

If I localise the feeling, it’s been a wonderful year. I’ve got a girlfriend. I’ve got a new job. I feel different and happier. There’s a new respect between my dad and I. While admittedly, I have a few gripes with certain plans, it’s been a good year.

If I expand the circle past the boundaries of home, the world has become increasingly dangerous. Radicalism is back on the rise as people take advantage of deep seated frustrations and transform them to hate. So we’re back to hating each other as the ones that rule us intentionally cause discord and divide between us.

I don’t know what next year holds.

But my hands on the door, and I guess I can only hope and pray that next year goes as God wills it to.

Happy New Year in 3… 2…

Life, Prose, Random, Thoughts

Picture Perfect?

The sun hangs low above in the skies across England, even though the warmth it dishes out is minimal. Minimal, in regards to the North as the cold air of the yester-nights rain hangs overhead.

It’s chilly.

Coats and Jackets brush by each other as employees bustle about, lost in their own respective worlds. Everyone gets to Work to work, but really, hoping for something else. Something different.

By the time the warmth descends, it is lunch time. The working force pushing themselves away from their desks and out back in the open, enroute the canteen and the bars selling more warmth in the form of food. The mind is joyous even as the tummy rejoices.

Its brief, moments like this. When the sun hangs at the right angle to filter it’s light through the trees branches and shower the Earth with more warmth, the wind blowing the fallen leaves into the air.

Picture perfect.

For a while.

Then the moment lasts forever. The warmth turns to heat, as the jackets and coats come off. The body pores pour out sweat in record quantities as the body laments the heat. The trees wither and die, the leaves dry up. The wind remains, stuck in the air causing the atmosphere to get stuffy. Humid.

There’s a word that comes to mind here.


Like the 9-5 madness of the robotic world. Waking up, getting to work, leaving work, eating, minimal free time, sleeping. Weird order. Necessary and yet, done in the most involuntarily subconcious way possible as the mind has rationalised it into simplicity.

“You must work. To eat. To live.”


As the dreams mixed and matched in kidulthood get shelved because the “big-boy” adult pants are now being worn and luxuries can’t be afforded anymore. Dreams, offset by worries. So we stay content in mediocrity. Lament at the fact that others have made it while we are stuck here being stagnant.



…wishing things could revert back to when they were picture perfect.

Retrospect, huh?

Life, Pain, Poem, Uncategorized

[Lost Pages]

I went through my drafts and found this. So I’m gonna post it. It’s from 3 years ago. Hope you enjoy it. I’m going to start posting any old work of mine that don’t have a particular theme, be it prose, blog post or poetry under [Lost Pages] from here on out.




Locked within herself like a prisoner…
Everyone sees the ‘lady’ but fails to see her…

Innocence chained up by the experiences she’s been through
one can only guess how she’s lived through it…
Forced to ‘grow-up’ against her wishes,
so she compensates with binges of drinks,
white upon her nostrils,
and momentary lapses of ‘faked’ intimacy…

Nightmares still caused by the memories,
leaking eyes – at the thoughts she remembers,
Father’s cold eyes as she falls subject to his ‘dominance’
was this what he meant when he called her, ‘my little princess’

“It’s only for a moment…”
but the moment’s seems to last forever

Maybe this is what her mum meant
when she said she could be ‘whatever’

Alarm goes off, and she knows its time to work,
Mascara and make-up to conceal the hurt,
Back on the streets, about she walks…
Searching for the next pleasure pill to forget it all…


Perspective, Priority and Procrastination

13 days into the New Year, and I feel different.

Better than I have done in a while.

Perspective dictates that I look back and check the differences piece by piece, but I think I’d rather just bask in the moment.

This year is going to be great. I can feel it in my gut.

As to what occurs during the year as a whole, I am ignorant of such an information, but nonetheless, I await the ending with anticipation.


I do believe I need to work better on my plans for the year.

Procrastination is a common flaw in the human psyche, as we have been subconsciously conditioned to leave ‘things‘ till when we can be ‘bothered‘ to do them.

So assignments are left till last minute, simply because we have chosen to prioritise fun over the hard work intended to lay the foundation of the future we want to live in. We’d rather drink to our good health (so far) than put in the needed effort to ensure we enjoy good health in the future.

[And by Health, I mean the dictionary definition of soundness of body or mind]

I’d like to believe that most of us learn to eventually sit up straight and take our lives seriously towards the last couple months of University (Some do this earlier, some do this later. I’m generalising for a better, possible, statistical range) but even still, the sheer lack of a future plan is something that still affects quite a lot of people in the modern age.

It’s gotten to a point, when I inquire as to people’s dreams and goals, I ask about their plan to get to their end result and they vaguely explain what they think it entails, without any actual plan or research.

Now that last sentence applies, or rather has applied to me on certain occasions on which, I always have to sit back and actually think about where I am and where I plan to get to.

I guess where I’m getting to is this;

– Make a plan for the year.
– If possible, make personal deadlines for yourself.
– And most importantly, prioritise your future over your present.

I’ve done that for the last two years. And whilst I’m still far from my perceived end-goal, I feel much better for putting everything into perspective.

“Radéh tirÿsa ÿsa-ûl m’haral”

Read that as you may.