Recap of my best articles



Birds fly because they have wings

birds fly because
they have wings
what else could
lure them out of their nests
plumetting, flailing
toward certain death

skeletal and featherless
but with one purpose
fly or die.
nature grants no allowances
or exceptions
no second chances
this is it.

humans have no wings
nor gills, scales
fins, tails
death is bad luck, not
a certainty
if you fall out of
your nest, just
climb back up

what are our wings?
what allows us to soar?
think about it; pause
feel it beating in your chest
remember the first time
it got broken?
you jumped from the nest but
the wind failed you

pause; feel it beating

remember the first time
you flew?
weightless, buoyant,
dipping through clouds
you never imagined
it could feel like this
this is purpose, meaning
this is destiny

then a stutter,

perhaps humans are
luckier than birds
for if our wings fail,
we fall to the ground
dust ourselves off
and launch ourelves into
the sky again

birds fly because they have wings
humans live because they have love

The sun does not rise by mistake

rooftop, sunrise beyond the hills
I am calm like the unseen sun,
I tell myself
breathing with deliberation and
feeling nothing but the wind.

but my emotions fight back
throwing pebbles into my calm pool
of thoughtlessness
and I am a boat bobbing on the surface
unable to control the movement
of the water under me

I hear the words
he said and I said
bitter anger at a friendship lost
over something so trivial
and the sad realisation that
if fear did not devour him
I could have saved our friendship

the sun’s forehead peeks over
the edge of the earth
immovable but for its’ own path
just like me
moving the only way I can;

I watch the sky light up
and let my thoughts trickle over me
then disappear
knowing that acceptance is slow
and growth takes time.
the sun does not rise by mistake

How to listen

I feel out of touch.


Exempt from that flowing

current of life

wherein everything seems right.

I don’t talk to the trees anymore,

and they ignore

me back.

A two-way mistrust.

But in my dreams I am one

with the world, with

nature and the elements

and myself.

I swim in

an endless black ocean,

its ripples incandescent from the

pale glowing spectre

hanging above.

My gaze extends forever

over layered mountain ranges,

each growing

smaller and paler with

the distance between I and they.

I sit in the reeds of

a riverbank

among green and yellow stalks,

a duck glides

past, I can see

its webbed feet working


and backwards.

As I trek over hills,

the land welcomes me.

I can feel its eagerness to have me

as one of its own,

it does not

discriminate as it rightly could

against me.

But in my waking hours

the land does not welcome me.

I don’t remember it.

I have become




When focused only on the

minuscule splatter

I am in this painting,

it becomes easy to forget the

plethora of colours

and textures

and brushstrokes that

surround me.

Perhaps the trees never

ceased talking

to me, I

just forgot

how to listen.