How to Shape Your Future

Like, when you were small,
You placed Lego bricks,
Creating an alien spaceship,
Then with your massive legs,
You started thumping in destruction,
– with shoes on, of course!

Now, remake,
Like, when you were a bit older,
You painted a self-portrait,
Illuminating a masterpiece,
Then with your massive heart,
You engulfed a forlorn sister,
– from a different planet, of course!

At last, resuscitate,
Like, yesterday,
You dreamed of tomorrow,
Discovering a universe,
Then with your innocent eyes,
You opened a new book,
– full of blank pages, of course!

Ink Drops

A drop of ink on my daily life,
Ripples through the storms,
Turns clouds into starry nights,
And when the sun resurrects,
It creates a flock of birdsongs,
As if oases in nearby deserts
Can recreate a treasure map,
But I insisted on believing in it,
Storytellers of ink-filled papers,
To keep writing, I drop the ink.

When It Rained

Today, the rain drenched its own face
With tears as it touched my lips,
Commemorating a day where it left
Its own purified heavenly home,
And here I am still covering my face,
Hiding from its painful hushing drums,
A musical to the dancing hearts of nature,
Trees swinging to rescue every raindrop,
To revitalise its soul with earthly minerals,
Ah would you look at the new leaves,
Emerging and growing as the Sun glorifies
Its beauty across the endless horizon,
Now, it ascends back to its heavenly home.


Fifty is a random number,
Attracted by the logical
Mathematical calculating
Alphanumeric functional
Mind that dwells in many
Vastly complex equations,
Fifty can be very random,
But in marketing, it is not,
Simple fact of its worth
Will only be noted when
The equation is challenged,
And instead of an integer
Like fifty, a more profiting
Number is the forty-nine
Point ninety-nine, and
That is the worth of an
Item worthy of a fifty,
Fifty is not that random,
It is half of a hundred –
A number that is labelled
Separately than all others,
A symbol, a century, and
Fifty is half a century,
And so, I choose to write
Fifty random poems in
One challenging month,
And now, I write my fifty.

Today is for Tomorrow

Time’s quality assurance has passed
To never show an identical face,
And as ancient steps continue to rise,
Our fortune we start to embrace.

A night’s cloud may shed a tear,
The moon flooding the Spanish Arch,
Elements of nature to forever amaze
The young souls in their continued march.

I have learnt and I have taught,
The pen clicks to tick the clocks,
At least five years and maybe ten,
A gap to mind as the tick tocks.

In the coming days, in the coming weeks,
Angelic beings descend from our sky,
To foretell the beginning of a lovely date,
But for now, on this couch, I sluggishly lie.

During Flights

During flights you do not create marbles,
Rather, what you create is “in the process”,
Extraverted or introverted; it is your choice!
You have over 14 hours to use or waste,
Or a bit of both, like a pie: slices, percentages.
The time clicks and you start to become a marble,
As I said: “in the process” as in, we start to talk,
No introductions needed, just explain your actions,
“I just came to stretch my muscles, a bit of movement”
Out the window he looks “only been four hours!”
I know some used those hours and still using them
To just watch movies, one after the other, their choice!
Though, difficult to grab an input except their breath,
Others, with kids, move, move, and still move,
Kids with bodyguards, very important persons!
Those young souls do not need any processing,
They are born as marbles greet with wide smiles,
And what is more interesting are the duo marbles,
Movements synchronised, wordless, eye contacts,
To them I am not a shadow but a gate to the isle.
But the commonest are the cabin crew, never marbles,
Not even “in the process”, plain faces, their choice?
They are like a puppet with a master controlling its limbs,
Yep! During flights you do not create marbles,
What you create is “in the process”, if you want.
Thursday, 6thof December 2012

Made to Trade?

A learned speaker once told me to be direct,

I would assume he was a professor of shade,
Painting my quality through an iron object,
Or pottery of poetry within castles to be made,
So I did, hidden symbolic letters to resurrect,
Whilst my deep secret passions I so forbade,
Strangers of unknown origins eyes to suspect,
For the innocence of one’s self has decayed,
Apart from that I wrote outdoors to recollect,
Earth Whisperers hinting for a danger to evade,
For a direct poem I needed a subject to select,
Here, a couple of shiny dirhams for us to trade.
Thursday, 15thof September 2011


Step one – step two – block then attack,
Step three – step four – and then launch,
Step five– *RING RING* just hold a bit,
Continue training with the same routine.

“Hello! Yes? Yes, it is me. Aha, okay. When?
N-now? Aha, b-but– not a problem! Ba-bye!”

Climbing up the ladder is what I have done,
Stood on this long, narrow cliff and waiting,
Cheers and claps from the audience I hear,
Nerve-racking indeed, yet a compulsory step,
Step-step-step-jump-grab and swing; finally,
Swing… swing… swing-release-catch-swing,
Swing… swing… swing-release–

“Hello! Yes, speaking! What do you want?
I know, I just spoke to him! Yes, okay! Bye”

Climbing up the foremast just before sunset,
Heading west; eyes longing for a night’s birth,
G-golden-orange sparks the bowsprit brilliantly,
There! The universe’s soul is s-… s-… singing,
Still as a rock, but a heart’s pound is irresistible,
Cheers and shouts from the crew is what I hear,
And now to fly low on the ground with the sun,
Climbing up the mizzenmast just before sunrise,
Setting the sails, untying the ropes, yawning,
Waiting for the birth of a new day, a new hope,
Tick… tock… tick… tock… tick–

“Hi buddy! Yep, I just called! I just wanted to–
Pardon me? Oh, alright, no worries. Okay bye!”

Climbing up the ladder patiently and still climbing,
With long-shorts and goggles ready for a high dive,
Hand-leg-climb-hand-leg-climb and there I reach,
Walk-breathe-walk-breathe-walk-stop and wait,
Deep breath and looking ahead with loud cheers,
Concentrating on the types of turns and twists,
Picturing every movement in my nervous head,
Deep breath… one-two–

Sunday, 09th of January 2011

The Moon and its Light

A lonely eye stalking the blue-surfaced water,
Anonymous, yet, most of its traits are known,
The origin displays its glorious power onto it,
Arising in darkest hours exposing this emblem.

Utter silence heard upon its luminous white lid,
Disclosing the secretly survived moving entities,
Doubtful queries raised for such random claims,
Ghastly substances soar without troubling the eye.

Tolerant drifters misplaced in vast wavy prisms,
Gazing at the lid as it performs its sacred rituals,
Tranquillity emerged blessing tribal silhouettes,
Placing directions in the souls of mindful hearts.

Thursday, 22nd of October 2009