Letter from the Past

Wordsworth once said, “the child is truly the father of the man”, so I assume the same equally applies for mothers and daughters. In which case, my dear future self – listen up because I am your momma! Save for the confines of your mind, your younger (inner?) you, doesn’t exist anymoreDressing the wounds of …

Mornings

Morning is for the living Those that rise and shine, awake and breathing Mourning is for the living The dead don’t shed any tears, or partake in any wailing Morning is for the living And the dead would mourn if they could see us not living it

Same Game, Different Name

There are many sides to Doha. Five star hotels, poor worker conditions. High rise luxury apartments, tiny box-sized designated ‘maid’ rooms. With all the abounding pomp and luxury, it’s easy to feel that the place lacks culture and authenticity. A cosmopolitan city, in which the nationals are dwarfed by non-residents who make up over 80% …

Heavy Is The Heart

Sometimes There’s a certain melancholy That descends over me When I’ve been long enough back in the British Isles Memory-laden clouds, burdened from a time gone by Slyly hover their way above me Crowding out silver linings That I’ve pained to fashion so delicately. It creates a strange sense of longing An ache for belonging …