What went wrong


when you ask my long face

‘what’s wrong?’

– where to begin,

I don’t know;

Just now? Yesterday?

Nineteen ninety four?


the day I was born?


Aqua de Noche, Amy Friend 2010


Aching Tuesday

Five am chimes drowsy

buried in layers of dust moments

down in the bone trenches;

an old habit

creaking through sixty-two years of debris

casting feeble spots on the bedside wall.


Out there the pink is breaking grey

in rhythm with each muscle and cell

hurting back into senses.


Streams of water rolling down the throat

is louder than the clouds after the drought

but, it’s set even on the pattern on the drinking glass,

set in the programme

and part of the monsoon.


Sitting down with the walls

the last bit of love in the house spills out the window

to run down miles, miles and miles…

across the day that was just erected

out of dry twigs breaking crisp

under the weight of

the no man’s land,

the beastly nothing,

the doesn’t matter-

the deadweight of



Picture - Art by Margaux Othats

Picture – Art by Margaux Othats


Worst things

It’s the worst thing

when you have to hold on

to someone because you should.

It’s the worst thing

when you see that nothing lasts

regardless of good,


or other recommended things.

It’s never good when

everything is better than approximated

but into time,

into liberty

you still see icy water.

It’s pretty bad to know

that the whether had nothing to do with

the way you feel-

It’s not so bad to think

that it is only just chemistry working.

It’s not too good when

the evening seems pointless from all angles,

It’s worst when

even a sunset too orange burns your tender skin

and topples your heart to break.

But, the worst of all is

that it’s only the worst thing,

never the last.  

Image by Arslan Ahmedov