Paradise Avenue

Paradise Avenue.
The angels argue who will fall
first, and they choose you.
You are quick to laugh it off,
“O Angels, must I fall. Can you not arrange a ride? With all the power God holds, can he not find someone, who with me, could die?”

Amongst the extroverted residue
I see translucent trails of you.

I see you cry by the bins of Abraham’s bakery
you are just a sphere of blue
Without blowing my cover from behind the reed flute
I somehow wish to tell you
for years I’ve watched you grow into
a light above the architectural dispute,
and since a child golden cobbles heat up as you walk beside them on your way to Gabriel’s honey pool,
I see you between God and his first Repute
and since a young age you have had your eyes wishing to dilate,
cocking your head between God and Adam
wishing you could have a love as great.

For heavenly years I have tried to build up the verses to tell you that;
I have fallen in love with watching you and
I have come to always
see you behind me, ahead of myself
I see you above me, I lower myself
my only wish is for you to be brave enough to grow form
so I may hold you and you may have, just as you wished, a love to fall for.

Paradise Avenue

The Two Hearts That Were Moved By Each Other

Simple face, simple speech,

only ever asked for simple things when she was asked-

“What would you like to do?” To do.

“It’s up to you.”

She sneaks out of her house to see the silent skies not knowing the night she’d chosen to glorify uncertainty was the same night the Absolute would fall into her world.

She’s wearing the silk blouse she wore that day when the man behind the counter stuttered nervously in her presence. She can taste the cold. She can feel her nipples numbing beneath the Chelsea blue. The moon lets her have this night to herself and slips behind the church roof.

The air is fresh enough to feel it fall asleep on the back of her neck.

Tiptoeing on the below-the-hip brick wall, she makes her way to the end of the street.

She halts as she starts to feel herself hollowing, the weight of the unseen falling to the bottom of her stomach. It starts off with a heavy blur in her right ear. A dulling white appears before her right eye. Her head cranes in the same direction. The absurdities are not enough of a warning for her sudden fall to the ground.  Winds rush to carry her coarse screams away so no one on the street can hear. This is a private affair. The screams keep coming for it is now her heart’s turn to shift to the right.

She lies on her stomach, breathless, biting on her gum, her left ear pressed against the ground, waiting for the heart to end its stir.

Through the dizzying pain she sees a figure standing on a street, on the right off of her own.  She blinks once very carefully to let her eyes adjust to what can be seen.  He wore a black woollen coat. The shoulders fit him perfectly; a sign that he may have searched for it. The wool between his shoulders glazes over the dip in his back and she is confused as to why this is her first point of attention. From the way he is standing she is assured that everything that touches him wants to be touched back. She confirms within herself that he did not search for it, it just fits him well.

“What would it be like to be made of wool?”

His head is tilted upwards ever so slightly, waiting- disciplining the elements to stop and quieten.  In the church yard the oak tree apologetically stops its rustling. Street lamps subdue their saturated oranges. The moon remains hidden; with ardour and embarrassment it understands one should not be witnessing such an intimate affair. The only source of light to fall upon the figure is the colour blue; the colour that was once waiting to be discovered. Now, in this very moment, Blue shows itself, unveils and sinks into each available pore in all its deepest shades. There is a silence upon every sense. Fearful of breaking that silence, a wave of wind rushes in to catch his attention. It unloads the impatient screams of the girl lying on the street.

It was if he was waiting for this very moment; for his world to start blinking heavier. For his world to just about slip into deep sleep. And for it to then be awakened by the sound of need.

She sees him move. ‘He moves,’ she thinks. He turns his head to his left walks towards the figure on the ground. The Blue crawls into the lines beneath his eyes, making his expression hard for The Girl on The Floor to see. He keeps on walking. Blue crawls further, now into his eyes and in a jealous frenzy for attention freefalls onto his right cheek. She can hear his walk. He walks quicker until he hits a glassy new air outside of his atmosphere. He can hear breaths other than his own. He can hear her breathing.

He struggles to take in air. “Don’t sigh,” she says. A laugh splutters out of his mouth as he reassures her he’s not sighing.

“I can’t breathe.”

“Neither can I.” His legs buckle and his back bends backwards until it reaches the ground where she lies. His eyes are closed and his jaw is clenched.

“This was always meant to happen, wasn’t it? This is what you were waiting for?”

“Yes. I was waiting for you.”

His stomach concaves as the first stage of the hollowing begins. As if preparing himself for this very moment, he reached out and held her hand knowing that it was his turn for his heart to fleet to the right. She moved closer to him. His hand did not feel like the hand of a stranger. His hand felt like it should have always been there. She did not question what was happening. He said he was waiting for her – and that was enough.  With his eyes closed, he yells in pain and tightens his grip around her hand. She can hear his teeth grinding against each other. Still lying on her front, she moves closer to him until they touch. Her head is now resting near his shoulder. She counts the cold breaths coming from his mouth.

“It’ll be over soon.”

Both hearts have ended their move and are now still. Both hearts have been moved. They both lay on the ground, arms by their side, one hand in each other’s, in front of the church yard at the end of her street. The moon knows it can come out now, but it still lets them have their moment in private.

The Two Hearts That Were Moved By Each Other

I Don’t Believe


I don’t believe in the first day we met
It’s all just fables and tales.
We may have bled into each others skin
unwillingly seeped into each other’s lives


we may have forgotten what we meant

maybe we never said hello right


I don’t believe in the way you look at me
Because there has never been a day
you didn’t look dead
And that’s not how it’s supposed to be


It’s supposed to be us against the world

                                      but the world burnt us alive


I don’t believe in a mother’s touch
Because sadness no longer means
find warmth from your hands
It means find shelter in any man’s plan


You didn’t even have to do anything,

I could have brought the blanket


I don’t believe in firearms since
the day you shot me in the leg
and I fumbled by your feet
close to kissing them


I’m sorry for staining your shoes

I remember trying them on as a kid

I don’t believe I saw remorse
When you froze me with your stare


I don’t believe you ever looked at me
standing still when you breathed heavily


I don’t believe humans are from one
because we’ve always been about honesty


I don’t believe we are all connected
All because you don’t believe in me



I Bet.


I prayed for forgetfulness and that’s my last memory of you.


I bet you remember

how many traffic lights it took for me to become bashful

how many horse drawn hearses it took to undo the knots in my gut

how many spans of your hand it took to go from

the pit of my neck to the bottom of my spine

the number of ribs you could stick your teeth into


when you made me gasp for air

the first time we got carried away,

which was some day

a few dozen months ago.


and all I remember

is wishing for the sun

to rapidly grow old.


Go on, tell me you love my birth mark

on the right side of my back

just above my blade,

The one that dug deep into your chest

when I wanted to leave

and you wanted nothing

but for me to stay.


I know you remember

the look of panic in my eyes

when you made me run to the door

with my clothes in my hand

and tears ran

on your bathroom lino


I came back from Babel’s recital

gasping for the same air

in the same room

some time later.


and I don’t know why.


Say it all.

I know you

will never forget.

And you know

I believe in prayer.


I don’t remember

what day we met,

what you were wearing,

how it felt to feel you

beneath my chest.


I don’t believe you’re dead.


How easily I forget.


Go on.

Keep saying

I love you.

I dare you.



I saw the sky in 3D. The dual carriageway taught me that I want to travel. Well not so much taught. It told me I want to travel at night. It told me not to sleep.

I was driven onto one very long straight road all the way to Ipswich. I visited family, the type you grow up with and then during annual visits you all speak of how you wish you never grew. That type of family. We ate. We smiled through awkward silences. We felt a deep regret when we asked each other questions we should know the answer to. And then we parted ways. We were all walking towards our cars and in one moment we were connected. We all looked up at the sky at the same time and saw in it our own very different reasons to drive home.

On my way home at 2am there were no street lights on. There was just the dim light coming from the front of the car. I had to sit in the back of a two seater, wedged in the middle of two people. I let my head fall back and I got to see what we were all engulfed in. The night sky. I didn’t consider myself small under this blue blanket. I was a grown woman clutching onto a blankie. It was brimming with stars. They were moving and our car was still. My neck was starting to hurt but I was fixed on the formations. I saw three shooting stars. And I’m almost certain they shot across whenever I opened my eyes after closing them for a few sleepy seconds. It was like the shooting stars were reminding me beauty cannot be found when I’m asleep. Wake up and witness nature dancing. Wake up and listen to the layers above you. The soft vibration from the engine was creating a buzz that lulled me into security.

The stars were falling and then with great speed stopped to be suspended. Stars were breathing. Formations were speaking. Greek gods were watching. Lovers were swinging from crystal to crystal. I love my city but that won’t stop me from walking miles to witness a moody sky adorned with diamonds it inherited from its mother.

I reached home and looked up before I stepped inside the house. It just wasn’t the same. But after a long time of feeling a heaviness on my chest I was going to sleep with a clear breath.


The Moon & I

I’m feeling nostalgic over moments that happened a month ago.

I remember listening to the moon creak slowly down his angle. Arthritis got him moving slower.

‘Tell me tales of the old’, I asked the moon and the stars. They gave me a little inspiration and I thank them for their stories. I may have departed them by belittling the sky. I told her she’d be absolutely nothing if it weren’t for them. Who would look into an empty sky and dream of lives they wished they believe they could live?

I did this every night for a very long time because I was always static during the day and I found it hard to see past the computer screen and all it’s information.

So, every night I met with the moon and it would project an image of itself chasing the sun. A little narcissistic but I liked knowing the moon knew what he wanted to do with his life. He would show me all the lovely people that spoke with him about the freedom they longed for (I admit I got rather jealous when i saw that loads of girls spoke to him). At twilight I’d say good night.

One night, I was on my way to the moon and Orion’s Belt coughed stardust in my face. I gave him a good telling off and a little advice to take some honey and lemon. Apparently, Orion was trying to get my attention and had something urgent to tell me. He said that the moon is a hypocrite and I should not fall for his trap. I was instantly taken aback. He asked me if I wished I was as beautiful and as happy as the moon. I said yes. He asked me if I wished I was as free and light as the moon. I said yes. He asked me if I knew what the moon’s job is. Job? What job? He does these things because he loves to. Orion’s Belt told me the moon has got a 9-5 job and he’s stuck in it forever and he has no choice but to stick to it. His job is to make people feel free.

At exactly ten past eleven the moon came. I never realised it had a schedule. I felt very betrayed by the moon and told him everything Orion’s Belt told me. He didn’t even deny it. I couldn’t believe that all those nights I was looking at life’s 9-5 job to think I was unshackling from my predestined plan.

The moon and I don’t talk anymore. Ever since that talk with Orion’s Belt I’ve felt a bit weird speaking to the stars.

The moon can’t derail and neither can I. And now I’m always sleeping on time and waking up on time.

The Moon & I

Fifth Night

Few days ago I did my annual character review. This is when I ask the people, who know me well and are not afraid to tell the truth, what they think I should improve when it comes to character/mannerisms. It helps because I can only really see myself from my eyes so the opinion of another, who’s opinion I respect, will do well to opening my eyes on how to better myself.

These are the things that came up:

1. When someone says something to me about myself I take it to heart and their words about me bother me too much. I need to decipher if their opinion is any good before blurting it out to my close friends. I get too caught up in other people’s words. If it is really quite serious and is bugging me for a long time then I should say something.

2. I blame myself too much.

3. Be righteous.

(That last one is pretty vague but is the one that hit home the most.)

Characteristics and to hone them is something that is emphasised in a lot of religions. It is very important to me because I believe I should be the best version I can be of myself all the time whilst keeping in mind that I can always be better. I don’t lose out on anything by trying to emulate the great mannerisms and characteristics of the Prophet; a man who was known for his trustworthy nature even before Islam was revealed to him.

Doing this character review is a great way to keep improving. It has proved effective over the past two years I’ve done it. Whether I follow a religion or not, I would always want to make sure my character is in check and that I treat people the way I would like to be treated.

Fifth Night