The blood room

Or, Why a poet can never save the world Like a strange afterthought, the X-ray machine in the dark room … More


Like trees violently shaking in the breeze and being torn apart uncontrollably, we drift away. At the bus stop, the … More

My God does not

My God does not order me to burn people at the stake because our homes, with roofs falling, water gushing … More

My friend’s professor

My friend’s professor is a thorough gentleman. I have heard he never misses the early morning lecture at half past … More

Poems on winter

  Winter is coming   It always feels strange when October comes. I sometimes sit observing the fireflies trapped in … More


How do you bear spaces that are haunted with refutation, the caprice of foamy sentience perhaps still pebbled with cold … More

Death of a poem

The poem always comes to you in moments of crisis. When after the lingering effects of last night’s quarrel, you’ve … More


No more of witch-hunting in gramophone voices. No more of staged distractions and dilapidated laughter. Erasing with a wind compass … More


Faces grow like petals in a footage of voices wobbling in repetition. I try to unlearn the grammar of her … More