What I know now (1)

I wish I could tell you at 16, what I know now. No one knows where they are going. What they’re doing. How to navigate themselves through the rapids. No one knows if it’s going to be alright. Beginnings never begin as beginnings and no one ever sees the end […]

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On the Highway (memory)

I have this memory. It flutters in like light through the blinds in the morning. Sitting in the backseat. My father is in the front. There’s a landscape along the window. We’re on the highway. I’m 6, 7, maybe 8. Holding my father’s prayer hat in the tip of my […]

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On the Metro (a poem by C. K. Williams)

On the metro, I have to ask a young woman to move the packages beside her to make    room for me; she’s reading, her foot propped on the seat in front of her, and barely looks up as  she pulls them to her.I sit, take out my own book—Cioran, […]

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Tender Hands

I’m glad for what I had,bones must be tender within handsto appreciate touch, to look back, in the gardenat childhood, picnics in the grassat the river with a bend,all never ending. One needs belief,a settled gaita glance of respectat what one once was. And all one will be,to look back […]

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Grey smeared era of the blank eyed

We live in a dirty age;  a grey smeared, grease covered, dingy-shacked, diluted, coarse clothed, rough fingered, muck-filled, pot holed, smog polluted, uninspired, plastic, weak-willed, shallow, selfish, uncommunicative, dead age. We live in the worst of times. Over-inflated, under appreciated, scrambled, aimless or far too aimful, stupid, vengeful, empty, nothing […]

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Travel Diary

August 2013 Even here, high up, the bridge a tiny dot in the distance we still hear the roar of the Chenab, a muffled rumbled calling out like the sea.

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To remember

It is Thursday night. After taraweeh prayers, we have the first few rains in months after drought. We are standing in a pool of yellow light on a side street in town. A little girl, about two, is looking up straight at the sky, the drizzle on her face, smiling, […]

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The train in the night

There is a trainhurtling through the night people inside,eat their meals slowlywith forks stifling yawn,dreaming in shudders the conductor walks past,counting, the darkness passes byswift,like the memoryof yesterday

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