Coffeeholic & Me

To the corner I go

Empty the sachet I know

Beans a brew

I’m on a blue collar high

With the screen

Staring at me all a-glow

Time to unwind

Tea? Not my kind of fancy

An hour to honor

My company

As cup No 3

Sets me free


Repeat n’ Rewind

Beaten while bound
Stark mouthed
Yet no sound

Grown unwound
Numbingly gagged
Burning aground

Lost or found
Jabbed in disgust
Fighting deep down

We keep moving
Like clockwork
Giving not living

Is this all that’s left for me?

Wrongful Right

This day brings
A disturbing plight

All pertubed
Plain in sight
Yet I remain calm
With verses laying
Cross sectioned
In my palm

And in an instant

A ray of longings shine bright
A nullification of a bad past
A wrongful act becomes right


So many of us seem

To know so much

About others just because

They’ve heard or

Read things about

What others may

Similarly be

Going through

What they don’t

Usually realize

Is that the life

We lead

Isn’t textbookish

We ourselves

Can’t recall having

Such life lessons

Bookmarked, dog-eared

Shelved or journalled before time

It is through experience

That we become

Lions of our own


The worst of nightmares

Is when you scream

And no one listens

The wall-trapped vocal chords

Are but echoes in a distance

The worst of fears

Is when understanding is lack

Ignorance builds like the

Greyest of overcasts

Clouding my memory of

What and how and why

We got here

As drifting apart

Becomes clear

And is now near

Photo credit by Pexels





Pity the Fools

To them I beg to honour me

A stretch far from the grimly state

I was forced into, coerced to be

Trialed and tried, forced to fight

My own battle when words uttered

Is a far cry from the truth

The blame game and shame

Adjudged for being the only

Candidate; a victim of finger pointing

A used fool misguided

When a lie detector test

Is proven unreliable

And the sentencing

Becomes unbearable

Secret Affair


Once it was all
About the dots
No, no not the ones
That appear after
Each sentence
Nor the ones that
Need extra care
And dabs of peroxide
It’s the polka kind
That appear on prints
And white dresses
That cover hats
And embroidered laces
Having grown astray
I kept my distance
My secret love affair
With what appears to be
Stripes so horizontal
That clads my bossom
And tugs snug around
My waist so thick as I
Strike a pose