Keyboard warrior

Keyboard warrior

There are twenty six alphabets
strong enough
to make someone’s day,
or make you fall in love,
maybe even hold destruction by the scruff
of its neck and save the planet.
You can raise toasts, gods, hell
and sing them lullabies.
You can turn humans into life-savers.
There are twenty six alphabets
at the core of every soul.

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Strip-poetry.

Strip-poetry

You taught me poetry doesn’t have to be
long
like
this.
It doesn’t have to rhyme
every single time.
All poetry needs to be is a punch
into someone’s gut
strong enough to make them gasp.
“Poetry is a seed
and you are the sunflower.”
Strip a poem word by word
down to this bare bone,
and you’ll find that poetry
is just a couple of words deep.
Poetry is about when you read it.
Poetry is about how much you need it.

Continue reading Strip-poetry.

Purple

Purple

I came up with the first two lines and the last two lines about two weeks ago. Then, I used them as a prompt and expanded it into a poem. The thing about prompts for poetry is, it doesn’t have to be one word. It can be an interesting conversation that you come up with or a cool concept you find on the internet. Don’t limit yourself with just a word. Be inspired by anything. I hope you like this poem! (also, I don’t want any of you to miss this in the poem so here goes: red+blue=purple)


You told him your favorite color,
he shrugged and said “okay”.
Six shots down, you wrote I love you
on the back of his white tee
and he never wrote it again.
You were just another “he loves me not”.
Even after you sung him songs,
he slept humming the tune of Lonely – Akon.
There’s this concept of
With the sea in your eyes,
you told him you had to let go
if he didn’t say he loves you, if he didn’t promise a forever.
He shrugged and said “okay”.
It wasn’t an Augustus Waters reference.

Continue reading Purple

Through the eyes of Mohamed Mattar

Through the eyes of Mohamed Mattar

About a month ago, news came that a young man had died protecting two women in Sudan. He was shot. His favorite color was blue and that’s where #blueforsudan comes from. They still need our help and that’s only possible through spreading awareness. So this is me, doing that in the way I know how to.


This poem is fictitious but hopeful.
(TW: misery, death)

26, died protecting two women.
Stood like a wall
made of every instance throughout his life that made him
the man we know;
protecting his humanity to the very last breath.

With his finger wrapped around the width
of his mother’s finger
like a burka around the head,
he must’ve said his first proper word when he was 17 months old.
“aas-” giggles “-rakkh” drools.
azraq, blue.
His mother must’ve told his abbu and cried a little.

Despite living in a conservative household,
his parents probably spoke to him about everything.
He must’ve known about the horrors women had to face
at the hands of men who slaved for liquor,
at the hands of monsters that called themselves human.
While his bedtime stories were of castles,
his dreams must’ve been of being worthy of it.

When Mohamed turned 13,
he cut a black forest cake for the first time.
It must’ve been a gift
because his friend’s mother had called to thank him
for saving her kid from the bullies,
or judging by the type of man he was,
it must’ve been a gift by the bullies to thank him
for making them human.

Some random facts about him that I think
could be true:
His first breakup was mutual.
His favorite food was kofta.
He was always a good man.
His favorite t-shirt had the graphic of a cute doggo.
He loved cats too.
His mother was proud of him.

One fact that is definitely true:
we are proud of him.

Two hours before he became the voice of Sudan,
he cut a black forest cake for the last time.
He’s gone but his first word has stayed behind,
to protect.
26, died protecting two women.


Into stories? – Autumn
Instagram – @myspirals