Ode to a nightingale

Lone bird
chirping in the night
what are you looking for?
Do you see how this dark
carries your song, sharpening
its sweetness in these moments
unpolluted by the cheer
of daylight,
or the violence
of countless flocking birds,
who peck at every offering.
I have seen the fire
that rages in your chest,
and what its like
to continue singing
when solitude is near.


Alive & Awake

Listen, there is a single thread
between being alive and being awake.
and i’ve spent four seasons
trying to find it.

In spring I have followed
a hundred and ten mynas
building hollow nests
into newly blooming trees

I have flown, in harsh summer
between warm countries,
carrying walls, all along
thinking they were but twigs.

In Autumn, I have saved
each falling golden leaf
covering them with soliloquies
and failed desperately at letting go.

I have woken up in winter
too early even for birds
and written letters as I learnt
to burn through the cold.

but listen, there is a single thread
between being alive and being awake.
and it took me only four seasons
to finally find it.


Blind date

You wouldn’t know it from sitting across her
but her ravenous appetite is gone

something has happened,
on the banks of this frozen over canal,

she has come undone.
In the distance she hears herself,

her voice doesn’t quiver,
her perfectly manicured nails mock her.

Nothing is as it seems.

All she remembers are two ducks
stuck in a river of ice,

frozen while encircling one another.
Forced rituals of courtship,

unknown mouths splitting her head in two
and spilling the remains in the sea.