One afternoon, months into the pandemic, I sat with my sister on the balcony playing Uno. The sun was scorching, someone was screaming on the streets and never mind the drilling that refused to stop in the building opposite to ours. But still, we had nothing else to do, so…

Act 1 I see myself. It’s usually in the few seconds after I pull my body off the bed, that I begin my game. Call it a movie, actually. Over the years, it’s only got more conflicted and chaotic. But that’s what makes a good story, right? I do not remember ever…

My body is my home. For the next few months, this one-bedroom rented apartment I share with my friend of over fifteen years is my home. My mind is my home, and this world is my home. The endless timeline of my Twitter feed is my home (I’m not calling…

Dear Bookstore, I must thank you like one would thank a mother. After all, don’t you accept me when everything else seems lost? The world is a frightening, maddening, deafening place. But you are comfort. You are full and overflowing, with a belly full of words inked in black and words whispered…

I know you have the words. But I beg of you, for once throw them all out of the window, don’t leave a trace. The sky is still as vast, the colours are still cascading into each other’s embrace. It will all be here even if you stopped, for a…

Find me in the shimmer of the moon As black emerges from a sunken blue Follow me to the depths of the earth Where none arrives, except a few The world is a strange place It asks too much of us It desires and it devours It rages without a hush So I ask you, to leave it throw it all away Instead, gather your footprints Let me lead the way Find me in a moment, Devoid of words and voices Follow me to that expanse

An old house sat on the edge of a small, sleepy town. Some said it had been long abandoned, others believed it was home to a ghost. The walls were decked with cobwebs, the paint sour and chipped. The town’s oldest resident claimed that the house had stood there even…

The night sky draped around the forest like the brushstrokes of a brooding artist. A mute landscape, brimming with consolations but devoid of sounds, silence had lent itself to his grief. The birds flew, but they didn’t chirp. The wind blew, but it didn’t whistle. The trees and those that…

“Hubris,” men mutter as they watch the boy fall, his wings wilting, feathers falling and hot wax gliding down his burning skin. …