Tuesday, 24 January 2012


Conversations carried out by fingertips,
When we dared not breathe a whisper.
Sea water and cigarette smoke carried swift glances,
The last of the sunlight lingered on flushed faces.
Lifting my gaze to the winter night, I wished there were more stars in the city, to mirror the sprinkling of joy within me.
Always yearning for silhouettes and shadows,
The feel of substantial warmth is unfamiliar.
Perhaps the greatest beauty lies in the knowing and the certainty you offer me.

Tuesday, 17 January 2012


I'm eighteen.


Saturday, 14 January 2012


Inspired by Siegfried Sassoon's poem, "Attack"

Remnants of the soldier's earthly tenure;
battle scars and blood-stains.
Crimson gashes contrast sharply
with the pale flesh of the corpse.
Wide eyes that see nothing,
Mouth still forming those shouts of warning
his lips had strained to utter.

Silence now prevails,
punctuated only by the soft ticking of a wristwatch.
Ridiculous, isn't it, that time ticks by on his wrists?
Time, it is of no consequence anymore.
Time ticks by no longer for the soldier,
his time on earth has ended.

He is merely carrion,
Food for the circling vultures.
The vestiges of his life lay in the field,
In pools of scarlet,
Staining the purple petals of the Asters
that surround his body.
-Zoha Jabbar 

Monday, 9 January 2012


The palace came to life with the first rain of the monsoon. Barefoot children raced out into the garden and raised their arms heavenwards. Trees, caressed by the light showers, glistened with joy. White peacocks threw back their magnificent heads and uttered piercing cries of gratitude. The air was redolent with the fragrance of ripened mangoes, and the intoxicating smell of rain-kissed earth. Girls, in their bright chooridars, ran across the open verandas; their bangles jangling, their braids swinging. Servants carried trays laden with pakoras and jalebis. Everybody welcomed the monsoon, and relished the respite it provided from the stifling summer heat.

Saturday, 7 January 2012


She leaned against the railing, looking out at the indigo sky. The moonlight formed a perfect halo over her head. Long, delicate fingers held a cigarette, which she raised to her beautiful mouth. Oh, those lips; he dreamt of their fullness and the way they formed the most scathing words. 
With her other hand, she swept dark chocolate curls to one side of her neck, exposing the fragile curve. She turned then, and saw him, her alluring lips curled into a sneer. Disdain danced behind the sultry eyelashes, thick with mascara.
He was rooted to the spot. She gave him a long, contemptuous look before she stalked past him, back inside. He watched her depart, transfixed at the rhythmic swing of her wide hips.

Wednesday, 4 January 2012


He threw himself off the roof, his mighty wings erupting from between his shoulder blades. Each feather gleamed in the moonlight; six feet of iridescent beauty. Ezekiel was magnificent as he mastered the chiffon sky. He flew in a wide circle, relishing the freedom as he created strong currents of wind.
A sudden dive, he spiraled  downwards, slowing down as the earth rose to greet him. He hovered inches above the ground, the tips of his wings brushed the dew-kissed grass.
Ezekiel looked up at the moon, with its glorious halo. "Until tomorrow, my love," he whispered.

Tuesday, 3 January 2012

Mini-Saga: Forbidden

A mini-saga is a complete short story in no more than 50 words.


She was seventeen when she first entered his classroom. He was thirty-two. It was wrong, yes; but oh, how the sunlight framed her. They were spellbound. He was fired, she was disowned, but it didn't matter. They wed on her eighteenth birthday, and how the sunlight framed their intertwined forms.

Sunday, 1 January 2012

Hey there, 2012.

I don't have much to say about the new year, because I don't believe in resolutions, and I don't believe that you can categorise years as being either 'good' or 'bad'. That's right, the movie "A Good Year" can now go suck it.

Last year was a whole lot of awesome mixed in with large chunks of fucked-up-ness. Also, a year isn't exactly a perfect unit of measurement, it's not like all threads are tied up neatly at the end of twelve months, and you can start something new. 

No, I'm exactly where I was in 2011, nothing much has changed. 

All I can say is, if something IS gonna change, then can I be skinny please, new year?