Black As Mine

Cut me open and you will see
We're the same inside, you and me
We're all just the same inside
Your heart's just as black as mine.

Cut me open and you will see
We're the same inside, you and me
We're all just the same inside
So what makes your love greater than mine?

People I Loved

I am broken.
My heart has been bruised.
Neglected, abandoned, forgotten, abused.
People I loved, strangers now.
Fables of stars and mangers now
worth more than my youth.
The fabric of my being rejected now
to uphold their narrow views.
All I have known endangered now.
People I loved are strangers now.
My right to love refused.

My dignity diffused.

The Tree of Memory

In a garden far away
grows a tree.
Wisdom and Memory.
In the darkness of my mind.
Where its branches intertwine
In a swirling burst of the universe
An infinity in time.

Rooted firmly inside.

But roots are strong and stems, weak.
When winds of now come riding high
And the storm that brews, in a blinding light
Leaves branches bare.
Leaves despair.

The Tree of Memory
Is shedding its leaves.
Memories.

In a garden far away
grows a tree.
Wisdom and Memory.
In the darkness of my mind.
Where all thoughts are defined.
Watered by the tears of our misery.
Bears fruit that feeds the ravens
of Wisdom and Memory.
For love is the seed of all our lives
The driving force for all our lies
Love itself stands the test of time
Yesterdays fade away
Yesterday.

The Tree of Memory.
Is shedding its leaves.
Memories.

In the shadows of the night.

The shadows of my mind.

Forsaken

They draw the blood from my veins
One drop at a time.
They draw the life from my body,
One breath at a time.

Hanging on this cross,
With fire in my wounds,
I scream out in my agony.

Hanging on this cross,
I scream for you
Your silence fails to comfort me.

I close my eyes. I see red.
Open my eyes. More red.
I call your name every time I break
But you have long forgotten me.

They told me people come and go
But you will always remain

Eloi, Eloi,
Lema Sabachthani?

On Faith

I am an old man
I am but a child
I am pure and beautiful
I am crude and vile

Breaking and broken,
Perverse in your eye
Wicked, shameful, stained,
An outcast am I

You preach of love and mercy
You've condemned me to hell
Yes, I have fallen
But with grace I fell

My grace is sufficient for me.

Eigengrau - Part 3 of The Vampyre Trilogy

A blown out candle,
Vapours evanescent,
Moonlight smothered by cloud,
A dark, scarlet sky.
Her chamber, unlighted,
As black as the crypt.
Her heart still darker
Tonight.

The perfect darkness -
In her doorway he stands,
His stature majestic,
His wings sanguine.
Silence and stillness -
She sees him without seeing him,
Her starved lips
Amaranthine.

Her face wet against his chest,
He holds her in his arms;
An eternity in solitude
After eternities torn apart.
Unspoken words,
A sigh of contentment.
A venomous kiss.
A burning stake through her heart.

The perfect darkness.

Vampyre - Part 2 of The Vampyre Trilogy

A candle in her hand,
She stares at the mirror,
Her face, exquisite,
But for the shadows under her eyes,
Her pale skin incandescent
Against her midnight hair.
Her lips, tender,
But dry.

Her heart stopped beating
A long time ago,
Plagued by thoughts wicked,
She lies awake all night -
His body limp,
His scent on her tongue,
Her lips on his throat,
His taste her delight.

Her heart stopped beating
A long time ago,
Her being a mere sculpture,
Bereft of life,
The cold one
They call her,
She laughs for it's true.
The day he left, she died.

It's not his blood she thirsts for.

Her Walk Down The Aisle - Part 1 of The Vampyre Trilogy

She walks among the candles,
Under the splendid chandeleir,
Her feet cushioned by roses,
Her heart warmed by fear.
The thorns in her path,
The floor stained red,
With flowers or her blood?
Cares not, she walks ahead.

The centre of the chamber,
A table vast, bare
But for the dazzling vials,
The half-full crystal pair.
Transfixed by their contents,
She slowly drifts onward,
Knowing he left them for her,
When he left without a word.

Crimson, the liquid,
In the vial on the right,
The contents of the other,
Clear and light.
One hand on each,
She knows she must decide.
Wine or water?
Blood or cyanide.

On Free Will

I'm a huge fan of the Harry Potter books (and I specify books because the movies are an insult to Rowling's genius). While reading the Chamber of Secrets a couple of months back, I came across an interesting theme when Dumbledore tells Harry 'it is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.'

This single line got my thinking, about choices, about free will, and about identity (yet again).

I do not believe in 'destiny'. I don't believe that God (yes I do believe in Him) put us on Earth with our whole existence written down for us, we being mere puppets enacting a script written in stone. Man was created (or evolved, whichever you prefer) with a free will, the master of his own decisions. Granted, circumstances are often out of our control, but how we react to them isn't, and that is what shows our true mettle. Our reactions are also, ironically, what alter the circumstances in the future, hence being what shapes our lives and determines our 'destiny'. (And in following this theory, the circumstances we find difficult to face are mostly the result of our own doings).

Choices are complicated things. Everyday is filled with a hundred little decisions to be made, whether they are trivial or otherwise. Sometimes, the decisions we have to make are difficult, like choosing between the blurry lines of right and wrong, or the easier and the more difficult, or following the well-travelled path or making a completely new road for yourself. Yet the right thing may be the most difficult to do, or breaking away from expectations (and tradition) to 'follow your heart' the right AND the more difficult. Brings to mind a couple of lines written by Robert Frost,

'Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.'

So ultimately, who we are comes down to not the labels we are born with or have thrust upon us along the way, but rather the choices we make in our lives. I have made a lot of terrible decisions in my life, but I do not regret my mistakes, because I learned from them. They made me who I am today.

I am proud of who I am today.

Falling Leaves...

...Return To Their Roots

When I was in the 8th grade, I was moved by my Literature book, Chinese Cinderella, by Adeline Yen Mah. A story of downright vindictiveness suffered by a child at the hands of her family, my eyes were opened to a culture and suffering that had been non-existent to me. I knew the author had written one more book, aimed at a more mature audience, but never got down to reading it. Finally, after 6 years, I read Falling Leaves yesterday.

The book made me think of my roots, and once again reminded me of something I've been struggling with for quite some time. I don't know where I belong. While I love Melbourne, I cannot help but feel alienated.


I never felt this way in Dubai, where racism was rampant and often ill-disguised. Ironically, I hated the city and could not wait to get out of it, but I felt comfortable there, and took the feeling of belonging for granted. That being said, I doubt I will ever return there, for life here is generally much more comfortable, relaxed. What I have here, I could never even hope to have in Dubai - peace of mind.

Pakistan, then again, is something else altogether. I have barely ever been there, and if I feel 'almost alien' here, I might as well have been from a completely different galaxy, time AND dimension when in Pakistan.

I suppose I'm just at that stage in your life (and have been for some time) where your need to search for answers intensifies, answers to your reason for being, your place in the world, your spirituality... I'm on my search for identity, though I'm no closer to finding it than I was before. I guess this is something you have to get used to when you come from a minority in every sense of the word - Pakistani, Christian, gay - an almost hypothetical combination.

Falling leaves return to their roots.

But sometimes new roots have to be put down in a new place for the leaves to return to.