The three dead sparrows

I wanted to write a poem
about the three dead sparrows.
I would’ve compared them to
a sad face;
a sad trumpet;
a broken heart;
a lonely day.
But their death is more
than what you do to me;
and it’s more than a tool for me
to create a poem,
to tell a story,
or to show an image.
The three dead sparrows
will be left unremembered
and unrevenged.
My poem doesn’t do justice
to the way they stopped breathing,
losing their selves to the
Kingdom of Sleep
to the way they bled out by the canal,
and the world was still;
to the way their eyes closed
accepting their faith.
Dear sparrows,
I’m sorry.

There are fireworks outside and I’m bored and feeling stuff

I sit on my window sill and gaze at the darkness
Fireworks bang and crackle behind the trees
Some of them are shy and some of them
are fearless
And I am laughing out loud
Because I am happy
I feel every boom in my chest
And I remember how kissing you for the first time felt
Exactly like that
I love you
And the thought of kisses
Makes me melt
Here sitting on the window sill
And I melt
And I’m melting
Down the wall and onto the pavement
Where people step on me and don’t think twice
But I’m smiling
And feeling every fire
work inside me


As it is World Mental Health Day today, I decided to share a little cheesy poem that I’ve written not too long ago when depression had started to return back to me from its 2-year-long holiday.

I’m just a little sad

So little, that in day my heart laughs out loud
and I say “Hello” with a smile.
So little that in night no sleep is allowed,
only a pitch dark hole, which leads to My Own Misery.
I’m just a little sad.

So little, that when someone says “I love you”,
I love them back.
So little, that it’s not my blanket but the arms of you.
I’m just a little sad.

So little, that when I’m happy it’s a warning,
so I smile wider and laugh at my own tears.
So little, that when I place my feet on the ground each morning
I wish it could swallow me up and eat me whole.
I’m just a little sad.