I bolted towards the eerie array of colourless trees,
Leaning into the envenomed depths of the sea.
St George the Prince sat stiff, resolute
His bony fingers clasped around
the strands of moonlight floating from my mane.
Read MoreA distant memory. One that could never be forgotten. She was dressed in thin garments on a frozen winter morning. The sky was of an abnormal depth, even for such menacing times. Clouds of fog moved towards her, enveloping her frail ankles in their icy wrath.
Read MoreBeyond the crevice of the soul,
lies a glorified story of my sleepless nights.
The dreams, too sour and ever too ripe,
overlap their brused shadows and slide out of my mouth.
Un hiver ou un été
Je partirai dans le froid ou dans le soleil
Dans un cristal de neige étoilé
Read MoreMy legs, moving faster than my shadow,
the colours in my sweaty hand,
Too far in such a short distance,
like dying before the end of life.
She tilted the jug of pink lemonade and the ice cubes tumbled into her glass, three at a time, clinking together. He was at the other side of the room, slumped in a sofa, a cup of steaming coffee in his trembling fingers. Miriam wanted to say something, anything, but as her mouth opened, a single breath came whooshing out before she clamped it shut, her teeth grinding, hard. All this was giving her a headache and so she sat down, dizzy and flustered.
Read MoreHave you ever pushed the door of a store, driven by the nearly magnetic attraction of a name or visual on the front window? I have, many times, often to be disappointed by what I discovered once inside.
There was this one time though were I entered a small narrow shop called Serendipity in a sleepy village in Cornwall where I had rented a B&B.
Read MoreDear you, whoever you are,
I found this sturdy leaf and pulled out my purple fountain pen from the back pocket of my soaked denim skirt, and decided to write this letter hoping you would find it.
When I was washed onto the white sand of this island, I befriended a seagull. She was gentle and kind and approached me when she heard the sound of my voice. Now, I have decided to let her go with this letter attached to her leg. She will return and when she does, I will know that she has found you.
It all started with a misunderstanding. Zara agreed to meet me at the bottom of the stairs of the Paris Opera, and I waited for 30 minutes at the bottom of the stairs of the Paris Opera.
Except that my sister Zara meant the old Paris Opera and I understood the new Paris Opera, also called the Opera Bastille. Technically I was right of course. The old Opera house has been converted into the home of the national ballet and replaced by the new Opera...
Read MoreThis time, a Moroccan taxi driver picked me up at the airport. He was having strange conversations on the phone mixing English, Arabic peppered with some colourful French words. He specifically fancied "deguelasse" to qualify all things related to American politics and the price of housing in San Francisco.
Read MoreJason whipped around, the crackling hum of wind made him fear something. It must've been death in general, or maybe just the idea of it. The sun was long gone, and the sliver of a pale orange moon was glassed over with blue dust, liquid moonbeams easing through the burning cracks of the sky. His little brother, Oliver was just seven years old, and clutching on to Jason's arm as if though his life depended on it. And maybe, just maybe, it did. Rosie, the hyperactive dog, was slouched over, hunched into a skinny ball of fur. They were late, and they didn't quite know why.
Read MoreI bow down to you
The father of my soul
I started anew
and held burning coal
Weak and exhausted,
Hammered to my bed,
not be trusted,
for I’ve lost my head
Stacks of worn-out sighs and swollen hearts,
The leg of Egypt lifting elegance,
on its stretched out deserts and smiling pools of golden blue,
Sinful day,
and truthful night,
will betray,
the eerie light