Last Updated May 16, 2024

The Alpha Lights

Jan 3, 2019

It was the middle of summertime when the days were longer and the nights were shorter. The birds sang in harmony and the sun welcomed life into another bright morning. But during the nights the flashing, little stars would laugh at a soul of a free-spirited child as they fell into the soft grass with the cool breeze brushing their face and the chirps of crickets buzzing their ears.

“Ophi, there you are,” said Andro, “ I heard what happened with Dad. Are you okay?”

Andro was leaning out the windowpane, a few inches to the right of Ophi. The bright, blazing stars, of the oblivion above, had eagerly reflected young Ophi’s dried tears on the side of her pale face. She did not respond to her older brother’s question, but sat with her knees up to her chest silently. A light breeze was folding through strands of her hair, as the dark red blanket held her shoulders captive and warm underneath.

“Ophi, you can’t sit on the roof all night, you’ll catch a cold,” said her brother from the window, at her side.

“Like you ever cared,” Ophi snapped.

Her glare showed her hurt and anger. Ophi was known as the expressive, strong-headed, straightforward, and hot-tempered type of girl, who always spoke her mind. This, sometimes, had been an advantage but often carried repercussions.

“Both you and Dad think just because I’m teenager, I don’t have my own opinions! I’m always told what to do and how to do it! Not to mention, both of you are always gone. So what does it matter to you what I do in my spare time?! Besides, I am smart enough to realize I need something to keep me from freezing to death,” exclaimed Ophi, almost shoving the blanket lying beside her in her brother’s face.

Andro sighed. He climbed through the window in his little sister’s room and joined her on the slanted roof.

She flinched at the arrival of her family member and turned to look the other way, annoyed at the violating and unwelcome visitor next to her. She glanced down at her long brown hair that looked black in the dark, then looked up. She peeked over to find Andro looking up too. They both sat there, staring at the sheeting darkness above them. But between the splotches of blackness, there were twinkles. They looked as they were moving closer yet further, brighter yet dimmer, emotional yet unfeeling, and hopeful yet heartbreaking. They were stars. “Do you know why our names are special?” asked Andro...

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

To uncover the rest of the short story, "The Alpha Lights", check out Part I and Part II on 'The Blank Page' or my Medium page.

Dear Warrior Woman

May 10, 2020

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel when you

took your first soft breath?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel when you

heard those joyful vibrations

of your life-giver’s heartbeat?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel when you

opened your delicate eyes

and grazed this rustic world?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel when you

spoke your first memorable

words?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel when your

stumbling crawls turned into

lightning fast sprints?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel when your

precious hands graced the ink

in books for the first time?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel when you

felt the new sentiment of happiness,

with the pictures to last?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel when the

new sentiment of pain skinned

your heart, with the scars to last?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel as you travelled

across the vast oceans of the

world with your newfound

partner?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel when you

discovered a teeny life was

growing within your womb?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel when you

lost that life, then once again,

and again?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel as you reached

the desire to have a life alongside

you, always?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel when that

teeny life climbed into your

arms, but with nobody by

your side to indulge in the

beauty?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did it feel to see that

life grow older through agonizing,

yet wonderful, long years?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel when you

found out another tiny soul

was nesting within, after failed

attempts and lost hope?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel as your body

caved in, as each movement

conjured piercing pain up

and into your spine?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did it feel to risk everything

as a chance for your yearning

to come true.

So you fought through the hell?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel to find your

final strength within two

children, only to be hit harder

by fate?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel when abandoned

and left with only two innocents

who loved you so dearly?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel when witnessing

your home melt away with the snow?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel when working

ruthless hours alone, only

to provide them with delicious

meals, made from your soft hands?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel as your deteriorating

health robbed you of energy,

slowly yet steadily?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel when pressured

to continue without pause,

because of the fear of falling

behind?

Of letting them down?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel when your

children’s voices over the

phone were the only endearing

sounds to push you through

a 12-hour work day?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

How did you feel when thinking

about this lifestyle not changing

until the last second, and

carry it onto your last breath?

My Dear Warrior Woman,

I know I’ve been asking without

pause, but allow me to ask

you one last time…

My Dear Warrior Woman,

… How does it feel to live

this life… only so that your

children live their lives with

freedom, and the visions you

sacrificed…

the visions, dreams, and

memories you made for

yourself, but ended up making

for us.

My Dear Warrior Woman,

… My Dear Mother.

Mama, I will love you, forevermore.

Dear Mom*

May 9, 2021

Mom*,

How much can I tell you about what meanings I find in that word?

In a single strand of words…

… Mom*, Mother*, Momma*, Mumma*.

And most importantly,

Meemo*.

So why do they attract me so much?

Do they share the colours of the bright sunset sky,

Or the warmth in my heart when I hear you ring that doorbell?

Oh, and that monstrous blue sweater,

It’s undeniable that it carries an imprinted smell…

… one that’s too calming and familiar.

And the chances that it matches the shade of your car,

Whose wheels dance to the sounds of our music.

From the songs of today to the evergreens of yesterday.

Did you know,

each time you hum along, it flashbacks to those soft untired nights…

“… nanhi pari sone chali,

havaa dhire aanaa…

nind bhare pakh liye jhula jhulaa jaanaa,

… nanhi pari sone chali.”

Those untired and nightmarish nights that would wake me up,

Only to find you looking my way with those all-knowing eyes.

Within them every wave of emotion runs like a river,

That fiery anger, to that deep sadness, or that explosive surprise, to that everlasting love.

Will that ever exhaust?

That everlasting love?

Who knows,

Maybe you’ve already embedded that love within us.

Maybe it will never leave us.

From the way we give to others…

… To the way we share.

From the way we speak…

… To the way we care.

We’ve said it once, Mom*.

And we’ll say it again.

There’re may be no more words anymore, but Mom*…

… We’ll love you, forevermore.

~~~

FOOTNOTE:

Mom*, Mother*, Momma*, Mumma*, Meemo*

A person who understands with their natural sixth sense. No matter where they are, or where they go. They all understand one thing…

… Who they’re children are,

How far they can go,

And how much love they can give.

We count our blessings and see what we have. How much they taught us. And to see from their eyes…

how much we can.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

Us Children

Aug 28, 2021

The memories still come vividly after these nine years.

The shouts in the nights to the empty reeking auburn bottles that laid against the white paint.

To the bumps that shaped his wrists, and the scornful face that was once created for youthful fulfilment.

And now, late into the nights, the hole in the heart that healed, lay exposed.

The feelings of young age rush in.

When one just begins to see the world.

When the world moulds into their hands.

When the world revolves around them.

When they become the world and nothing short than bliss.

When the world become materialistic, and materialistic love is okay for their juvenile wishes.

But if that is all that those children are given, what happens to us?

Us, who were once those children?

Where does that essential love go?

The love for our growth?

For our morals?

For our futures?

We are simply pure children; we need that love.

The simple essential love, beyond that, what else do us young children have?

For me, my childhood happiness was made stressful by my father. All those door slamming nights with the smell of raw beer still flood my mind, despite still giving me anything that I asked for. From the toys, to the books, to the birthday parties.

It was all that my heart wanted, but now I know that it was never enough for what I needed.

Every day I am grateful that my mother gave me that essential love, despite raising me by herself for years.

As a parent, a friend, and supporter, she showed me how to become someone that could believe in themselves; someone who can still learn and grow.

Their materialistic love will never go to waste, but the most important thing is what we can take with us when they are gone. That is how we can feel fulfilled; when our mouldable hearts are given the time to grow, explore, and learn.

That is how we can feel loved. Beyond that, what else do us young children have?

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

The Day You Left

Nov 30, 2021

Every second and memory with you flowed out of my body with the wind.

Nine years passed and not one call,

But in all honesty,

It doesn’t hurt me at all.

Every breath feels lighter,

Every thought feels brighter,

Nothing about you hurts me at all.

I guess it is true about what they say,

Everything that doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.

And since the day you left,

I say confidently without regret,

Everything feels better.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

I Promise

Dec 3, 2021

The agony of the wilting roses drifts into the air; clumsily burning at the ashes of your past.

The walls dress with plastic polaroid memories that were long meant to be forgotten, but puncture through the skull in unforgettable ways.

The future and present twirl around your eyes with hope and freedom; yet the history we shared clicks its heels against the side of your ribs, right next to your pumping heart.

This devil on your shoulder whispers the words that dwell deep within the intensity of your existence; however, the bright wings of the angels’ float through the feeling of drowning.

It shall get better,

you will become greater,

you will become stronger,

you will find yourself,

and you will become yourself once again.

I promise.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

Princess with a Golden Embrace

Dec 20, 2021

A trail of rose fabric draped behind her legs as her heels created a steady rhythm against the marble floor; following along to the beat of the welcoming fanfare and her restless breathing. The sounds of the trumpets mixed with the cheers of hundreds of faithful subjects banged through the walls of her diamond fortress, and past her cranium.

All hail the crown princess, they bellowed,

All hail our crown princess.

As the golden gates of the inauguration chamber opened, the morn light pirouetted towards her pink lace that decorated her chest and waterfalled down towards her hips. As her heavy golden shoulder armour adorned her soft structure, strawberry pink waves flowed down her spine, and a graceful expression sat upon her face, she saw the symbol of her future ahead of her.

The royal throne laid hoisted a few feet from the balcony on which she stood, calling to her with every step that her feet took.

As she traveled down the red-carpeted stairs and along the aisle, her noble allies and enemies arose in respect to their future ruler; displaying the happy and despised looks that every face wore.

As elegantly as she was taught, as elegantly did she stand in front of the throne that smiled from behind her as she faced the audience. A true and prideful royal dressed in the colours of cherry blossoms with a posture that portrayed her tenacity.

The ticking clocks counted down until a golden sceptre and an ancient constitution laid in either of her shaking, yet stable hands; following with a promise to her people. And finally, the ornamented crown that survived a hundred millennia was gently lowered onto her rose-coloured hair; unleashing an eruption of a cheers in response to its new possession.

All hail the royal queen, they bellowed,

All hail our royal queen.

And so, began the beginning of our young princess who became a queen through her elegance and grace; sealing her destiny as the prospering ruler with a golden embrace.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

Closure

Jan 21, 2022

Closure… the world lingers around the feeling of solitude; yet dawns into a world of new beginnings.

Somehow, it almost feels like the warmth we feel slip away as the sun begins hides behind the horizon; allowing for the beaming constellations of the alpha stars to bless our world and souls from above.

Closure… it’s teaches us the painful art of departure, while allowing our hearts to heal from within ourselves.

Closure… it sure is bittersweet, no?

Let us allow the splitting feeling of closure to whisk away our fears and pains from our past, and awaken a new realm that drifts as beautifully as the clouds that dwell in the azure sky above.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

The Older We Get

Aug 26, 2022

sometimes, we get older and lose the chains to our anchor

sometimes, we fly so high to the moon we forget the tidal waves that rocked us to our slumber chamber of sleep with the gentle flows of the wind

sometimes, we forget the rose petals that embraced our bodies within the disguises of the moonlight, creating the gentle cloudy dreams within the field beds of Amsterdam

sometimes, we forget the feeling of the grass that broke our fall when we melted our wings in attempts to touch the blazing sun above the horizon

sometimes, we forget the depths of the caves that shielded us from the crying thunderstorms of the same sky we fly in as we departure from our youth

“you’ve grown so big,”

sometimes, the world below us sings with a euphoric melody that curtains itself in the sweet bitterness of lemon and honey and turmeric

“you’ve gotten so much older,”

sometimes, the whispers of the gentle comets grace our fingertips with the diamond dust of Jupiter as we pierce through the atmosphere that protected us in our adolescence

“open your eyes. you are almost there,”

sometimes, when we finally sit in our long-awaited throne of gold, we feel as the reigning monarch of the world below us

“open your eyes. you made it…”

you made it

sometimes, our selfish dissatisfaction and yearning to become one with the universe and its secrets overcome the lengths and efforts the world below us took to raise us…

“…are you happy now?”

i am happy

yet sometimes, the consciousness that floats amongst our mist of self-mystery questions it against ourselves; forcing us to think…

“…are we happy now?”

we are happy

“…is this how it is the older we get?”

it is

Hide the Flowers/When I am Gone

Feb 27, 2023

Hide the flowers while I am awake,

Throw them while I am gone.

In this once blooming garden which now lies silent and slain under the shade,

An umbrella of solitude embraces the rose petals that begin to line onto the cobblestone that click beneath my heels.

With each step, the motile light dresses my wrists with pins and needles of warmth.

The crown jewels of the distant and setting light solidify as bracelets worn by the thorns of the roses,

Gifting them the will to grow a little every day.

Lay them on the plastic chair where I take my breath and peace,

Leave them there on my kind pulse and heartbeat.

So now, hide me away with the flowers.

Hide me away when I am still awake.

And please - just please - cherish them when I am gone.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

I Thought I Would Cry For me

May 24, 2023

I thought I would cry for me.

I thought I would spent my nights sleeping restlessly upon a bed of needles that pierced me deep.

Straight into my realm of dreams and desires.

I thought I would cry for me,

I thought I would stare at the girl in the mirror and allow my frazzled eyes to speak through the optics of my reflection and lie to me.

Taunting me for my fault lines that lie within my facade.

Of course I thought.

But now I know.

I wouldn’t cry for me.

I would gladly sashay upon that bed of needles and smash the mirror into shards to weave each piece into my conscientiousness.

And now I know,

I wouldn’t cry for me.

I would send my love, packaged in a bouquet of wishes filled with genuineness and peace,

Just for me; after all, what reason do I have to cry for me?

I Wish

July 21, 2023

I wish to be stronger.

As if the world and all its turbulence cannot prevent the motion of my footsteps,

like I was born into my place with the message I was meant to present.

I wish to live free.

As if the burdens of my insecurities cannot chain me below the surface of my character,

like I was formed to live with happier days and the sentiment of having achieved security for peace and harmony.

I wish to be loved.

As if there is someone who waits for me by the door,

a simple and endearing smile is all.

I wish that I didn’t need to hope on so many wishes.

I wish that I could be selfless enough to rejoice in what is given, allow me to become a little more fair; but I compromise reality with the understanding that I am simply human.

Maybe I’ve tried, and maybe I’ve failed.

Maybe I wish to be better, but the lot of my false memories sink through the concrete that holds me steady and above the truth.

I wish, that one day, I will grow to become more mature, a little wiser.

I can look back and celebrate a newfound strength, freedom, and love.

One day when I’m older, I promise this and hold it against my nature that seeps into these texts I write.

And I hope on these wishes that it all shall come true.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

Already Lived

July 22, 2023

Watching from the windowsill of this train, the rivers and the geese pass by without pause.

The crystal currents pass from the mountainous regions of hidden knowledge to the cliffs of an archipelago, which lay deserted upon the markings of a map.

Secrets and starlights speed by as this train takes us further with each hour. Each passing scenery erases our memory of the past,

allowing for the feelings to lineup in association when our friends speak of childhood keepsakes.

From the scrapes on our knees caused by the turning wheels of our bikes that rolled down the hills, to the feelings of colourful chalk lining up our hands,

all the feelings flood through the doors with the chirps of the birds.

They hum in our ears that our dreams are so close.

They reside on the other side of the tracks, my love.

You are so close.

As we see the sunset upon the crystal horizon of our waking dreams, we take a look back towards the place we came from.

The little laughter and all the colours of the world – it all danced around us. And only us.

As individuals that ran the world, it all felt so freeing, and its existence completely for ourselves to explore.

The fleeting memories are simply your childhood, my love.

Your future and happiness reside on the other side of the tracks.

You are so close.

No.

Everything was already so close, and now it has vanished.

We have already achieved the happiness which now resides on the previous side of the tracks.

With a gentle sigh, our train slows down.

As we step out onto our first platform, we recollect our history and the aspirations we once held and forever hold.

We have already felt the bliss of youth, and now we shall move on.

The wind whispers to us through the flow of the breeze with the symphony of the steam released by our departing train.

Now go, and do not fear to live a little more.

For your life has merely begun, my love.

Now go, and you shall live a little more.

For, my love, you have already lived once.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

An Estranged Daughter's Verse

July 30, 2023

A little older and little wiser, I lay in my bed typing onto my document, envisioning that my long-known relatives may read this.

And yet still I stay wrapped within my blanket, recalling to the ten years ago when I hid inside of it with frightened tears overflowing.

Wishing everything lay silent outside for once after four years of never knowing its presence – half of my life of never knowing its presence.

Where childhood should be filled with sunshine and letters asking for magical gifts during the holidays, I saw your gin spill onto both.

Tens of emptied bottles lined up your room, the smell of it makes me sick to this day; both a blessing and a curse as I near the days that I step into adulthood and all its awaited socials.

Back then, a sober home was the only wish that I put in my stocking as the snowflakes fell that eve, engraved onto a card that is now hidden in my closet. Maybe unread by its intended recipient.

This reminder of you in my adolescence and the lackluster, and recently understood, permanent goodbye makes me question whether it was a blessing or a curse.

The existence of you taught me to give a damning care; to be fierce, to be steadfast, and to be kind even when the sirens come blaring – a blessing in disguise.

The lack of you taught me to fend for myself behind locked doors and ghosted hallways, confining myself within my imagination and to secret peeks through the window facing the park; unto parents who forfeited their comfort, and children who sensed their pain but simply smiled at them to replenish what they had lost. This window flaunted so little views but instilled me with peoples’ truth and fears, and love-coded sacrifices – a curse when you are merely nine.

A little older and a little wiser, the memories feel torn. Half faultless, half torturous; a complete chaos, a complete canto goldmine.

As December rolls into January, a decade and childhood is going to pass.

No more tedious shouting,

no more wearisome slurs to hear and cues to hide behind a rose-tinted toy.

A new start, a kind start, a loving start with no sight of you; dwelling within a new-founded peace amongst those once pained.

Pained from all the gin you spilled onto our then-sweltering house, the one she endeavoured to make into a home.

One that now lays forsaken in our unspoken history.

Blindfolded forgiveness is a virtue, or so I have been told,

but since when has practicality and un-forgetfulness been an offence?

As I lay my words upon this page barren with no shield or remorse, I hesitantly admit that I hope yours go down one day, too.

Learn to love again, and live. It would be a loss of your neglectful sacrifice if you didn’t.

After all, I’m merely an estranged daughter with a verse to say,

I should know.

A verse I never imagined writing; one that I hope is not meant to be pitied,

a verse I now confidently present to all.

A verse that I know will be heard one day.

A verse, written by me, and hopefully reached to you.

As I once wrote for her,

I write for you, too.

I truly wish you the best even now,

and until forevermore,

my dear father.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

Queen with a Diamond Embrace

August 7, 2023

The ringing of those minutes chimed mockingly in her ears as her shoes clicked along the floor. She reminisced and chuckled at her naivety.

Everything laid so rose-tinted during her adolescent years. Like a mirror that recounted the story of her dollhouse that she once found solace within as a child. Within the room where her sister-like maids would brush through her pink crinkled locks. Where the sweet lemongrass tea was once served hot, and where the sun would be refracted through chandeliers and stained-glass windows.

Throughout her childhood, the educational intelligence she developed was her nightingale of a guardian that remained behind her during the mine-field court meetings.

Wise and determined as she was, everything now laid so transparent before her. The betrayal and the heartache she faced washed over the stains of innocence – leaving the glistening of a truth potion, reflecting the veracity she promised to never neglect.

One she chose to never neglect for her anticipating people.

The truth of her once close associates shattered through her consciousness. A candle-lit truth that guided her righteousness through the right cognitive avenues. A truth that brough her mind through the labyrinth of political combat, serpent-tongued charisma and bleeding greed. A truth that ached for her guaranteed success and ascendency.

As she walked towards the old inauguration hall, where the golden gates once opened to her with applause and respect, the mid-day light danced towards her silky blush strands. Her off-white fabrics of her satin gown floated towards her feet and cut through the air with her confidence and unwavering struts. The blushing face she once wore, which portrayed the elegance of her youth, now laid replaced by the indestructible nature of her spirit; sharp and deadly as pressurised stone.

Sharp and deadly as a diamond.

Her piercing eyes ordered the guards, enticing them to open the grand doors. She paused and admired the entrance before her and recalled the mix of emotions of her coronation. She understood that her life would never be the same as she stepped into that room. The feelings began to stir inside of her. They slowly crept towards her forefront, hiding within the trenches of distant amnesia. Silently, they exploded as the cracks within the doors widened.

A rush of roars arose from the dozen concerned ministers and viscounts that suffered for nights within their bedazzled rooms; dazed within their cozied manors. They hopelessly bargained, waiting for their monarch’s unspoken verdict. They bargained in hopes of appeasing either their saviour or executioner. They did not simply know which card she would play.

Amongst the tired noises that compiled around her, her eyes interlaced with her throne. As dazzling as the day, she walked into the hall, and left with her crown and constitution in her hands. Her throne called for her to walk forward, pleading for its rightful heir to bless its presence once again. It urged for her to ignore the feeble hounds that barked with their wagging tails hidden between their coats – and she bent to her urges.

As she reached her divine placement within her castle walls, with a short breath, she took her seat as the room fell silent with obedience. Her smirk that lay hidden behind a crystal mask arose from its slumber. The command she held was beyond the understanding of any mortal. The crown she held was beyond the understanding of any mortal.

At last from the tumult and perfidy she endured, she finally understood this fact. The unfortunate souls who lost their loyalty to their queen understood this fact, and they knew they would perish.

As her implicit judgment spread through room, collapsing the hearts and bloodlines of the forsaken, her impact rippled through the crowds that stood outside – calling for justice as they had once called for their queen’s blessings; for her new beginning and love. Tears of relief and overturned despair flooded into their calls as they released their cheers as they had months before.

All hail the royal queen, they bellowed once more,

All hail our royal queen.

As she heard her peoples’ victory and the blooded cries from the treasonous convicted, she felt their sentiments splash onto her encrusted persona. She transformed into a transparent vessel that bloomed within a dome of grief and treachery. A now invaluable ruler that danced amongst the slain and her devotees, claiming her newfound place amongst the hierarchy.

And so, the diverted beginning of our once young princess with a golden embrace, now stands irrepressible amongst the gravity of her responsibilities with a mineralized demeanour and maturity.

Now sealing her destined triumph as an almighty ruler - sealing her rightful position as the queen with a diamond embrace.

Bridge Crossing

Sept 3, 2023

I have crossed my bridge;

I have burned the planks under my feet and caught the grapevines through the gaps in my fingers. I tread their delicate designs handcrafted by years of human ignorance and natural bliss.

As I cross over the river that rushes below, I hold tight to the shatters that lay scattered across my heart.

Tattered into fractions that I can barely find with my eyes.

Looking into the mouth of the water flow, I count my sins and prayers and bottle them away towards the open oceans. I leave my unspoken words and self as they find their way to the seven seas and their unknown mysteries,

silently hoping that they never reach another soul and spirit.

I have crossed my bridge today;

I have left myself on its memory today,

unseen,

unfound,

and forever and now, unwanted.

Oct 29, 2023

Clueless

Will my crystal and pearled veil be drenched with the acid of an adulterer’s tears,

Collapsing my heart at the altar beneath piles of pity and unforgetting looks from my family?

Will my friends forget the postcards we never signed,

Igniting the migraine in my memories with an explicit sadness and lack of serenity?

Meanwhile all but wishing for something that I never knew I needed,

something I still wonder if I would need to feel complete,

something that may seem too appealing to be authentic.

With every supposed empty smile,

every hug.

Every dinner chair reminds me of someone who vanished ten years ago,

A vacant seat at my greatest shows with the words “reserved” exposed on its cushion.

Will the tires in my un-materialized car crash into the headlights of another without a single mental pulse of electricity quick enough to feel the pain?

Will all my memories kiss me as they brush past me for a final second,

holding my worst and my dearest ones in harmony for once,

just for once in my life.

Will my shoulders be emptied with no one to conceal them,

keeping them frigid in the pernicious winters of the North?

Will the red wine and shots of sex on the beach rest on the marbled table until the fruits they bear wilt into pulp?

Never completing the list of questions that serenade me with melancholy, I stand between the tides of death and living.

Both are so close they can be brushed with the grace of one’s fingertips.

Slow, painfully slow, I watch the ocean now paint my future in ways I could never imagine,

will it leave me clueless just as I am right now?

Born on a Cusp

Nov 10, 2023

Born on a cusp, the lion and maiden glisten as starlight photons sent by a pre-destined prophecy. A glistening hope for what may come after a birth in a rainy season; a glistening hope for a lost soul in a forest of prickly over-criticalities and analytical observations,

accompanied by a complimentary waltz between the Sun and Mercury.

Born on a cusp, the paradox of cooling earth and rampaging fire conflict to create the bedding preserving one’s roots in the wealthy downpours;

the soul of its chosen target moulded into a fragile wineglass constructed from its clay.

As the summer breeze of late August only begins in the coral-coded sky evenings, the stars of the lion begin to favor its maiden — a goddess of fertility and agriculture.

A mother overlooking her children as a blooming rose in a field of carnations.

A little lovelorn and overbearing, a little nimble and haughty, a little dainty and barbed.

A little Leo subdued by its Virgo.

It’s always a little bona fide adventure when born on a cusp:

the Cusp of Exposure.

These Lonely Cities

Aug 3, 2020

A message from Amisha,

As the letters turn into words and the words into emotions, feel the world shift around you and into your headspace. Take a journey through your vivid imagination with the guide of my creations, as you flow along to the beat of your breath. Lose yourself on the pinnacle of diamond dust, with the wrapping of wool around your fingers. Turn the new pages of motionlessness and rest into the era of growth and tranquility, as you feel the Earth cry upon your face with the wishes of warmth. Indulge in the sense of individuality and the yearning for care, as the waves wash your sorrows back into the unfamiliar abyss of the everlasting magic… As our journey comes to the end, we must look inwards; for what are we missing? For what do we have? For what must come down? Listen to the sounds of your mind, your journey has just begun…

T .L .C. (2020/08/14)

~~~

Newborn beginnings and endings are

descendants from the same star within

this walled-in city, as it sits on its perched

throne upon the mountain’s icy crown.

The megaannum-aged fossils of the dead

leaves now lay under the soil, cushioning

the fall of the newcoming bed of frozen

tears, creating the winter badlands of

everlasting stilled time and ice.

Air native to this loftiness feels lifeless,

yet equally fragile as the breaths of the

northern winds guide each shift of motion,

into bowing to its holy presence.

The forevermore greens mark their place,

reaching higher with every round the

Earth accomplishes around the great

cosmic sphere of raging quintessence.

The rising sun from the east initiates the

dawn of a new day, awakening the habitants

of the barren preserved wasteland.

Morn’s light reflects upon every elfin

particle of ice and crystal that resides

on every crack in the stone walkway,

to the empty balconies that are blanketed

in silvery shine.

The warm fumes of firewood, morphing

into dark ash inside the chimneys, envelopes

the reddened brick barriers as it folds

into the mellow aromas of fresh bread

and pastries from the baker’s widely

desired corner.

Beyond the people and into the untamed;

impotent symphonies of creatures have

sent vibrations between the layers of

rocky curves, and through the few delicate

souls whose existence lurks beyond the

naked eye.

Within this countryside, death is inescapable

for the feeble and survival is rare as the

unchallenged mercy Mother Nature bestows

on a silver platter.

In this city, the inevitable isolation subjugates

the ardor until all that is desired is warmth

granted from the naive heavens upon these

diamond heights.

~~~

It is whispered in this city, for every flower

that blooms — a bumbling little bee sings

along.

From the towering cobblestones to the

beds of flowers gifted from the Garden

of Eden, it’s the season of nature’s rebirth;

the crisp coldness of the winter solstice

genuflects to the genesis of the equinox,

as it undertakes its leave.

The balance beam of nightfall and dawn

rests leveled, marking the grand arrival

of Mother Nature’s sovereignty of spring.

During daylight, the soft cotton clouds

tear apart as waves of luminosity flow

through the atmosphere, designing the

sky in shapes of frolicking kittens and

mice, together with imageries of castles

and their ruling queens.

The florae stretch their fragile frame

and leaves towards their ostentatious

master, as each bloom of pollen calls

out to the benefactor for its care.

As the attention begins to grow, the sun

becomes shy and veils behind the curtain

of white, until it can no longer be seen

and fades a shadow onto the world below

as a reminder of its existence.

Masses of clouds begin to collect as if

they were called in by natural instincts,

turning the world below them into a dim

and disheartening sight for the lovers

dancing in the city’s river.

As the coolness decimates the liveliness

of the city under its reign, the rain cascades

at the feet of a stone statue that once

elucidated the strength of the land’s

liberty.

The once sweet air turns damp, forcing

the little colourful butterflies to take

shelter within a hollowed out tree, which

was once claimed by a great wise owl.

Within moments, the little creatures

of the hidden gardens take cover as the

sky begins to turn into waterfalls; thundering

against the window pane of the café.

The filled and bustling streets are taken

over by silence and tranquility, as the

people flee indoors to avoid the rampaging

drops that conceal their streets; excluding

the unenlightened pair who continue

to twirl with the sounds of the pitter-patter.

As the movement and joy of people migrate

away from the duo that cavort cheerily

in the heart of the city, the gardens become

secluded with the sounds of the on-going

rain flooding the growing puddles.

The earthworms dig themselves out from

under the cool soil and travel the distances

across the grass, alerting the preying

robins that gaze from the branches preparing

for their next feast.

As the game of life and death advances

to higher levels with the rainfall, the

vivacity of the city and its streets flows

away into the drains; with its lovers

indulging in their obliviousness of the

danger hidden within the trees for the

ones underneath.

In this city, the idyllic ignorance of the

basherts grants them a separate reality

from the forlorn world that vows to engulf

them whole.

~~~

Stranded on the coast of a rocky crescent

bay beyond the golden horizon; this city

stands resilient as its lighthouse matriarch

catches the hammering waves at its feet.

The air tastes saline as the sea rushes upward

and crashes against the boulders, marking

them as the seven seas’ territory; before

the depths silently call the floods home.

Wrathful screeches from the sea birds are

dissolved by the violent unfolding of Poseidon’s

will, creating a faultless soundtrack to the

image of the open water wearing the reflecting

colours of the sun’s goodbye, and the familiar

shades of the enclosing cliffs.

The cotton candy clouds slowly migrate

east with the western winds, as the honey-coloured

sand darkens under the silhouette of a vacant

shack, hidden under the northern cliff of

stone that divides the town from the seashore.

Reaching higher beyond the stone wall, the

sounds of the sea are swiftly replaced by

the sounds of silence; exempting the chirps

from the native crickets.

Gradually, the world becomes encompassed

with the sweet scent of sugar canes and

the spicy whiffs of Plumerias as they gracefully

subsist around the edges of the meadow.

In the distance from the edge of the overhang

and across the large rich pasture, stand the

figures of small shacks that glisten in the

ginger-ish hue.

The abandoned wooden walls of the shacks

create a pathway of chips on the pebble and

grass floor; marking the way to the heart

of the mediocre tropical village.

In the nucleus of the township sits the beautiful

and pasty-coloured fountain, dressed boldly

in wild bottle green vines and inert reflecting

water.

The emulated beauty of the prophesied Fountain

of Youth lays the callous life that runs deep

into the foundation of the artificial spring

with its splitting scars, handed down by its

absent inhabitants, and then outward through

the hollow homes.

Evidence of the unacknowledged and deserving

love was scattering around like glass shards

broken from a hurting mirror, thrown to the

ground from disgust.

From the rough and unnatural art on the wall

to the camouflaged synthetic flowers that never

wilt, every nook-and-cranny is possessed by

the disdain of its former landlords.

On this hushed sundown, ever sense of motion

and smell wane in the air as prayers for redemption

drift over the bed of Plumerias, down along

the shaky hedged side, and far into the ocean

to swim with the perpetual currents that conceal

nameless mysteries.

In this city, the memories of misery never reach

a soul as the pull of the water guide the calls

for devotion and amity into its never-ending

abyss, only to be drowned out in anticipation

of discovery.

~~~

Life is mysterious; it changes spontaneously

without any reasons as to how milestones

occur, similarly to how the sun sets and

rises.

As the years pass, the experiences build

the great highlands within each individual

soul; on which the marvelous empires

of knowledge sleep undisturbed.

The powerful and ancient streams of

emotions run amongst deep crystal blue

lakes, shaped through the first tears shed

upon the newborn skin; hosting a breathtaking

freshness.

The given cherish and attention waters

the large fields of long soft grass, with

the delicate scent of roses and lavenders

claiming the blue above; creating a comforting

room to cloud-gaze one’s thoughts.

The inescapable ability to grow and learn

unleashes the everlasting earthquakes

of maturity, which shakes the floor and

raises the palace upon the peaks of understanding

higher into the heavens.

Over the grass prairie stand the dark green

woods of mysteries that wait to be unlocked

as the trembling ground exposes more

with each passing day; resulting in the

precious forestry of self-identity.

Slowly, the dark forest of anonymity begins

to tan into the colours of reds, oranges

and yellows as the realm beyond oneself

rotates with the majestic sun; calling the

outer-world into the season of the reforming

autumn.

With this sign of change, brings the internal

thunderstorms of fear; flooding the grand

lakes with over-barring showers, and creating

devastation on top the soft expanse.

The once beautiful domain stoops onto

its knees for the mercy of the painful storms

to pause; but the rains of disquiet keeping

plummeting without end for months.

As the world witnesses its final Day of Judgement,

the miracle sunbeams of passion and love

waft their way towards the pieces of the

wounded soul and slowly guide them on

the path of self-rejuvenation.

In this marvelous and sacred city, our own

consciousness and essence builds itself

into a glorifying and gentle ecosystem; pain

and fear comes to rain on the parade of every

living soul this Earth shelters, yet self-love

and self-devotion divulges a new reality free

from loneliness into a reality of self-freedom.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

Within the Waves: Part I

Feb 21, 2021

Salinity resided in the sharp breeze, allowing for the two worlds to merge into one.

The crisp sensation was enhanced with the gentle sways of the small wooden boat, wandering adrift through the desert of sculpted crystal water.

The blue floral pattern of her frock complimented the ridges of the wooden brown shade, which encased her soft and petite body.

As she laid under the celestial light, her blonde hair reflected the collimated streams from the sunrays, embodying the only form of liveliness around her demised state.

The craft was empty aside from the young girl, only a bent and torn image of a couple that frolicked through a patch of bright sunflower fields held firm within her unchanging grip.

A grasp tight enough that no force could undo.

Her eyelids stayed sealed as the echoes from the screeching seabirds flew past the vessel, mirroring a dark silhouette of their wings that drew over her cheeks and lips.

The once calm oscillating movements of the surface roughened; rowing the boat into rougher waters.

The calls from the scampering seabirds had now reduced to a mere memory; cognizing its sounds like the siren for the rampaging war coming ahead.

The azure sky had veiled upon a cloak of deep greys and twilight blues until it reached a nightmarish world of no-return.

Sensing the soul-lost being floating aimlessly into its territory, the clouded firmament sent the violent discharges of pure energy towards the surface of the seawater; splitting the mighty waves into two.

The world turned a living hell of thundering clouds and fire-engulfing waves however, something more tempting calling out from within the fluid floor.

Silence.

As if the pulsating realm listened in for a cue, a wave larger than four stories came plunging towards the lifeless body and her boat.

The presence of time escaped within that moment as her lost body tumbled out of the boat and entered into the never-ending realm.

The cool flows of the rough water encompassed her, she was taken control of by the tempestuousness of the giant mountains of the ocean that rose above the surface.

After minutes of swaying to the whim of the rocky waters, her body relaxed only to sink deep towards the greater bottom.

The deep turquoise water shone vividly, engulfing the fragile body into an alternate set of the sky where the delicate Moon Jellyfish hovered; it’s trailing small tentacles glided like the delicate comets within the atmosphere.

The world became measureless, carrying its distance beyond the horizon of the eye; the colours of Blue Jay shaped the magnetic feeling of heavenly comfort.

Echoes of the wild came closer at the speed of light as the silhouettes of the dorsal fins imaged the pod of dolphins.

Curiosity built in their eyes as each of them swarmed the sinking body, nudging the empty host to find the owner of its soul; but no one answered.

They knew the feeling of a newly lost soul as it surged over them; they decided to gather themselves and move towards the surface.

They swam towards the breach slowly, all except for a single mother dolphin; her eyes sparkled as she felt a similar sensation surround her.

Similar to the time she hovered over her baby who had newly entered the simple world and took its place to rest on the ocean floor, as soon as it heard its mother’s grieving screeches.

Torn by her memories and decisions, she reluctantly followed her pod as they ventured out towards the brighter blue sky, above the foiling of ocean water.

She sunk deeper towards the ocean floor, patting onto the sandy underwater surface; she was now meters below the horizon line.

The swaying seagrass graced her cold skin so softly that there was no trace left to be tracked.

The refractions of mid-day light from the surface danced along the liquid screen, creating a cosmical scene to play in the shades of blues and greens.

She settled down onto the soft layer of earth, allowing her body to rest undisturbed in the dead-like state.

Above the surface, the noon flowed into a sunset-lit sky that painted the world underneath with the reflected colours of warm pinks, purples and oranges.

Everything felt faultless to become her final resting place until, what seemed to be the earth below her, flapped its gentle wings.

Her body laid on top of what seemed to be the ocean floor, but it was the gentle marine creature that allowed her to rest on its back.

The graceful angel of the ocean.

The Stingray…

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

Pink Clouds and Pixie Dust

Aug 26, 2021

Into the deep fabrics of our fates, the pastel clouds of placidity float among the elegant sky.

The shades of cotton candy pink waltz in harmony with the particles of pixie dust gold that reflect rays from the eruptions of inspiration.

As the songs of the heavens play, the gentle clouds sway to the rhythm of the wind; ignorant to the clinging blue storms of apprehension.

Into the depths of its despair, the sky changes into the hues of a colourless void; emptiness and the lack of energy flood into its gaps.

Time itself does not exist in this vacuum; life itself does not exist in this vacuum.

The reigning class of indigo clouds govern over the once bright sky; dissolving the existence of the rosy smoke and golden flakes.

The light reflected from the glowing sun of stimuli drowns into a world of dimness; attempting to reclaim its throne.

Days of rebellion pass under the guise of night; reality itself does not exist in this vacuum.

The locales that once brought tranquility disperse into particles; waiting to rebirth from the eruptions of inspiration that craft the rays of light.

Waiting to reclaim its throne and golden crown forged in pride; and waiting to reclaim its kingdom of pink clouds and pixie dust.

These skies of darkness and light exist within our minds and souls. They come and go as the weather changes; it is an inevitable force of nature.

Yet the environments that we indulge cause these impacts. Some may bring happiness, knowledge, and inspiration; some may bring isolation and uncertainty.

It is up to the nature of our minds to pass the moments until the thrones of our bright kingdoms are reclaimed by the feelings of serenity and bliss.

We must be patient with ourselves during times of darkness; our golden crowns forged in pride shall come again to brighten our ever-changing skies.

With patience, we might be able to finally indulge in those pink clouds and pixie dust…

… once more.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

Time

Sept 1, 2021

Within the fragments of thought,

the seconds pass through our minds.

In each of those seconds,

A star in the sky dies and rebirths into the paradise of space.

In each of those seconds,

A new cry of life floods into the atmosphere.

The never-ending cycle of time moves through our bodies, minds, and souls,

Only to release it back into our grand universe.

The place we come from, and the place we will return to after our time on Earth is completed.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

The Elegant and Dying Rose

Sept 6, 2021

The elegant rose,

It stands for love, devotion, commitment and passion.

It shows its beauty while concealing its body with a green thread of spikes,

To avoid its transparent grave in a vase.

How can something so beautiful have such a lonely end,

or is it an end with recognition and grace?

We may never know…

I assume one must become the dying rose to understand its dilemma of death’s tranquility or burden.

There I Lay

Sept 10, 2021

There I lay

Upon the roses and thorns

Wishing that one day the dirt floor would swallow me whole and let me drown within my grave

But there I lay

Unmoving and wishful as the wind brushes my face and the grass tickles my neck until the midnight in my mind fades away

The night sky resides in my mind

The night sky belongs in my mind

But sometimes

It just understands when the sun might need to shine

Thank you my midnight mind

Thank you my roses and thorns grave

Thank you for showing me how to love the light

I will never choose to give you away

and forget as I lay upon my roses and thorns

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

Where I Want to Reside

Sept 20, 2021

Within the clear coated canvas of my eyes

The world moulds itself into a creature of bittersweetness, venturing into the depths of my mind

The memories become a talisman for the journey that had come and the moments that are destined to exist

Each particle of my body whisks into a void of fluidity where my consciousness becomes numb and peaceful

That is where i want to reside…

On the border between reality, illusion and time where nothing matters beyond stillness and completion…

That is where i want to reside

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

Cloud Nine Painkillers

Sept 29, 2021

Heads spiral to the tenth degree,

Completely in synchronisation with the sun.

Minds overpower into an ecstasy,

Breaching the barricades of time and cosmos.

Upon my perched seat on the stars,

I view Earth from their fiery throne…

Burning the ashes below my feet as I watch the universe through its different dimensions.

It’s beautiful up here.

Entombing into a non-gravitational atmosphere where physics can be broken and mended beyond its repair, I find myself articulating …

It’s almost like magic with a little bit of cloud nine painkillers.

Lips

Sept 1, 2021

The lips can act like no other.

They can smile,

But one might want to cry.

They can speak,

When one might want to hide.

They can dress in the colours of the world,

But never loose their raw shades.

The lips can truly act like no other,

because they can conceal as much as they can show.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

Mason Jars

Sept 5, 2021

Enclosed within the mason jar,

The memories and fairy lights glow in contrast to the ombre sky.

Encapsulated within the mason jar,

The juvenile dreams slowly fade with time,

Dimming as the magic of youth floats back towards the stars.

Greedily grasping at its lifeline in desperation,

It is inevitable…

It is an onus to let go of the comforting sensation.

Time pulls at the seconds of adolescence that remain,

Turning them into reminiscences that were once dearly pleasant.

As the empty mason jar tumbles to the ground from these anxious hands,

The glass fragments into speckles.

Within the shards of the broken mason jar,

Nothing is left behind.

Nothing but the reflection of the uncertain future.

I Dream Upon my Pillow

Sept 4, 2021

i dream upon my pillow,

bookmarking the view of the horizon and the moon.

the atmospheric air drenches the surface of my lungs with coolness…

and a sense of tranquility.

but as i dream upon my pillow,

i always know how i will miss this mindscape in the daylight…

wishing i would always lay dreaming upon my pillow,

and never have to lay awake.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

Let my Breath go

Oct 16, 2021

my fingertips grace the gentle fluidity of the air,

and my toetips create ripples upon the surface.

my body slips into the water and the feeling of comfort pulls be towards the deep.

every meter down becomes darker as the light vanishes upward.

an abyss of never-endingness envelopes me whole,

and the luminescents begin to glow.

their ritual and dance bless my soul and urge me to let go my breath.

they tell me to let go.

my lungs plead for air but within this scenery of blissfulness,

nothing more could be perfect.

so i listen,

and let my breath go.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

Skyfall

Oct 22, 2021

As our tears stream down our cheekbones, we feel the world falling below and above.

It feels nothing short of skyfall, dark clouds, and morning moss within the cosmos of our thoughts.

Each breath feels impossible to let go as we hold onto its dearest presence, hoping for it to heal us.

It feels nothing short of skyfall, until all that we have left within the darkness of our eyelids is our own darkest thoughts.

A Dragon's Tale

Dec 20, 2021

The waves of dawn dance through the atmosphere, harmonizing with the wind to create a symphony performance for the tall pinewood giants and the campsite that stands at the brim of the horizon.

The early fire of the morning lay ablaze on a pile of cedar, as the watchkeeper’s eyes pry into the distance; with iron arrows adorning his ankles.

The clan of warriors stay hushed under the rising sun, with heaving breaths of exhaustion lacing their iron lungs.

The thieving vultures probe the floor from the clouds; the clouds that encase the gentle burning glow of an ancient reptile.

With shields encompassing the body, a scorching breath, and a swiftness that shock-waves the fluidity of the air, the primordial being dives towards the fire that matched its untamed ferocity for ashes.

The ravaging watchkeeper’s cry breaks the morning as armour, swords, and arrows are swiped from the grass in the efforts of defense and elucidation of pride.

The last cries of tens of fallen soldiers ricochet off the vibrant bloodshot scales of the creature, as the battle between fire and air extinguish the rumbling strength of earth; rising to the moments of the battle’s climax.

It’s the golden tale of a lone warrior and its singing sword, against the merciless entity born from the labyrinth of the volcano.

It’s the molten hatred between the dark knight in shining armour and the red blazing dragon of thunder.

It’s the olden prophecy of a lone warrior and the manifestation of humanity’s greatest fear, fighting till the end of death scythe.

Beauty of Nature

Dec 17, 2021

The erosion carves through the mortal vessel, lining down a pathway for the birth of the holy and running rivers.

The burning sun rains down a flood of vibrant energy that fuels this ever-growing planet, churning the clock of life forward at every early dawn.

The atmosphere flows around the surfaces of the mountains that stretch towards the precipices of freedom and bliss; having the grey birds waltz across the orange horizon during the evening sunsets.

This world never stops revealing its mysteries, even when our breaths come to their pauses.

The world shall never stop, its beauty will never falter.

Its quintessence will stand here on this planet forever and eternally; and fill our vacuum of space with a little bit of laughter.

Silent Garden

Dec 29, 2021

A layer of hidden thorns that lay concealed under a draping skirt of blood roses.

It’s quite a simple thing, yet equally breathtaking. How fascinating, no?

First grow the thorns that can pierce into this delicate skin. Then comes the birth of the tiniest of buds… taking their time to arise into beautiful blushing petals.

Oh, those gorgeous petals. Ever wonder how they manage to float amongst the blowing breeze, and dazzle under the lamp-post’s beaming light?

As the glowing nightlight illuminates the bush of garden roses, the green and grey moths are instinctively drawn from their old oak tree home towards the warming light.

They arrive towards the artificial sunlight as it were a call. A call set for the unveiling of the Ball of the Moths. A mingling for the little wings that flap as silently as the moon, turning into a passionate waltz that occurs once the sky turns into a darkened blue.

It’s a spectacle that the rarest of eyes get to see. It’s quite exhilarating to be one of them, isn’t it?

The metamorphosis that turns this silent garden into an alluring phenomenon is beyond oneself. It is a nature-bound story that is left untouched by the human hand.

A story that retells the beauty that resides under a draping of skirt of blood roses. And a story that is kept protected by a layer of hidden thorns.

In This Small World

Jan 11, 2022

As the rain that cascades down from the clouds, my thoughts dance amongst the particles of oxygen and hydrogen that sing in harmony with the grey sky.

Humidity wafted through the air like the skirt of a bride, bending around the corners from the bakery to coffee shop to the park.

The crows call out as salutations to the west winds that brought in the breeze that floats through the cobblestoned street ways; a reminder of the distant existence of the western sandy coasts.

In this small world of dampness and solitude, it feels warm despite the coolness that rinse my thoughts with dewdrops upon the pine leaves.

In this small world, the natural elements of the air and earth blend together; awakening a world anew.

In this small world, everything is nothing more, nor less, of a grey and white paradise.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

Returned

Feb 18, 2023

The glass-cut waves glisten under the youthful moon, dazzling under the mournful void that engulf the delicate rose hidden amongst the stars.

As the water brushes against the darkened beach, urging the one who stood entranced by the nostalgia in the bare sand towards the depths that laid silent under Poseidon’s orders, under the orders of nature and the flow of time.

As the impatience of abyss calls out with greater tenacity and vivacity, the footprints of the loiterer lie arid onto the shadowy sand, they lie exposed against the moonlight and western breeze.

The sandy imprints follow deeper towards the hidden layers of the midnight zone after their summoner, who now have surrendered to the embrace of riptides interlaced within the sea.

Who now have returned home.

Who now belong.

Feels Just Right

Feb 22, 2023

As the bending of the refracted light dances through our atmosphere, The kaleidoscope of colours infuse into the places we call home.

An homage to the greater heavens reside upon the crystal white canopies of the mountains,

Inching higher into the sky with every passing year.

As if our old soul has lasted as long as the depths of the mountains and their ancestral ocean,

The sounds of the evergreen forests form a serene collective with the chirps of the sparrows.

As if our old soul understands it all,

It feel sweet,

And calm,

And lively,

And gentle;

It feels like home,

It feels just right.

Lattice of Placidity

April 24, 2023

The streams of light glisten upon the crystal lattice of placidity that lay stranded upon the horizons.

The heavens speak from above, taunting ever so lightly to the inner voices that reside within my heart,

Flooding my forehead with gentle kisses of warmth that soar amongst the great sky.

Each blessing accumulating in strength with every passing minute,

Itching my heart with familiarity and indulgence.

The heavens speak from my heart now.

Their whispers envelope in the cotton clouds and rock my consciousness into a depth that urge my eyes closed.

In this daylight, the streams of light float me to sleep upon the summit of weariness.

While in this daylight, the mysteries that exist beyond the distant horizons become awaken in a crystal lattice of placidity that expand for acres into the unknown, cleansing the souls tainted by the unknown.

Roaring Seas

June 2, 2023

As if the darkened bed of roaring seas facing the east hasn’t awoken this small town,

it lays stranded amongst a town of peaceful dreams,

yearning for the solitude it thrives in to maintain its keep.

Above the wind chimes twirling with the wind, the twilight moon prances across the Earth’s latitude,

peeking from behind a cloud of breathtaking freshness and smoke screens.

In an almost somber sorrow, the hearts of the sleeping township whispers faintly,

in an ironic harmony with the impish crickets and night owls.

And rising from that bed of roaring seas, an impediment of compete callous waves dominates towards the olden shore,

leaving stranded a town of peace-less dreams,

yearning for the authority that it thrives in to maintain its personified stature amongst this silent township.

Keeping it all hidden amongst a night of breath-taking freshness and smoke screens that hide away behind the roaring seas.

Distant Peace

July 18, 2023

Fragmentations on my chest lay imposed by the rulers of my world.

A world where the stone-guarded castles authorize the existence of civilization,

one without the distant peace of tomorrow and the uncertain pain of yesterday.

The lacking complexity written amongst these medieval walls parallel the sentiments that broke through my spirit.

My heart tells me to be expecting of an ear-shattering collapse for when the final nail is driven in.

The disintegration of my being shall awaken the crystal pathways to which the next life will welcome me with open arms.

One where the distant peace of tomorrow becomes the cascading seconds in which I presently indulge.

One where the uncertain pain of yesterday is chained to the stone-guarded castles, never to touch my soul again. And at last. There will be peace.

Superposition

July 25, 2023

To not be afraid is a harmless proclamation; to uphold the strength behind one's integrity can be overbearing.

To walk alone when the darkness irks and inches closer can be overcompensated by the hope that the stars may be overlooking; to gain the resilience to carry each of your own feet can tremble any sense of security.

On this journey where there may be fear and reward, each aura gambles their authority in the form of chess and make their way to the checkered board,

ready for any and all actions against the player – the keeper of all evoked memories and facilitator of verdicts.

In this complex quarrel, time trickles and inches closer towards the emotions of uncertainty and despair, with a subtle partiality towards the victory of intrinsic optimism;

a mocked sentiment by reality and the superposition of all possibilities.

In the worst of times, one must find solace within themselves through harmless proclamations and impressionable hope – a halved chance of occurrence, amongst a halved sea of impasse.

In these worst of times, the superposition of verisimilitude and tormenting imagination prevails to push one forward.

A superposition to protect the humanity that makes us delicate,

a superposition that sets our individualism apart from in-animation,

a superposition that simply makes us mortal and effortlessly artless.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

Good (Bad) Nights

Aug 16, 2023

Cremate me along with the sins I am anchored to.

Watch the embers whisk into the night that shys from the lime-light, but remains dominate without fail.

Bury me along with the burdens that sink me into the ground,

cracked and impish - watch the floorboards lift with every step taken through the unassuming night;

an undocumented crime that washes away with the hardwiring of the forsakenly sinister and self-grieving.

As I lay amongst the red roses and their thorns,

balance my mistakes with the delicate scents of the petals as I humanly pour myself onto them in hopes of compensation.

As the dynamics of my presence changes, quietly wish me well and watch me vanish through the noir mirror hidden in the skies.

With a final adieu, I wish you well with all my sins and burdens and blood - I wish you goodnight.

Children of the Universe

Aug 22, 2023

Like the stones that create the cosmic constellations,

I feel the embrace of the void in its most sacred and raw state.

From the eclipses that dominate the sky to the generous meteors that shower streaks of beauty and untamed freedom,

the air begins to feel a little bit lighter,

a little less like gravity.

As the expansion of our galaxies guide themselves over the barrier of time and space,

rejoice in the moon's crescent and enjoy the time we have today.

After all, we are the blessed children of this universe,

scared, raw, beautiful and untamed.

We are indeed its children.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

Sept 1, 2023

Until Our Blood Runs Still

When the death of a rose leaves its petals on the hardwood, the mysteries of the cracks in the floorboards rise to top.

The walking of footsteps echo within the hallways that once denied one’s entrance in.

The wishes for a silent night are overturned by the

rustling of the ghosts that once ruled these walls.

As the ballroom door opens wide for us, the visitors, to this haunting ritual; calling to us with the organ pipe that hides in the depths of the mansion that only ring and scream at the strike of midnight.

This room, this house, this land - it writes and scars our hearts with its ghastly presence.

It now chooses to haunt us until our blood runs still.

And for me, my love,

mine has already gone hush.

~ miha. d. (@mi.haloes) ~

Daffodils

Sept 7, 2023

As the water in the vein of the daffodil flows stronger with every passing increment of time,

the gradual influx amongst the divine intricacies grow ever more resilient into the genuineness of a lived life.

Like a river that links all possible beginnings and endings to its inner core,

like a mother that conjoins the entity of spirit and science,

the mysteries of its emergence cascades upon the reflecting starlights in the reflections of waterbedded crystal cut mirrors.

Through the dewdrops that now dance upon the veined leaves of the daffodil,

a new beginning has spoken.

And through the embrace of a lived life,

an ending has awakened.

Weeds

Oct 4, 2023

The weeds that grow through the cracks in my heart resonate and shift with my emotional oceans;

my waterfalls and river currents reflect the waltz of the sunshine and all its ecliptic memories.

In an unforeseen irony, my soul lies here drenched in the streets and homes that once meant something in the past;

now emptied and perished with lost laughter.

A saddened ending rushes out with the sensations of a long-awaited high.

With the flood of my thoughts and the riptides of an unforeseen salvation,

I have outgrown my flowers.

A little tired and teary-eyed,

I suppose it is time to water my weeds instead.

Bone China

Oct 6, 2023

The gifted bone china lies on the far south counter, collecting dust and sunlight as the hours pass.

From sunset to sunrise,

it’s an everyday affair.

The hollowness in the apartment aerates as the seconds bring in silence from the crashes and burns of a once-predetermined fairytale;

a diluted form of a potent fantasy that was destined for carnage.

With bruises and aches that align the ventricular walls, the descending of the building elevator chimes with the bells of a lost war.

Surrendering to the forced peace that was never wished for,

maybe the battle and scars are better left unremembered;

allowing our bone china-built history to collect dust as the hour passes,

someday fated to shatter.

Foretold Prophecies

Oct 14, 2023

The castles of the foretold glisten amongst the sunlight in the distance,

a prophecy that has yet to be fulfilled.

As the ultraviolet and nitrogen-stricken air cascades and bows to nightfall,

the comets reign over their conquered lands above.

A delicate placidity,

a sweet dreamscape.

A new horizon; an inescapable harmony.

Reminiscent of a fallen dance that now lies shattered with the collapse of a final falsetto sung by a dying star,

far beyond the reach of the naked eye and Saturn.

As the castles of the foretold glisten under the Aurora Borealis and all its ancestors,

the prophecy now stands splintered.

Unachievably buried with the burning of a thousand suns and essences.

Mirrored Illusions

Oct 16, 2023

I clamber through the mirror that tells me it will all be okay.

Vine leaves and daisies left on the floor whisper that it will all be okay.

A hidden mystery,

a stolen treasure.

Beyond the symphonies of an oil-painted skyline,

a devastating void engulfs me and lets me know that somehow, somewhere, someday, it will all be okay.

A twinkling star,

the broken reflection of the constellations that now lie jagged and shattered on the floor cry that somehow, somewhere, someday, in whatever form, it will all be okay.

A disoriented periphery,

an illusion reality;

it all falls down.

From the million lies, and a billion truths, everyone rots with the scars of both;

but no one told me they would be the cause of my downfall.

To the depths, I claw into,

through the shadows, I swim through,

somewhere within this oblivion of despicable hospitality,

a set of truthful eyes tells me it will all be okay.

As I find myself clambering out of the mirror that pulled me through a thousand realities,

I believe the deceptions a little more.

That somehow, somewhere, and simply because, it will all be okay.

And who could’ve thought it would be told by the vindictive woman staring back in the mirror?

Sea of Starlights/Skies of Honey

Nov 3, 2023

Between the fabrics of time that exist within unmarked territories,

we venture deeper into the trenches of the dark with my adventurous bow-and-arrow and your sword,

awaiting the signs that show us the way to the tulip fields.

From the sea of starlights to the dawning of the honeyed sky,

we ride horseback without any care for the forests burning behind us with the secrets of those who never made it out, forsakenly disappearing as their bounties discount through the eons.

For months afoot, we travel through the mystic lands to the trenches of the water fields.

As our frugality mixes with the declining rationality of our sanity, we grow near and dear to the scythe of death — tasting its metal as we save each other. Neither of us will make it out, though; we’ve made it too far — cracks filtering throughout my bow and your sword.

As we lay waste under the oceanic starlights and honeyed skies, we count our adventures and fantasies; unknowing that our tulip fields were merely a mirage divided between our breaths and the judgment of the grim reaper and its whispering forests.

As we lay waste, we divulge further into this fantastical expedition without an end.

As we lay waste, our souls dissipate into the air and twirl with the currents of the wind.

As we lay waste, we weave into the fabrics of time that exist within unmarked territories, marking them as ours.

Marking them into the tulip fields we never reached,

marking them in our own fonts of starlit seas and the skies we kiss to create honey.

Marking them as the sanctuary for those once forsaken, and for those who remain foolish enough to venture further than the distance we could have ever made.

Tainted

Nov 17, 2023

The piano keys crack under the pressure of your finger,

each one engulfed with a fuel shipped from your caged city of apathy and unforgivingness.

If our shattered music notes leave fractures in our already codeine-infested streets, can we ever forgive the scarring gravity imprinted in our politics?

We can ever unwrite our taintedness?

Solstice Reminder

Nov 20, 2023

Imprinted onto the chromosomes that line my feminity,

I watch the remnants of my mother’s hair dance in the wind under the equinox sunset.

A carbon copy of someone who held an unwritten history that could have strayed far from today’s reality.

As I watch parts of myself melt away with the warmth of the autumn, I devastatingly grasp to hold the memories that remind me of something sweet.

A gentle waltz,

a night in under the sheets and softened blankets.

A solstice reminder for all that was and all that remains from here on out.

A solstice reminder for the seasonal bliss the exists amongst the whispers of the branches.

A Dead-end Story

Dec 9, 2023

I collapse on the surface of my grave,

igniting the timber wood that flares as I touch its soft design. An intricacy that existed long before our coffee cups, filled to the brim with bad decisions, were left to soal in the sink.

As time sank into the night, your deceiving eyes reflected admittingly onto the sliding door.

And now, above my grave, I sit and reminisce about all the mistakes mixed with rum and cola, all the lies that came out of our crystalline glasses.

As I cascade like a ghost into the dawning of the midnight sun, I awake to find your pitiful silhouette inch closer. The soft grass rustles beneath your boots and trenchcoat.

You were once a vessel filled with a sense of paradise,

but now your aura has become a fearful entity that feels my otherworldly gaze on you.

You once cared, and now you fear me.

You once learned to love, and now you fear the mere idea of me.

I laugh at the pathetic irony of our situation.

My corpse may haunt the layers that exist six feet below,

but you are the one who remains dead.

My ghost may have reached the gates of a hellish abyss only now,

but my dear,

you were already there, weren’t you?

Mosaic

Dec 11, 2023

Like a mosaic of lights that runs off to the sea,

a great poet would willingly embroider all your arches and shadows on a silk sheet, weaving each tread to replicate the gentle glistening of the tidal waves.

As the memories and tears of a fractal-covered heart pierce the skies of a destined paradise, a great poet would dance upon the equator’s cells, and amongst all the tropics where one’s treasures hide deep within the abyss.

Forever Engraved

Jan 18, 2024

Collapsing onto the floor, the cloak that was once pinned onto my shoulders now dresses the marble below my heels.

When the iron fences open and the riots emerge from the depths of the outer world, my mind crashes into the side of my skull; passing each second quicker than the last.

The masters unleash their wolves, each one running faster than the last.

Between the bends and turns that only exist in my mental maps, every secret door barricades a past tragedy and stage of tyranny; opening every door towards an unknown future.

My once emerald and gold crown lays shattered in the ambushed throne room with every merchant appraising its value into the thousand livelihoods it equalled.

As I run further away from the past reigns and political mistakes, I search for the silhouette of my dearest.

In the shadows behind the hidden pathways, he stands tall and inviting. A dagger forged in cyanide clings to the side of his armor-adorning figure.

As I make a desperate dash toward a tragic salvation, a final memory forsakes my eyes.

Unknown, unloved, and unrequited into the fabrics of time that embroider a grand future.

Far from a self-destructive tyrannical history.

Cyanide burns through my body, as the ashes I predetermined to lay waste reflect from my eyes and into the shadowy figure standing before me.

He swiftly dashes for the windows that now recount a play of a civilization that scorches itself into the ground. A devastating betrayal stamped with a pathetic finale where the innocent and wicked crash through the barricades of a spiritual sanctuary.

As the stunned eyes of my dearest scan the once-bustling streets replaced with a prairie aflame, his innate subliminal smirk exchanges onto my face;

turning cold into a porcelain vase prophesied to shatter.

Behind every falsely faceted smile and world of admiration lays a preemptive understanding of the betrayal that was set to destroy the guarding gates.