When I am obsessed

I dive deep for days

I go on the same website

Search for new ones

Satisfying my curiosity

 my desire

but knowing I cannot have it in my hands.


When I am obsessed

I hold on to the thought for days

It follows me to bed

And even in my dreams

Wishing it was here

 with me

but knowing I cannot grasp it in my hands.


When I am obsessed

I would think of ways

To get it from my head

To the palm of my hands

I may not have it today

 or tomorrow

but I know that one day it will be in my hands.

1st august 2016

I wrote this literally 10 minutes ago after days of being obsessed about typewriters. I used the search engine extensively to learn more about them, browsed the prices on sale, and found that there is such a thing as typewriter poets. Those poets write poems on the spot and give them to people passing by on a busy street. This particular group of people has a name: Typewriter Rodeo. 

Naturally, I got inspired. And because I have this urge to share a bit about my actions when I am obsessed with something, I just typed the above poem within minutes. I did so because it’s the quickest way to let it out, and I know better than to keep it in. My first real obsession was classics and period dramas when I was 15 and I did not really share that with others. That was 7 years ago and I still love them but the obsession period could have dissipated more quickly if I had actually expressed it more freely.

So I hope that I can come to terms with not acquiring a typewriter (at least not in the near future) much more quickly than I had to with not acquiring a corset, a crinoline, a hat and an elegant Victorian dress.

(picture from eumycota.blogspot.com)



As long as society keeps chasing


Forgetting their values

I feel like all my words, my voice

My actions

Mean nothing

Because collective consciousness

Works collectively

But I continue regardless

Because I have hope in finding those who believe in change

In compassion, kindness


Because that’s the only reality

I can live with


30th july 2016


This is a little poem, if you can call it so, materialised amidst the situation regarding Black Lives and the Corrupt System as a whole. This may seem unusual for a seemingly naive, reserved, whatever-it-is-you-may-describe-me to come up with this but I can say that I have been covertly learning about this whole media propaganda, corporate control, federal reserve system, and a little bit of everything related to how the powerful people (Rockefeller, Rothschild, Morgan, Warburg) are controlling the masses to establish some sort of new world order. This is not out of the blue.

I may be entirely wrong. I may be crazy. Heck, I may be “brainwashed” to think about this “nonsense”. But I have read, observed and learnt enough to realise that there is something fishy going on. And my curiosity is only heightened with every information I encounter. Sometimes, it’s so blindingly obvious and yet this is not something that people talk about. That is not surprising considering how many people binge watch The Kardashians or whatever reality TV shows there are nowadays. 

And I want to talk about it more. I want people to talk about it with me more. Why? Because it matters. Because we are in a system whereby most people are not happy with. But most of us only complain and do nothing, including myself. Yes, I know that most do not completely understand the situation nor have the time to learn. That’s why we need to help each other, no? 

Be the positive change you want to see in this world, they say. And I guess that’s what I am trying to do. And this “poem” is the first step of my putting it out there — the ice breaker — so that the next time I write anything about this, I would have a bit more confidence in sharing. This may not be perfect, this may not make much sense, this may sound so very weird, but it’s a product of what my brain has become and what my heart is reaching out to. Take it or leave it.




Blackbird, black sheep, black lives

The colour black has been socially constructed to represent

Isolation, depression, rebellion



Black is an absence of colour — justified.

Blackbirds tend to be solitary — justified.

Black sheep the occasional recessive gene — justified.

Black lives a picture of slavery and uncouthness — justified.


But you don’t see

How black fills itself with all the light in the world

Its soul full of colours

You can’t see

Because you see with your eyes and not with your hearts.


And you don’t hear

The blackbird’s sweet melodies

Because you’d rather listen to 

The big media

Spewing hatred and propaganda.


You don’t know

That recessive doesn’t mean


It only means distinct

And perhaps

It is better to be different than just a sheep.


And you don’t remember

That slavery was (is) man-made


To justify growth


Forgetting that black, white, yellow, brown

We will all be buried in the ground.


Until we begin to see the unseen

Until we tune in to the right sound

Until we think and learn

Until we take action

Black will just be black.


11th july 2016