Saturday, September 22, 2012


There was a young girl who shot arrows
And later she also got parrots
She played out all day
Or the piano she'll play
Hoping parrot would start eating carrots


Pages of long words
Fit into a few lines
Of forgotten art

Modern Medicine

When I visit the doctor who said
That her job is to only treat head
Cause the treatment of spine
Is no business of mine
She is rich, but her skill is sure dead

Friday, September 21, 2012

A Religious Question: Haiku

Can you attack those
Who see you as violent
To prove them wrong?

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Off With His Head

A man named Muhammad
Who called for Jihad,
Which some say it's love he was preaching about
Could make no mistake
And no harm he could cause
But your head would be chopped if you doubted his laws.

Poisons: Haiku

In China, US
Companies poisoning us
Protected by law

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

The West and the Islam - Haiku


Leaders of freedom
Apologize, once more
To dark tyranny

Thursday, September 13, 2012

The Movie And The Rampage

A peaceful protest against a movie

In Libya, Egypt and Yemen too
It's love, and a bad movie, that sends on a rampage
The silent majority –
who claim to object the fanatic minority –
To ask for blood and the heads
Of those
Who do not understand
What love and tolerance truely mean.


A man of love, we can call him Jilel
Who adored promised virgins of hell
Not a bomb on his person
Not a saw to chop heads
Bad director must die, he would yell.


Movie go to hell
Then we'll be in peace again –
Preaching tolerance.

Sunday, September 2, 2012


Five thousand were killed in Syria in August alone.
Assad, their president and an optometrist, is in love with his wife
And goes shopping to make her happy
Often on line.

A UK university still call to boycott Israel.
Assad does not live in the UK any more.
The Arab world blames Israel
They must have planned it all along
Especially the UN failure
To stop the bloodshed.
The same UN that appointed Libya
To head the Human Right Commission.

Barbara, my neighbor, is truly upset
Her favorite chocolate is out of stock
And will probably never be in again.
The small shop that made it
Is being digested by a giant
And their secret recipe, that was in the family for generations
Is substituted.
But the children in Syria would have loved a piece.

At least those not among the five thousand
Who do not mind how inedible it has become.

Friday, July 6, 2012


Immortal giants:
1. Elvis Presley, August 16, 1977 (aged 42)

2. Michael Jackson, June 25, 2009, (aged 50)

3. J. P. Morgan, March 31, 1913 (aged 75)

4. Julius Caesar 15 March 44 BC (aged 55)

5. Steve Jobs October 5, 2011 (aged 56

6. Joseph Stalin, 5 March 1953 (aged 74)

7. Jesus, unknown

8. Genghis Khan, August 1227 (aged 65)

9. Napoleon Bonaparte, 5 May 1821 (aged 51)

10. Leonardo da Vinci, May 2, 1519 (aged 67)

11. Albert Einstein, 18 April 1955 (aged 76)

12. Thomas Edison , October 18, 1931 (aged 84)

13. Confucius, unknown

Thursday, June 28, 2012

A day like any other

The day life ended was a day like any other. 
People walked down the street, airplanes flew overhead, 
and robbers broke into the local bank.
The day life ended, the sky was blue, the sun was shining, 
and a few white clouds drifted westwards with the wind.
A dog was running down the street, chased by his owner.
No one knew it was only hours before the wind would stop blowing,
the sun would freeze in its orbit, 
and no mind would remain to observe.

If a tree falls in the forest and nobody hears, what is the sound of the one hand clapping?
But there was nobody left to answer.
Because the day life ended, was a day like any other.

Thursday, June 21, 2012


Swimming towards the rising sun.
The sea is like a mirror.
Underneath deep blue.
Above pink clouds are floating,
Amongst complaining sea gulls.
The water is cool against my skin.

Swimming away from the setting sun.
The swell is strong,
Pulling me towards the island.
Breaking waves are roaring.
Dark above, dark below.
I can't tell sea from sky.

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Prompt: The Museum

Once again, I could not stop myself from going to the museum. It's become my passion, my obsession. I faked sickness, killed aunts and uncles, just to go there once more.

I stepped over the No Entry sign. A broom and a bucket stood in a corner; the air smelled of dust. The Sea World was down a corridor illuminated by a single dull-yellow light bulb.

Wax fish swam in a glass ocean, a fishermen, holding a rod, stood on a rock above them. Suddenly, a strange smell. Someone was breaking the air-conditioner pipe. “My treasure,” a voice mumbled from the broken pipe. A white creature, half a man half a slug, appeared, it's eyes glittering as he saw the pond. Quickly he crawled to the rock where the fisherman stood. “My treasure!” he called again, as he dove down into the sparkling glass. Green splash stained the surface of the glass, cast shadows on the fish below

Friday, June 8, 2012

In the Dark

Mick, cramped in the driver seat of the small Fiat, keeping his knees wide open, one on each side of the wheel, steered the car along the dark road. In the seat next to him, Loretta's head rocked with each turn, her hand tapping Mick's thigh lightly with the tune of Stevie Wonder's Saturn that played quietly on the radio. A real oldie thought Mick. The small 800cc vehicle sputtered up the serpentine road. The large trees extended their fingers above them, casting eerie moon shadows on the road ahead. It had been over an hour since the sun glided into the sea. Mick extended his hand to reach for sleeping Loretta. It's not long before we'll be at the hotel, me and Loretta together for the first time, he thought, as he stepped on the gas.

Something crossed the headlights. Mick's mind was racing as he struggled to lift his foot and slam the break. What was it? Where did it come from? Was it was alive or an object? The car skidded forward groaning to slow down. Whatever he had seen was not there any longer. But then with inconceivable rapidity, a crash, the Fiat heeled to the right, sharply, turned, and came to a pull stop.

"What was that?" screamed Loretta. Her trajectory had been broken by her seat belt, and now she was shaking in her seat.

"We hit something. Don't know what," said Mick, his blood draining from his face. "Are you ok?"

"OK? How can I be OK?" Loretta undid her buckle and open the door. "I'm sure you killed someone. I told you not to drink before we left. But did you listen to me? My father will kill me. What are we going to do now?"

"Calm down. It's probably just branch or something. And I did not drink. It's not our fault. It just appeared out of nowhere."

"Don't you tell me you didn't drink ..."

She never completed her sentence. A bang sound came from the engine, the car lights flashed like a lightning and then nothing. No sound, no light, even the moon or starts were nowhere to be seen.

"What's happened?" whispered Loretta.

"It's dead." Mick, said, failing to reignite the engine or turn on the light.

Slowly they stepped out of the car. Utter darkness. Loretta stepped towards Mick. "Hold me she said. I am so scared."

Mick pulled her towards him and put her hands around her, and for a moment the feeling of her breasts pressing against his chest – full and soft – was all his could think about.

"Where are we?" whispered Loretta.

But no one answered. She was standing in the dark, all by herself.

Sunday, May 20, 2012


Summer Days --
Cicadas are praying
for ever lasting summer.

Saturday, May 19, 2012


Deep blue eyes lingering on me.
Lips soft, shimmering with wetness.
Hair rolling down the shoulder. Long and brown.
The corners of her mouth crawling upwards,
with a hidden smile.
Fingers lightly resting on mine.
A frozen moment of forever.

A Writing Prompt (10 min)

The end of the party was nowhere to be seen. Morning has broken, and that was when things started to happened.

“Would you mind your own business,” I heard a voice.

“My business is all yours,” another answered.

I turned around. A tall giraffe was arguing with a monkey, high on the tree above her.

“If your business is mine, how come you're sitting in my tree,” asked the giraffe.

“I was here first,” sulked the monkey.

“No you were not,” insisted the giraffe, as she started climbing up the lower branches.

“It's my tree, it's mine,” called the monkey in agitation. Then, he picked up an apple and tossed it at the giraffe. The apple bounced off the the giraffe, and hit an old lady, who was fervently clipping badges to her yellow apron.

“She is turning all green,” screamed the monkey, fleeting up the canopy.

“Let me help you Dear,” offered the giraffe, and with all his might tried to pull off the apple.

He failed, and this is the reason that until this very day, old ladies with green hair, carry giraffes whenever they stand under an apple tree.

The end.

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Train Station

Walking down the staircase,
jostled by emerging passengers,
faceless cleavages and breasts
smile at me, 
then they disappear 

Sunday, February 19, 2012

Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself

When the world treats you badly
When you're blown out of course
Who will you blame or accuse
Is it your skill or the bourse?

If things are not as you want them
and you feel like kick or a punch
Who will you set as your target
Yourself, or the next door bunch?

Whenever things don't work
they way you want the to.
And lets be honest,
they hardly every do.
What is your target of anger,
what do you want to destroy?
Is it the world around you
or the reason you see it so?

Writing prompt (10m)

Saturday, January 28, 2012

The Arab Spring

 Twitter removes twits
If the state asks. Who is state?
What about freedom?