Published Pieces

The Miserable Physicist

“Light travels thousands of miles per second,” she taught

in her physics classes.

“God is Light,” she heard in Sunday sermons; she wonders

why God doesn’t hear her prayer as fast as the speed of light;

the key of the universe’ secrets is still out of reach from her palms……


(This piece is published in Leaves of Ink)




With time, we see tiny particles

of silt settled in a glass of water,

we thought was pure; we see cracks

in a house we thought was perfect;

 with time, we start seeing

weaknesses in the ones we love…..


(This piece was published in Shot Glass Journal, Issue #16)



Not Cremated

They say he was burnt to ashes; not cremated.

“Humans with a soul without conscience are like firewood.

It’s only people with a heart to embrace a drop of love

are cremated,” they bitterly lamented.


(This piece was published in Inwood Indiana Press, in the Issue themed "TRACKS")



  If Envy was a King 


If Envy was a king,

               he would kill everyone in his kingdom.


He would kill the cooks,

             for he can’t cook as well as they do.


He would kill goldsmiths,

             for he can’t make jewelry as well as they do.


He would kill poets,

            for he can’t write poems as well as they do.


He would kill hunters,

            for he can’t hunt as well as they do.


He would kill diviners,

           for he doesn’t have any sacred calling as they do.


He would kill painters,

              for he can’t paint as well as they do.


He would kill his guards,

                   for he can’t guard as well as they do….


If Envy was a King,

                       he would kill everyone in his kingdom.


 (This piece was Published in Leaves of Ink)



Watering a Wilted Flower

She was a wreck;

alcohol, drugs, and loneliness

were her company.

Men loved her body,

but avoided her soul like a plague.

“You will never be loved,”

she heard.

Scornful whispers crawled all around her.

One man loved her so dearly,

that he was ready to see and touch

the ugly scars of her life – he was ready

to be scorned as she was.

“You won’t love her for long,”

he heard.

A woman struggling not to drown

into nothingness is all he saw in her eyes…


(This piece was Published in Literature Today Vol. 4 on the theme "Love")



Waiting for Superman

Gazing at the evening sky,

as though watching a soap opera,

her bosoms partially bare,

she waits for a superman to help her

on her two feet again.


She has danced with strangers

for long, taking glasses of wine

with them; men who only want to know

her in bed, rather than know her name,

where she lives, what she loves,

her history…….


Gazing at the stars glowing in silence,

she waits for a special man to save

her from her own destruction.


She waits for superman……. 


(This piece was Published in Leaves of Ink)      



Frankensteins of Fashion

We walk across the streets and malls

with tops of 60s,

and pants and dresses of 80s and 70s


Ladies gracefully attend operas

with hairdos of Elizabethan period and 90s,

and 80s heels to garnish it all


Gentlemen race to casinos riding vintage

cars, as they fit well with Al-Capone’s classic

hairstyle, tuxedos for night outs,

and 1800s Cuban cigars held by their mouths


Indeed, it is a clash of fashions, creating a fashion

that cannot be described,

like Frankenstein’s creatures with different animal parts


(This piece was published in Leaves of Ink)


The Forgetful Man

O, what a forgetful man!


He forgot the wallet

in the car.


He forgot the car keys

in the restaurant.


He forgot to pay for a meal

in the restaurant.


He forgot the name

of the restaurant he went to.


He forgot where he parked

his car.


He forgot his driving license

at his house.


He forgot his cell phone

in the restaurant’s washroom.


He forgot that today is his third

marriage anniversary.


O, what a forgetful man he is!


(This poem was published in Leaves of Ink)


Poem without words

My poem to you is not written

on a paper by a feather pen;

is not written on sand by a stick;

is not written in the clear, night sky

by fireworks; neither uttered

from my lips.


Sitting next to you, while putting your arm

on my chest feel my heart-beat,

as it plays a rhythm to the blinding light

of love deep in your eyes, is my poetry

to you…


A poem that will never fade or depart

in our love.


(This piece was published in Shot Glass Journal, Issue #11)



It is like an ocean wave that is alive in one moment,
then it becomes part of the ocean the next moment;
the wave is unable to be alive for eternity. The wave only exists
in photos, but not in the next few minutes……


(This poem was published in Shot Glass Journal, Issue #13)



"Dance! Dance!"
he constantly told his dancers.
They danced morning,
afternoon, and evening.
So exhausted they were,
they died.
Now he keeps their bones
in his closet, fastened with strings
like marionettes...


(This piece was published in Shot Glass Journal, Issue #18)


The Clown

He has black stars crossing his eyes,
and a red ball-like nose making a hoot sound.
Children from all walks of life come to see him,
laughing at every silent gestures he makes.
They laugh at jokes meant to be a communication
for help within – his wife can't read the symbols
from his gestures.


(This piece was published in Shot Glass Journal, Issue #18)