Who’s the tallest of them all?


When little, she was told

that being tall is good-

tall girls are closest to heaven.

And she wanted to grow ever since,

pick the fruit from the top of the tree,

touch the birds,

tickle the clouds,

look into airplanes,

and sit on the moon.

As she grew tallest, she saw

that the more she grew, the farther she was

from others,

secluded ,


Ever since, she has dreamed of  the other,

whose chest would fit her chin,

and whose fingerprints would meet hers,

like life inside a growing nut.

Mirror, mirror , on the wall,

Who’s the tallest of them all?


Open letter from a teacher


You do not know that I have a blog, because there are so many things that you do not know about your teachers….And it is better this way, because you’ll may never know the contents of this letter.

My dear,

Many educators pass through their lives and careers with remembrance of students who embraced the flow of teaching, nurtured their great gifts and blossomed their talents.

Teaching can  be a thankless job,but I am thankful for your hard work, perseverance, and constant good manners which spring from a good education and Common Sense.

May you find success on your path to knowledge and happiness in personal life. May God guard your every step and hold your hand when you are in need.

Make good use of all the great qualities I am deeply convinced you harbor. Keep your modesty and serenity at all times and DO good deeds in your future career.

You are motivation and hope for a tired teacher.

All the best,



An attempt at happiness


This was an attempt at happiness,

A feeble thread

And a soundless firework.

With roads diverging

After sudden crossroads.

A lingering scent 

In the clothes no longer worn

Locked in boxes no longer opened,

Under piles of heavy weight

To make it die,

And melt

And dissipate.

Out of all our senses

The smell is the toughest.



Today we shouldn’t talk

We should whisper

Make sure the words don’t wither

From too much noise 

And don’t scorch

From the heat of our tongues.

Our voices should linger

Between one mouth and the other

Linking lips into invisible threads

Because today is the kiss we waited

Decades to gives birth to.



There is a little girl 

Living in the ruins

Peeking out of what’s remained 

Of broken windows.

The wind moves the curtains

And rain washes the windowsills 

As seasons pass 

-trains in stations.

The night drapes every corner 

into ghostly nothingness,

A sunless defeat of day by night

When thoughts hammer on 

the doors of reason

And dust falls in silence

On shapeless ruins.