Creative Writing





The Demise of 25.

I turn 26 tomorrow.

I don’t know how I got here but last night I cried with inexplicable gratitude.

I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m still alive.’

I must learn to give myself credit for enduring all of the suffering and still managing to navigate my body through this process of intermodal resurrection.

It has been an intense year and any attempt to write and depict the intricacies will detract from the torment that was associated with them. Instead I will share the skeletal silhouette which orchestrated the tapestry of threads to weave my skin back together.

Qurratulain: The Coolness of The Eye.

Qurratulain. Kur-ah-tul-ayne. قرّة العين. Qurratulain. 

My name has always been a burden and I should have recognised it as being indicative of the way that my life would be spent. After all, with a name so difficult to pronounce, I was already at a disadvantage. My parents were young when I came along; my mother was 18, my father still at university. I was the first child, they were very enthusiastic. The name that they gave me was derived from Arabic, meaning 'the coolness of the eye.' Whilst some may liken it to the saying, 'you're the apple of my eye,' it capacitates so much more. 

Boarding Pass For Heaven.

Rising towards the clouds, we pervaded them like they were perished angel wings of the dejected, shielding us from being able to make out glimmers of the rest of the universe.

Almost there, get your boarding passes ready,’ said the pilot amid his sermon.

From Budapest to Bratislava.

After a month of travelling, I am finally back in England. Here are some of the Instagram captions that I shared whilst away.

And Attila József wrote [translated from Hungarian]:

'Well, in the end I have found my home,
the land where flawless chiselled letters
guard my name above the grave
where I'm buried, if I have buriers.'

When poets pass, we owe them more than statues, for they leave us with their infinite souls.

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