Monday, June 5, 2017


Last night
you wrote your sonnets
in Braille:
the commas, parenthesis, ellipses
engraved perfectly
on my skin-
woke up
to find, 
my windows

© Nazia J

Sunday, May 8, 2016

Blue Dawn

dawn brings
in its grubby palms
a handful of dreams
soggy and torn-
a crumpled ball of tissues in my hurting fist.

 © Nazia J

Wednesday, December 2, 2015


if I hold my breath,
if I become very, very still:
if I stop breathing;
if I just stop breathing...
will I  hear you calling me,
from your distant skies?

© Nazia J  

Photo: Nazia J

Tuesday, April 21, 2015


I need to dream a lot. And heavy doses of silences. Too much talking tires me. Being around too many people suffocates me and I always try to find ways to escape. 
To slip away. Drift on my own. Be silent.

This need to be left alone most of the times is considered a pathological deficiency by my dear family. For others it appears as conceit, perhaps.
Later, much later I realized that I am marked for life. I have to live either with me all my life or change my options, drastically. That I chose the latter was due to the authentic need to be true to my own self, a voluntary choice. This was understood by few and accepted by none.

‘No regrets’ sounds harsh. Almost condescending, but I think I prefer the way things are with me because I know that it is very difficult for another person to live with me, as sometimes it is extremely difficult for me to live with another person. And when such phases happen, I allow some company, some presence, to safely choose to enrich few moments by making connection with another, or maybe just to see how far I can be tolerated by another’s presence. 
I return soon. Back to me. It feels safe.

Thursday, December 18, 2014

Some Sadness is Necessary

Getting up with that familiar feeling. The unnamed, meaningless sadness. Like snowflakes falling inside. And huddled under a thick jacket  I walk on the wet grass, wishing the "purposeful morning walk" would clear the sludge within.
The dry leaves roll at my feet. The chilly breeze sting my face. The few joggers pass by rubbing their hands and blowing upon them, their enthusiasm cutting through the icy cold.

Just then, as I take the curvy pathway to the exit, to go back and crawl into the borrowed warmth of my bed, I see the sun. It is smiling behind the cluster of Laburnum trees. Glowing warmly.
Just for me.

Monday, June 23, 2014

Breathing Spell

The brain feels like an over-soaked tea bag. Heavy. All the flavour seeped out. I step outside, on the terrace. The scent of  wet mud is heavy in the breeze. The lingering fragrance of last night's rain. I inhale the night air, try to feel it on my palm. It slips through my fingers like a skein of silk.
The feeling of expectancy is around. Vague. Nebulous.Teasing. Asking to be grasped again.
Up above, on the sky, a pale, moon is shivering beneath the fluffy wrap of clouds.
Night is calm. Its stillness soporific. The suspended stars take my breath away.
But in few hours it will be dawn. The day will just burst open.
And the spell will be broken.

Monday, November 11, 2013

Like Snow

the waxen face of moon
in the pool of tears
like snow
in my palms

© Nazia J  


Last night you wrote your sonnets in  Braille: the commas, parenthesis, ellipses engraved perfectly on my skin- and  I  ...