new england winter in haiku

Snowflakes, your kisses

sneak through my open window,

like kindred spirits.


Vast sheets, virgin white,
rendered unkind by footsteps:
corrupted too fast.


With trepidation

I leave warm sanctuary:

it’s fucking snowing.


Murky-iced water,

I plunge, unknowing: wet socks –

I’m so¬†fucking done.


Cocooned, I lay wrapped

in the mantle of winter,

get me out of here.


Winter in Boston

pervades my soul, usurps my

paycheck. Fuck this shit.

Short Note: November

I’ve always loved November. The promise of cold mornings and nights, of incoming desert winters, the crunchtime in regards to exams, a general nostalgia that lingers in the air.

The smell of the beach. The fog over Marina. The signs of which are already so apparent this morning, at 7:30am, in October. My favorite sight in the world after the pinks rays of sunlight that flaunt themselves from behind a veil of clouds.

Snuggle-weather. New Years. Winter break. Thoughts of Lahore and, newly, promises of Boston. Good music and good company and nights out in the Marina, the scent of minty, grape-y shisha and distant chattering.

I can’t wait.