reflection
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Love
“Dear Sir: Regarding your article ‘What’s Wrong with the World?’ I am. Yours truly,” ― G.K. Chesterton One thing I’ve learnt over the years is to never give up on people, maybe I say this because of profound self-reflection, looking in myriad mirrors of different shapes, sizes – convex and concave to find a version… Continue reading
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Walking
Walking without reflection is good for balance, methinks. Cleaving away the ruminative aspect of a stroll like a butcher slicing ham is conducive to auspicious days and nights when the crescent’s whispery cadence quietens impulse and ushers in tranquility. Why should I assiduously scan the pages of my life, trying in vain to strike off… Continue reading
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Evening song
Remember when we lived in that cottage on a hill with its red steps, off-white porch and beige door? The crisp breeze wafted into the rooms and chilled us to the bone, but beauty and innocence still prevailed. We were two inconspicuous people, and maybe we were even humble. We had each other, and that… Continue reading
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The Busker’s Rondeau
I’ve played these cobbled streets for many years pouring into my song blood and tears I’ve known the vagabond and patient sage – their lives I’ve scribbled on my crumpled page although my tune begins when the dust clears perhaps they’ll think then with soft smiles and cheers of how my song soothed all their… Continue reading
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Onion
He was odd and he would walk around hunched with this peculiar gait that made him look like a wounded war veteran who limped. He seemed so absorbed with himself. I often wondered whether thoughts buzzed around inside his oversized head like flies circling a pile of garbage. He had this effeminate way about him,… Continue reading
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Cockroaches and Jazz
I’m a synthetic cockroach who was manufactured in a lab in Syria after the Third World War. Born with an IQ of over 200, they sent me on different espionage missions to the United States of Europe, and I complied and sent them tons of data using my antennae, but Avant-Garde Jazz changed everything. I… Continue reading
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Time (Part 2)
If I were god, would Iflip through the pagesof time likea photography magazineor treat it likeholographic images,enabling me to enterthe past and alter the futureor destroy the future andend everything with thepresent with the touch ofa finger, or would I beboth in time and out of it,confined like a mortal tothe hours, days, monthsand years,… Continue reading
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Time
What if time wasn’t linear,moving from point to point,but something you held inyour hands,helping you see if yourtomorrows stood on a precipice,about to come crashing down?Then you’ll only realise whatyou already knew but refused toacknowledge. You’re not free.Each decision you believe youmade was already madeand every choice meltsinto the galaxy, affectingsomeone you least expect it… Continue reading
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As if
I write poems about myselfas if there is a point in writingI wake each morning tothe sight of the ceiling fanas if there is a pointto sleeping and waking. I breathe in the fresh airas I walk to the song ofthe thrushas if there is a pointto living and walking. What is existencebut the dregs… Continue reading
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Hypnosis
He hypnotised me 3 times at 3 am this morning, I allowed him to because I realised I was wearing my ideas on my sleeve and not letting them envelop my inner being with their pinions, thereby preventing seraphic enlightenment or cherubic brilliance, they’d become little scout badges I sported in the presence of others:… Continue reading
About Me
Ordinary Person is a guy who likes to write. He writes fiction, essays, poems and other stuff. You’ll find his other blog here.
Ordinary Person 