Struggling With Privacy & Sharing

I don’t even now where to start with Privacy!

One of the few things that I always dream about is living in a small house somewhere in an isolated mountain with everything I need to be alone for the rest of my life. But everyone knows that isn’t healthy and it’s almost impossible.

I admit, I’m kinda paranoid when it comes to being online. After Snowden, who can blame me? I’m no computer wizard so what I can do is moderate my content and keep it to a minimum and within the limits of what I’m comfortable with sharing. I certainly am not going to check in with the world every hour on Facebook and chronicle my daily life with statuses and pictures. Oh I hate social networks!

Continue reading

[Journal] Impromptu post 12/01/17

Back to wordpress after a long absence.

I’m sort of lost in finding my way through both the material world and the virtual. I have lost sight of what’s outside the walls. I can only see the ghosts of things now and their fleeting interval of existence.

I indulge myself in my arts feeding off of this negative state. Trying to determine the path through color tones and language nuances even if most of the time they betray me.

I end up fading into a self I never knew before.

Haiku #041

writing poetry

with poor vocabulary –

my challenge


06/05/2016 Waseem Sherif

not that elevated diction is better than the clever use of figures of speech even with down-to-earth language but still.

At first, it was my struggle and it is, but I realized that if I take it as a struggle then I won’t be able to move forward. As a challenge, however, I’ll be able to enjoy the process of writing no matter what.

I have a really bad memory and it keeps getting worse. sometimes, it feels like I’m losing language with each passing day. but I keep reading and writing because poetry is worth it. Even with half a brain, I’ll still be writing.

Genesis of my Poetry (03)

Chaos is birthed
in a bleak corner of my room,
by the blend of light and darkness
and the rite of writing.

candle-flames flutter inside halos
like gentle eyes of a fragile child.

Brewed coffee scent
invades vapor and air,
filling the room with bitterness.

my mind wanders within itself.
random assimilation of meanings
unfold naked silhouettes,
flow along coffee smoke
in majestic ornamented letters,
and poetic apparitions.

amidst that instance of chaotic genesis,
I am torn between
innocence and cynicism,
frailty and fierceness.

apathy strangles my words,
devours the purpose of my creation.

I am left with nothing but
a trauma to feed upon,
and from which to write
the poetry that never means
anything to anyone.

25/03/2016 © Waseem Sherif

Two-liner #002 [26/03/2016]

At my pen, poetry dies.
In death, I am my words.


© Waseem Sherif

Author’s Note:

Go figure! 

seriously, the idea crossed my mind while i was trying to sleep so i wrote it down on the phone. in the next few days, i built around it a theory (of sorts). The poem “Nature of my Poetry” is related to it.  ⇐ looks like the AN is longer than the poem. sorry >_<