My Lover Is…

I’m trying to push myself out of my comfort zone with writing and was challenged in a workshop by this wicked poet, Desree to use an “extended metaphor” in a poem. My understanding of an “extended metaphor’ is taking one metaphor, and running with it for the rest of the poem.

You’ll see the metaphor I used in the first line, and I decided to use this metaphor as a metaphor love, a lover to be precise. Love and lovers are a theme that I really enjoy exploring and will continue to write about.

I’m stepping into a period in my life where I’m looking to explore love and sex unapologetically and free from the shame my upbringing associated them with. The combination of repression, coloured by religion, and culture, coupled with repeated sexual abuse during my teenage years at the hands of an older man definitely created dysfunction. It led to compromised decisions around marriage and what was and wasn’t an acceptable level of intimacy.

Shit, I spent almost all of my decade long marriage NOT sharing a bed with my wife and thought that was normal.

Am now working on getting past that and looking to a future filled with love and intimacy and

My Lover Is…..

My lover is like a warm beanbag
Taking me in
Accepting me, with all my faults
Adapting to my contours
Never judging 
She is inviting
Beckoning me to let her wrap around me
Her embrace like that of my favourite beanbag
Comfortable
Comforting
Soft foam like flesh
A balm for the cruelties, hurt and misunderstanding of the outside world
Sometimes I wrap myself around her
We adapt to each other
Each day is closed out pressed against each other’s naked flesh

Cosmic Dust

Recently my close friend, big brother, and creative mentor Ty passed away due to the Covid19.

I do not know how to do justice to his memory or even begin to convey the level of heartache I am feeling at his passing. I will be trying to process my grief through writing and some of that may or may not end up on this blog.

Until then I wanted to share this poem. I wrote it back in 2017. Ty had been criminally slept on during his career. I refuse to shy away from this fact especially right now where all of a sudden I’m seeing glowing tributes in mainstream media outlets that ignored him during his lifetime.

He had decided to take matters into his own hands and had pulled out all the stops to do a gig marking the 19th anniversary of the release of his debut album “Awkward” that was released on Big Dada. He had decided to perform the entire album, start to finish with a live band.

Anyone who’s followed Ty’s career over the years knows that he excelled at live performance, particularly when he brought live musicians into the proceedings.

I and so many of Ty’s die-hard fans could not wait for this gig. The gig was on May 31st 2017 and I wrote this poem in anticipation of the gig as I had been reflecting on his music and his friendship.

The first two lines of my poem were inspired by the following lines from Ty’s song “Closer” from his 3rd album “Closer“, the music video for which I’ve embedded below.

“Nobody ever said it was easy
and if they did they’re trying to tease me
I struggle with my demons discreetly
standing on my granddaddy’s shoulder
Trying to see more than I’m supposed ta
Can I get closer?”


The first two lines in my poem are a reference to the 3rd line of the excerpt from his song “Closer” above.

That 3rd line always pained me as it was Ty alluding to something that many of us experience and feel, but only he was brave enough to voice it on wax.

Here is the poem in its entirety

Cosmic Dust

My brother struggles with his demons discreetly
While I struggle with that
The flip side to wearing your heart on your shirt sleeve is you can’t be discreet while you wait for the wheel to turn
It’s jammed right now
And no matter how discreet I try to be
Unpacked emotions spill over in every interaction

I’m embarrassed
36 years on
I still can’t walk without crutches

My mother wanted me to be my father’s strength
I failed miserably at that

It’s all inverse
This prolonged adolescence
I need to snap out of it

Peter Pan syndrome

I was told I wanted to be a man in my 20s
And now a boy in my 30s

I’m a child in fact
I wish I’d inked Corinthians
Don’t care how many mocking & scornful glances it draws
It’s the one wish that has remained constant
It’s my totem now
Reminding me if I’m in that dream-like state the world strong arms us into 
Or if I’m truly awake

When I’m wake
I take long walks 
Powered by the voice of a mortal who was fashioned from the most magical clay & cosmic dust
I’ve shed tears while in the presence of people sharing their light
This person
He made me weep
Uncontrollably 
You’d think my vision was obscured through all the tears washing over my corneas
You’re wrong. 
Now I see clearly 

5th May – 2017

Trafalgar Square, London, UK

Ty – 1972 – 2020

RIP = Return if Possible

failing that

RIEP = Rest in Eternal Power

Surrender to Love

I’ve grappled with my relationship with my daughter. 

I love her unconditionally. 

However, the first 7 years of my relationship with her are a blur. 

Mental illness and an unhappy marriage with her mother made it impossible for me to be as mentally present as I wanted to be. 

Coupled with my own self-esteem issues rooted in a traumatic and unloving past, I struggled with fatherhood, despite an unlimited reservoir of love that was exclusively reserved for my daughter. 

I bring all of this baggage to my relationship with my daughter. It’s unfair and it acts as a barrier to intimacy.

I need to resolve my issues and I need to do so fast. My daughter is growing up fast and with each passing day, my sense of urgency grows. 

I want to find ways to get closer to her. I’ve had this desire for the entirety of my daughter’s life, and I’ve struggled to find more ways to bond with her. 

If you want a different result, then try something different innit?

My daughter loves gaming and I’ve tried to tap into this by buying her a SNES complete with games such as Super Mario Kart, Streetfighter 2 Turbo, Zelda, and all the classics from the 90s. It worked for a while, but she didn’t connect with it the way I’d wished. Not the plot twist I was expecting, but I decided to pivot. Over the following months, I noticed my daughter and my niece regularly play a game called Roblox on the Internet on their iPads. 

I decided that a good way to bond with my daughter was to ask her if she would let me play this game with her and my niece. Much to my delight, she was open to it. 

Once I downloaded the game, my daughter, my niece, and I logged online, booted up Roblox, and then connected on FaceTime and talked to each other for the duration of our gaming session.

I grew up with Super Mario Bros and Streetfighter 2 Turbo. I couldn’t wrap my head around the games my daughter enjoys and Roblox was no exception. I couldn’t play this game at all; I was rubbish at it. Inept. 

The whole experience of trying to play Roblox was humbling. My ego took a battering. 

But in a strange way, I loved this experience. I got to spend time in my daughter’s (online) world. She took the time to patiently help me navigate the controls of the game and figure out what I was doing. She loved every moment of it, and we engaged with each other. This Saturday afternoon was not what I expected, but the outcome far exceeded my expectations. My heart was full. 

Sometimes fatherhood is about just turning up. It’s also about surrender. You have to be willing to meet your daughter on her terms. 

I am learning to surrender to love.

It’s terrifying.

It’s also fucking beautiful.

Chemicals In My Brain Are Liars

*Trigger warning* *Contains references to suicide*

This has been one of the most incredible weeks of my life.

I opened my heart to someone special. I did it without wanting anything in return, other than the desire for a more honest friendship.

I poemed the fucking shit™ out of people.

I grew closer to my daughter. 

A lifetime (almost 39 years) of performing for the validation of others is closing. I shaved my head to mark the milestone. 

I wake up in the morning and I’m happy with where my life is going. I take pleasure in my creativity. It’s where I’m at my happiest. When I’m writing my own story. 

This past week I have asked for what I want from people and I’ve done it respectfully. I’ve been firm but gentle. But the key breakthrough is that I’ve done it unapologetically. This didn’t happen overnight, I had to learn to do this, I had to give myself permission. 

As I began first drafting this, I was 4 hours away from turning 39. 

Without any warning, I turned suicidal.

Now let me preface this. I have ADHD and autism; I likely have Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD) too. I suffer from chronic depression and chronic anxiety. I have grappled with suicidal tendencies most of my life. 

You’d think I was prepared for this sudden suicidal turn? Not even close. 

This was one of the most violent suicidal mood swings I’ve felt since……shit….too many instances…but I remember one back in 2017….it was bad. So yeah, what I felt hours before my 39th birthday, it was the worst instance in almost 3 years. I had felt I’d banished such feelings, but no such luck this evening. 

It’s mad, there are so many suicidal turns I’ve taken in my life, but I find it fascinating that I’ve chosen the one in December 2017. I had just finished producing and project managing a music video for Eyes Open by Ty

This was a huge milestone for me. I had helped realise a music video for one of my favourite artists of all time. 

Just like the week preceding my 39th birthday, I reached a previously unexperienced peak moment in my life. Yet moments such as these are brought to an abrupt end with me shifting all of my energy and focus on fighting the urge to kill myself. 

I have to avoid the kitchen because it has knives. I have to hide my house keys so that I can’t go out and throw myself in front of oncoming traffic.

My solution to wanting to kill myself hours before I turn 39? I went to bed immediately. I can’t kill myself when I’m asleep. But also, when I’m asleep I can’t feel the sadness, despair, and pain.

That’s what suicide is. It’s a desire to turn the sadness, despair, and pain off. Permanently.

I went to bed and it helped. Early the next morning I got a message from a friend in Taiwan. She is a successful artist and grapples with mental health and suicidal ideation. She reminded me that I’m not alone and that I need to double down on my purpose. To inspire others with my art. 

She reminded me that the chemicals in my brain are liars. 

I’m here to remind you of this truth, just like my friend reminded me.

If you’re reading this, I appreciate you and I love you.

Thank you.



* The poemed the fucking shit™ is owned by the poet and writer Acafella

Loudspeaker

More poetry.

I wrote this one with my loudspeakers in mind. I’ve had them for 25 years, they’ve traveled with me across 2 continents and over 12 homes in that time.

Loudspeaker

I sit calmly
Ready to receive signals
Analogue
Digital
I don’t discriminate
Frame carved from wood
Interior carefully calibrated electronics
Great engineering never goes out of fashion
Good vibrations run through cables
Causing movement to my cones
Heart song bring lovers in the living room close together 
Cheek to cheek
I am the soundtrack to:
Birthdays
Bar mitzvahs 
Arguments
Make up sex
Break up sex
I’ve lived through it all:
Brit-pop
Hip hop
Trip-hop
Grime
Jazz 
Funk
Great engineering never goes out of fashion
I bend space and time
Connecting time zones, continents and bygone eras
I don’t discriminate

Haroon

As promised, more poetry, this piece is called Haroon and is about my name.

Haroon

Origin story
No spider bites
Dropped in Luton, via Pakistan
East end matriarch named me
Right-hand man of a tongue-tied prophet
Religious narratives are the roots to the branch of this tree
Musa and Haroon
Myth or reality
Don’t know
Don’t care
I’ll turn myth into reality
Took damn near four decades to roll off of my side and learn my true role
Speak up 
Speak loud
Never bear false witness
Here I am
Stuck indoors
Crisis turned opportunity
Clarity points to purpose
What is in a name?
EVERTYHING

7 Bar Loop

This is the first poem I’m sharing on my blog. I will continue to share current drafts of poems I am working on. Feel free to leave feedback or if things were not clear in the comments.

It’s all love. I welcome what you have to say. Here it is:

7 Bar Loop

Loop the loop 
Tie shoe laces
Perfect bunny ears
Can’t afford to trip
Run around the track
Like a needle traveling through grooves
I travel through time and space
Non-linear trajectory
Like shooting stars
Edges frayed
Pray hope don’t fade
Can’t promise myself a better tomorrow
Because tomorrow might have been yesterday and today might be tomorrow
Speed this up
Switch from 33rpm to 45rpm
Suddenly it makes sense
Music playing at the correct pitch

Write the truth
Love is an act of sacrifice
Anonymous
Otherwise it is sullied
Finally, I’m released from the groove that played in a loop
My hand unfurls
Presenting my heart to share with all

How I Wrestled My Ego to The Mat (And Won)

I cut ALL my hair off. Shaved it to be more precise.

That must sound like the most ordinary thing you’ve read in a world saturated with Internet think pieces. 

Tell anyone who’s known me for a good chunk of my life that I just shaved my head and they’ll choke on their cornflakes.

Let’s jump around coz linear narratives aren’t what I’m here for, not today at least. 

During the Covid-19 crisis, I’ve been sitting here, like many of you watching my bank balance dwindle, with no income in sight. I took a break from that soul-crushing past time to open up my e-mails. I received a message from my hairdresser to say they’re shut until further notice. Problem is, my hair grows faster than a field of weeds drowning in horseshit. 

No one can cut my hair, and even if that weren’t the case, I now can’t afford it.

Let’s jump timelines (again). 

I’m no stranger to shaving my head. I used to shave it during college and the first half of my undergraduate degree. Then I grew it out. All of a sudden, people told me I look great. One cousin told me I look “100 times better”. Women started giving me attention that I wasn’t used to receiving. Shit, even my grades at university improved. 

For the past 15 years I’ve been paid compliments about my hair. I’ve (questionably) attributed my positive turn in life down to having nice hair. 

Hell, even my ex-wife said she wouldn’t have given me a second look with a shaved head (what would that timeline look like???). 

Now, I’m not the most religious Muslim. I have a complicated and tempestuous relationship with my faith. I can (and will) explore that with you another day. However, despite the seesaw relationship I have with Islam, I’m fascinated with it.

There are pilgrimages called Hajj and Umrah, major and minor pilgrimages respectively. Men are required to shave their heads as part of the Hajj and Umrah. To me, it symbolises the shedding of one’s skin, renewal, and rebirth. But also, the humbling of the ego.

The past 3 years as my divorce painfully edged towards the finish line, I’ve known I need to honour this ritual. 

I began reinventing myself ever since I broke up with my ex-wife and filed for divorce. That work has never ended, I now realise it’s a lifelong process. However, my divorce finally came through in late January this year, it took 35 arduous months. When I opened up the e-mail from my solicitor I wept profusely. Tears of gratitude. Tears of joy. I’d kept so much inside and it poured out, literally. But I refused to cut my hair. 

It’s taken a pandemic, isolation, a shortage of eggs (seriously, we’ll revisit my love of eggs again and again) to make me explore my relationship with my ego. 

The Covid-19 crisis has forced me to become more pragmatic. Breakfast is now measured. When I have eggs (they’re worth more than gold bullion right now), I just have one, not two. Like you, no doubt, I’m having to figure out how to make everything last, including money, food and my sanity.

Pragmatism has its place, especially given the constraints that you and I are currently living under. But my ego, that’s something I’ve wrestled with for most of my adult life. The past 3 years I’ve known that shaving my hair off is a necessary and unavoidable spiritual and symbolic step. Yet a combination of fear and my ego has gotten in the way. 

I’ve become attached to the attention my hair has received and started subscribing to the belief that my relative success in life has come down to my hair and me “looking good”. So much so that I’ve become addicted to the validation and I fear that my life may revert back to how it was before, when I shaved my head. 

It’s a limiting belief and the only way I can move forward and live a fuller life, a life that is free from dogma and fear is to kill any such belief. In this instance, it requires me to cut my hair. 

So, I charged up my clippers and hacked away until there was nothing left. It was fun. It was humbling. 






I had to wrestle my ego to the mat. Luckily, I pinned it’s shoulders down for the 3 count. 

Vote for the Society You Want

This morning I woke up and all I could think about was my recent visit to the supermarket.

During my visit, you couldn’t find an egg or a loaf of bread. The shelves were so barren you’d be hard-pressed to find a bread crumb or a speck of lint on them. 

I was disappointed, but not shocked. 

That is until I approached an employee at the supermarket, and we got into a conversation:

Me: “Hi, I’m just wondering, what time do you get deliveries?

I’d love to come around that time and get some groceries.”

Employee: “We get deliveries at 10 pm daily.”

Me: “Brilliant, I’ll come back then.”

Employee: “Sir, we normally open 24 hrs a day, but we close at 10 pm when the deliveries arrive. 

We open at 5 am and get greeted by 3,000 people who clean out the shelves.”

I tried to hide my reaction and no doubt failed. I’ve never been great at that. Why would today be any different?

I thanked the person for informing me, wished them well and walked away. 

I was beginning to process this. I was beyond disappointment at this stage. I’ll come back to what I felt later. 

I made a point on this trip only to buy what I need for the next few days. Maybe I’m dumb and I’ll suffer later. 

But I see things differently in 2020. 

Every action I take is a vote for the person I want to be.

Every action I take is also a vote for the kind of society I want to live in. 

If we all just took what we needed; everyone would have enough. 

However, I no longer judge or blame people. During my life, I’ve learned that it’s institutions, structures, and ideologies that govern our behaviour. 

We suffer from a zero-sum game scarcity mentality that capitalism has instilled into us. 

We’re like a rag soaked in kerosene. The fear that the Corona Virus / Covid19 has unleashed is the match. It is burning through supplies in supermarkets. 

When I woke up this morning, I recounted this anecdote to my friend Christian, and it hit me. I realised the feeling I’ve been grappling with, watching people buy up everything in sight at supermarkets without a second thought about the vulnerable in society. 

It was rage. I felt rage. A numbing rage. 

In spite of the rage, I will continue to vote for the person I want to be.

I will continue to vote for the society I want to live in. 

It will begin with my own actions at the supermarket in the midst of the current chaos.

The Key to My Creative Process

I’m having a fascinating journey as a writer right now. 

The past several weeks have been interesting. Some days I’ve lacked inspiration and other days I’ve been furiously jotting down ideas that I want to come back to. 

Recently, I was reading a book called “Feck Perfuction” by James Victore and an idea popped into my head. I jotted it down dutifully, as I had 15 other ideas the past couple of weeks. I was tempted to file it away, just like the others. I promised myself I’d return to it when I’m in a better position.

Fortunately, I’ve read “The War of Art” by Steven Pressfield. I now recognise “resistance” when I see it.

The reality is, as artists and creatives, inspiration simply isn’t enough. It MAY be the beginning of a process, but it’s not the entire process. 

I decided to expand upon the concept of “Artist’s Sign Their Work”, an idea I stumbled upon when reading “Feck Perfuction”. I had no planned direction when I began writing this piece. I just had one starting point:

“I’m going to change my signature. Going forward I will sign all of my creative work with this new signature”

That’s it. I knew there was something there, but I had to work at it. I wrote a couple of paragraphs and then I scrapped them.

I began writing again, from scratch.

It’s not fun writing and disliking what you’ve committed to the page or screen, but you have you to get past this minor speed bump and often this requires pushing through it. This is the rent you pay to create great work.

Once I get past the initial “resistance” I’ll begin writing and often I end up liking what’s taking shape on the page or screen. Which is progress, but I always give my writing some space. I’ll go off and I’ll read a book or I’ll listen to some music on a walk. I need to develop some objectivity. Later I’ll return to my writing, then as I re-read it, I’ll realise it doesn’t work, not yet. 

I love rap and poetry, and it influences the way I write and assess my work. I like my writing to have a rhythm to it. I want everything I write to roll off the tongue when I read it.

Quite often that rhythm is about re-arranging paragraphs so that a piece flows well. Other times it’s about editing sentences. To write really well though, you need to do both. 

I also love film, so I’m always aiming to create a narrative arc. I want my writing to feel like a story, with a beginning, a middle and an end. I’m a sucker for a good start and a good ending. I want to grab your attention, take you on a ride and then close strong. 

But the process is messy, it’s doesn’t follow a straight line. 

I can alternate without any justified reason between cleaning up sentences where I: 

  • Rid my work of redundant words
  • Change the punctuation
  • Shorten sentences
  • Lengthen sentences

Yes, you read the last one correctly. Sometimes lengthening a sentence can make it and the paragraph it sits in jump to life. 

So, going back to what I was saying before, I will repeatedly alternate between cleaning up sentences and rearranging the order of paragraphs.

It just makes sense in my head and I LOVE the process of doing this. 

Creativity is play, it is tinkering.

However, none of that can happen IF you don’t begin. If you don’t begin to rest your hand on a piece of paper or your keyboard.

It’s by starting, however imperfect, that I was able to write my last blog “My Name Is Haroon and I’m An Artist”.

I started writing this current article the day after I wrote the above article (2 weeks ago), but I kept stopping. It could have died a death like so many other ideas I’ve had, but it’s never too late to start again, to resuscitate an idea, to return to a dream. 

I may stop, but it’s temporary. I promise I’ll never stop starting and seeing through ideas and sharing them with you.

I hope you start something new and see it through, I hope you share it with me and with everyone else.

I can’t wait. 

Potsa Luv xx