Poetry

I still miss her when the night turns cold
I still love her with a heart left untold
But I know I’m not the man I should be
And she shouldn’t lose herself while losing me

I carry my battles I carry my pain
I smile through the storms while I walk through the rain
She gave me her heart and I gave her my scars
So I stepped away though she was my stars

I never stopped loving I never stopped caring
I just knew that my brokenness wasn’t worth sharing
She deserved my peace not the war in my head
A life full of love not the tears that I spread

So I’ll fight with myself till the weakness is gone
I’ll build through the darkness and rise with the dawn
No promises spoken no words left to prove
Just a man becoming what he once dreamed to be

And if someday our roads cross again
I hope I’ll be stronger a better man then
Not asking forgiveness not begging her hand
Just hoping she’ll see who I finally became

Until then I’ll love her from somewhere afar
While I chase who I am not who I was
And though time may change what tomorrow may bring
Some hearts stay waiting through everything

I will keep waiting for me
To become the man I want to be
And when that day finally comes into view
I’ll still be waiting
And I’ll still be waiting for her too

APEX PREDATOR BY M.A CHOWDHURY

Chapter One - Part Two

Baby pink was for when she was mad at him, and burgundy was when she was neutral. And the stark colour of Tiffany blue means that he shouldn’t even bother. Hasuki only had Tiffany blue twice in their 2-year relationship, and Jarvis got the memo the second time.
Hasuki’s phone rang. She went to pick it up hastily, the phone surreptitiously next to her ear, hovering.
“Hasuki here.” Hasuki didn’t bother looking at the name.
“Good luck for tonight, jap.” Jeremy’s voice was like a kettle of freshly boiled water. It was impervious enough to scald her at this very moment.
Jeremy called her that word because he thought it was funny and what infuriated her the most was that she pictured him with that typical smug smile plastered all over his face.
“Are you with your little Oxford study boyfriend?” Jeremy chuckled, taking a drag of his little vape pen. He did not have the facilities to smoke actual cigarettes, so that was something else she also hated about him. Hasuki figured if you’re going to slowly kill your lungs, at least do it in a fashionable way with actual cigarettes.

Jeremy ignored the fact that Hasuki got engaged in the heat of the summer that very same year and referred to Jarvis as her boyfriend only. She knew he did this on purpose as the entire bank was aware that Jarvis rented out the entirety Kew Gardens for her when he popped the question. In fact, Hasuki was pretty sure the President was happier than her at that time.
“Jarvis is here.” Hasuki replied, coughing a little, “What do you want?”
“You know this position is mine.” Hasuki heard Jeremy take another drag of his pen. He probably smoked blueberry whip flavour or some nonsense.
“We will see.” Hasuki said smoothly, squeezing Jarvis’ hand in hers.
Jarvis glanced at her with pensive eyes and he was watching her talk now. My own personal investigator, Hasuki thought to herself.
“Knowing you, you probably got all tarted up in a little dress, eager and waiting for something you don’t deserve.” Jeremy said now, his voice now full of venom, it was getting subsequently louder and louder. “I’m going to tell everyone! I know you’re the granddaughter of a yak-”?
The line cut dead, the mobile almost slipped furtively out of her fingers.
How did he find that out?
“Jeremy?” Jarvis’ voice was now laced with an obvious disdain. “I can tell by your face.” He had his free hand forward, his palm open, waiting and ready.
“Who else would it be?” Hasuki muttered, wrenching her hand from Jarvis’ careful grip.
“I’m sorry, my love.” Jarvis whispered in a low tone.
“I need my music.” Hasuki said in a quiet voice, the imperative loud and clear.
Jarvis flipped open his briefcase and got out her headphones. In one swift motion, he handed the pair to her. “Here you go, Hasuki.”
She plugged in the vintage headphones into her phone and select an Erik Satie playlist. Gnossienne No. 6 started to play.
Music. There was something wonderful about music, wasn’t there? The ability to make someone feel or imagine things with instruments or sounds itself. Music for Hasuki was a soothing balm. Something to switch the meddling mind of hers off when she wished. She focused on every note, closing her eyes.
In the background, Jarvis answered the phone.
He excitedly told his mother Matilda about the announcement party, going over who was going to be there and what kind of food they would serve. Jarvis was particularly excited about the lobster linguine. When Matilda asked him about what Hasuki was going to eat, Jarvis pondered and answered with, “I think she will pick the snow crab.”
As the music filters in delightful streams into Hasuki’s ears, she thought about what Jeremy had said on the phone. What he was about to say to everyone about her grandfather Natsu was confidential information.
Hasuki didn’t tell Jarvis stuff about that side of her family and besides her father left that life behind a long time ago.
If the President ever found out, it would definitely affect her standing in the bank. Really, it seemed petty, but everyone knew what the yakuza was and what they got up to behind the scenes. JM Hogan was known for its sterling reputation of course, and she did not want to besmirch it.
*
The drive was slow to the V&A Museum. Jarvis kept amusing his mother on the phone while Hasuki had shut her eyes and had folded her arms rigidly. He watched her as she was completely still, almost like a living painting. As much as he adored how feisty or tempestuous she could be, he enjoyed these moments like he was indulging in a piece of secret sweet honey.
“Wake up, Miss Ikeda.” Charles said loudly.
Jarvis tore his eyes away from the window and faced Hasuki. She still had her eyes closed, her lips parted.
“My love.” Jarvis tapped lightly on her left hand with his. “Time to go.”
Hasuki’s eyes flew open, her expression now puzzled. “Gosh, are we there?”
“We are here, Miss Ikeda and Mr Montgomery.” Charles said placidly, getting the car to glide to an elegant stop.
The pair got out of the car, and Jarvis led the way to the museum steps.
A sudden rush of cold whipped against Hasuki , making her frown. “Something’s wrong.”
Jarvis looked back at her, grinning, “It’s just nerves, darling. The role is yours.”
Hasuki shrugged, wondering why she had this sinking feeling in her gut. It wasn’t about the promotion; there was something else. Something else was stirring in the waters in London, something beyond the glitz and glamour of this announcement party. Something that had not happened yet, no, but Hasuki’s intuition had never failed her.

APEX PREDATOR BY M.A CHOWDHURY

Apex predator- also known as a top predator or superpredator. It is a predator at the top of a food chain, without natural predators of its own (noun).
Chapter 1 – Yūgen (the Unseen)

Her name was Hasuki Ikeda; firstborn daughter of Akira Ikeda and she was preparing to become one of the Vice Presidents of PM Hogan. In her mind, there was no way that stupid plebian Jeremy Jones was going to get it. He was sloppy, came from generational wealth and was terribly white. The only way he got the graduate job at PM Hogan was that his father was in the same class as the President in their Eton days together.
Today was the announcement party at the V&A Museum in South Kensington – it was the 1st of December 2026.
Hasuki had chosen to wear a black Dolce and Gabanna lace dress with black Cesare Paciotti heels, (the dagger ones of course). She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was angular, but in the right ways. She was blessed with soft doe brown eyes and pouty lips. She put on red lipstick, but it was not a seductive tool – it was a warning. Red like the spill of blood, red like when the sun finally sets and red like a studded strawberry. With a delicate hand, she slipped on a glittering Cartier diamond bracelet on her right wrist.
She considered herself to be far more competent and compliant than Jeremy Jones, the only man standing in her way to become a Vice President. She would genuinely be surprised if someone tore open his scalp, gouged his brain out and found any original thought besides the remnants of cocaine and fine French wines.

Hasuki’s phone on the counter started ringing. It was a jet matte black Samsung S24 with zero scratches and in a matching leather case.
It was Jarvis Montgomery, Hasuki’s fiancé.
He had put some sort of idiotic ringtone like the peeling of a sprightly bell, and she hadn’t had the time to change it.
Hasuki’s fingers grasped the phone swiftly but surely, shoving it to her ear. “What’s up, J?”
Jarvis hated it when she called him J, but a lot of the time Hasuki guessed she did that because she was lazy and saying a man’s full name was mildly time consuming.
“Hey, honey.” Jarvis said.
Jarvis had a nice, deep and sort of rumbling voice which excused some of the stuff that came out of his mouth. “I’m waiting outside.”
“Sure, I’m on my way.” Hasuki hung up.
Jarvis was never early or never late; he was always right on time. She was not sure if he did this because he’s afraid of what she might say if he wasn’t punctual, but she was sure it kept him in a good routine.
Hasuki collected her dainty Dior handbag from the table, dashing for the door.
She lived in the Imber Complex in Canary Wharf in Central London, in a one bed ensuite apartment on the 32nd floor. The only thing that infuriated her was the fact that it was so high up. The rent knocked her back 3000 pounds a month, but that honestly did not leave a dent in her salary– it was akin to a stream of water off a duck’s back.
Hasuki went to the lift and pressed the button.
Jarvis was already in the lift, phone in one hand mindlessly swiping and a sleek black briefcase in the other. He was taller than most men she knew as he stood tall at a staggering 6 foot 2.
He was dressed in what Hasuki called his Sunday best – a crisp jet-black Hugo Boss suit, black dress shoes and his deep ebony waves slicked back with some afterthought of some inconspicuous gel. He had the same expression as a golden retriever – warm, friendly and almost frustratingly obedient. He was also very handsome with almond shaped hazel eyes, rosy lips, an aquiline nose and strong jawline. His physique was beyond impressive as he worked out like a monster at the gym. Hasuki thought he was the only one even more competitive than her when it came to fitness.
Jarvis was not fully English as his grandmother was a haughty Italian former model, but he always liked to make a big deal out of it whenever they went to an Italian restaurant. He self-taught himself Italian too and prided himself on speaking the language to the waiters. His father, Lord Montgomery attended the House of Lords and was one of the few hereditary Lords there. Jarvis’ bloodline went back to even the Tudor era, and his ancestor also attended Parliament then. His mother, Lady Montgomery, was a plain little thing who sported colourful wigs, organized an array of charity events and had the mentality of a sprightly 21-year-old.
“Hello, lovely.” Jarvis beamed and then kissed her hand. He was always the gentleman.
Hasuki decided to be nicer today because she was going to get that promotion and make all her colleagues at JM Hogan finally shut up.
“Hi, my love.” Hasuki almost winced when she said it.
The word ‘love’ often irked Hasuki.
There was something about the way she had to say it. She had to say it softly, like the caress of a cashmere jumper, like if she was to stroke a rose petal from a large bouquet. She could not say it in a harsh way. It’s not meant to be shouted or screamed – it’s gentle, warm and akin to a blanket her mother would wrap her in the harsh winters when she was a child. Love to Hasuki was something both familiar and unknown to her, it was a delightful paradox. Her father called love ‘yūgen’. He was more scared of it than she was.
She entered the lift with Jarvis, and they shared a common silence. What she liked about Jarvis is that even though he did not always talk, he was almost always in sync with her.
The Imber Complex was impressive and stood up to the many complicated and multi-faceted buildings in Canary Wharf. Hasuki chose the Imber because it had the most impressive gym, the receptionists were not dumb women, and it was near where Jarvis lived (an apartment in the Shard).
Jarvis hated her apartment because she kept it very tidy. ‘Impossibly clean’ – he would say every time he stepped foot there, waving his hands about in a ridiculous manner and chuckling bashfully.
As they left the building, Jarvis’ black Aston Martin was waiting outside. He had a personal driver – an old Polish man called Charles.
Charles got out of the car and opened the door for them. Jarvis and Hasuki sat in the backseats.
Hasuki hated sitting in the front. She felt like she was always too exposed where people could see her face properly and she could see them. You see, Hasuki had this paradox where she wanted to be seen, but when she was seen, she despised it and wanted to blend into the crowd. Jarvis thought it was absolutely hilarious though.
As she slid into the plush leather seat, Charles suddenly said in his usual gruff cadence, “Big day today, Madam Ikeda.”
Hasuki had no idea why Charles called her ‘Madam’…she found it harshly formal.
“Not Madam again.” Hasuki scoffed, proceeding to roll her eyes. “That reminds me of my mother.”
“My darling, be a little gregarious.” Jarvis smiled.
She always counted on Jarvis to be her social buffer – the life of the party to her wallflower. Jarvis was her starlight, her heaven’s breath and her asset.
Hasuki turned her face to look out the window.
It was a cold winter’s day, crisp and perfect for a mug of hot chocolate or clouds of steam rising from a stack of waffles. The leaves were nearly all shed from the trees, the oranges and reds now turning into a despondent brown or better yet, had died.
Winter was Hasuki’s favourite season. Winter was the animals hibernated and when everything could be quiet. The world came to a stop in winter; the city bathed in a slumber. Winter was for huge scarves, knee high boots and for her to blend in. If only she was a bear, she could toddle to a little cave in the middle of a forest and shut her eyes in delicious peace.
“I’m cold.” Hasuki made a show of shivering a little, rubbing her arms. “And I have to be gregarious today.”
“Here.” Jarvis slipped off his suit jacket, placing it around her.
Sometimes Hasuki got suspicious and thought that perhaps Jarvis was skilled in telepathy - but then she would shake her head and would think the notion was so silly.
Jarvis said that Hasuki was a Virgo – the maiden. She hated that term. It sounded so awful on the tongue – ‘may-den’. Apparently, he had vicariously read through the whole profile online. In Hasuki’s frank opinion, she thought that he needed to get another hobby apart from psychoanalysing her. The fascination with the spiritual world was so illogical. How can you put faith in a stack of cards, in some observations of the stars in the sky or in some garishly coloured crystals?
“Giada said to meet us at the reception.” Jarvis says, pushing away a speck of dirt from the briefcase. As much as he criticised Hasuki’s neatness, she thought that it had personally rubbed off on him (as it should).
“There’s a reception?” Hasuki didn’t remember the V&A Museum having a reception. All Hasuki knew was that it had a bunch of exhibits and was one of the lesser-known museums of London.
“They’re hosting the announcement party in the secret part.” Jarvis beamed brightly. “We will have to go underground.”
“Underground.” Hasuki whispered, ruminating over the word. She glanced out the window again.
Fog. Pure, effervescent fog. There’s something about fog that one would associate with London. They called it the ‘Big Smoke’ – apparently the term originated from the Victorian era.
“It’s nothing to be scared about.” Jarvis said, hushed and deliberate. “Don’t worry, my love. You won’t see the underground part.”
Underground. The underground reminded her of fossils, worms, everything that was horrible. Hasuki hated going on the tube to travel sometimes. The screeching of the wheels against the rails, the crowds of people and even the gap between the godforsaken train and the platform would often feel like an army of ants would crawl over her.
“Don’t be nervous.” Jarvis squeezed her hand, his fingers then tracing over her nails, medium almond and a brilliant burgundy red.

I wonder how someone can become your whole world and then suddenly feel like a stranger.

The Flame

_Nobody knows how much it costs
To keep this flame alive,

How we refuse to break,
Through all the strife.

Instead we bend a little,
And make amends,

Even when life is cold,
And makes no sense.

Nobody knows the tired mornings,
The empty nights.

The way it feels heavy,
And still we rise.

How much you think it costs to stay,
So warm and open in every way.

So welcoming and full of love,
When what's inside is not enough.

Another stroke, another blow,
But you will never stop this light.
No._

Unliving the Lived Dreams

On a bright sunny day,
Strolling by the sea,
I picked up seashells,
Chimerically unreal.

I rubbed my eyes,
Looked twice-
How did the shells of my fantasies
Come into being?

I kept them close,
Close to my soul,
Placed them in the chest
Right in my heart.

I looked at them, startled-
How are they real?
I spent my days in fear,
That one day I'd open my eyes
And find them gone.

The shells spoke to me,
Made me believe,
They are here, they are real.
I held myself, and believed-
Real, unrealistically real.

Days went by, all was well,
Till a thunderbolt struck-
I lost my shells in shock!

Back to the sea I ran to find them-
A mile, then another,
I kept running, miles after miles,
Hoping to find them again.
I fell, and did not rise.

I woke from a sleep so long-
It was, indeed, a dream.
The shells that lived
In my head,
Were probably there-
Or probably not.

A phantasm, or something real?
My mind is numb, unable to care.

I wrote this about 5 years ago during the crypto craze (redrafted it recently). Made a collection of poems like it (mostly limericks though).

The rhyme structure matches the original Romeo and Juliet prologue. Hope you like it.

A breakup can hurt, but it doesn’t define your future.
Let the pain teach you, not break you.
Choose yourself, grow stronger, and keep moving forward.
Sometimes losing someone is how you find yourself. ❤️‍🩹

"A halal conversation"

Listen.
“Tell me!”

Can you describe me?

“Yes, of course.”

“How?”

“Wait!”

“Come on, tell me.”

“You were sent down from the Realm of Souls to this earth for love.”

“I’m falling in love with myself now.”

“Oh, really?”

“You should fall in love with yourself too!”

“What exactly is this Realm of Souls?”

“Alam-e-Arwah!”

“Yeah?”

“Okay…”

Let me explain it through poetry.

“Where are you from, tell me?”
“I am from the Realm of Souls.”

“What is that place?”

“The place where souls reside, my beloved.”

“Thank you for the compliment!”

“You deserve it.”

Akhter Ansari (@Darakht-e-Zard)

Losing my spark perhaps 🫪