Moon Silver Lightning


The moon was up, painting the world silver, making things look just a little more alive

Moon_Silver Lightning

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Madhu Kalyan


My nights in capsule, tokyo

So what is sleeping in a Capsule hotel like?

It’s much a like to sleeping in a giant dorm room but with a lot more privacy and amenities. Each bed comes with it’s own set of power sockets, radio & alarm, and television, as well as a set of curtains you can draw or a blind which you can pull down for privacy.My only real qualm with the beds is that the mattresses are very thin and so my sleep wasn’t as comfortable as I was hoping.

The hostel workers speak varying degrees of English – the first worker I spoke with was near enough to fluent whilst some of the other workers just used gestures to communicate with me. Due to this lapse in language it is important to be mindful of customs which the Japanese such as taking your shoes off when entering the hotel.

There is beer and other drinks available for purchase at the hostel, lockers in the reception, and fast WiFi throughout the hotel – perfect!

After spending a lot of time sleeping in hotels in India, capsule hostels which Japan are famous for but with all of the features included inside the capsule, the convenience, and space being at a premium in big cities like Tokyo, it is understandable why they are such a popular option with both locals and foreigners wanting to try something new.

So, what do you think?
Would you like to stay in a Capsule Hotel?

To cold

On frozen nights when it is too cold to bleed,that is the time I am too afraid to dream.
Tears flowing in streams until I can’t breathe.
that is what I do best sometimes.
But how the stars shine that is when it speaks to me
I find myself wanting to know everything about it.
The voices in my head dwindle
They get louder and louder to were my ears bleed
I try and cover my ears but they are too loud to ignore
In the end though, I cowardly retreat.
Because I know they
Are to strong
Even for me….




The stars are lonely.
I love them through thick and thin.
If only they knew.
Maybe they would twinkle all
the more. If only they knew.



I felt bad for stars. Because to us they look all close together and stuff, but they are far away from any of their brethren. They have nothing but themselves. I like to go outside and tell them stories.

If only they knew.

Stars in the Night

They will try to blind you, and claim that they are truthful. They will shape a world for you at the end of a long journey, promising all will be well. Being a human, we believe them and we walk. We take the trip that swears happiness and success, the one they have paved in front of us.

The journey is a dark tunnel with the inevitable light at the end. In the beginning, it is nothing but a pinprick, a speck of white on a black canvas, a lifetime away. With uneven steps towards it, the light burns fiercer, surrounded by oblivion. Soon, you are walking forward by your own two feet, or so you think. It becomes a march, by trying to change pace, it is apparent that this is no ordinary journey, for you are not in control. This is something else, a play, and you have become a puppet.

This dark claustrophobic tunnel is a place called life, a place of deception and fragile hearts so easily crippled. Where you can spread your soul as far as you like with kindness and love, but if you do not pull the strings for once, a puppet is all you will be. A lifetime of a journey later, when your success is at its peak, and you have danced their dance, the light is within your reach. As you get closer, it overwhelms you, shining through the darkness with a beautiful glow that vows truth, love, and the one promise that is sought for the most, but is always broken; Freedom.

Light floods through the huge space, it leaks into your body, through your skin, into your veins, spreading like a virus, infecting your thoughts, willing you to stay in the light, but not to go in it. But the curious are the curious, and there is always a need to go a little closer than most wouldn’t even dare to think of.

Nothing lasts forever, and promises are always broken, there is never any full truth, or trust, or belief, because all of these things are the light. The tiny pinprick of light that gives so much and never asks for anything in return. Just another lie, another half truth, another thief that steals something away when you’re not looking. It overshadows reality and paints over it with a clean, new brush. But there will always be a first painting underneath, if you look closely, you can still see where the lines used to be.


It burns at your skin, but your feet still move forward towards the opening, towards freedom. It tickles your nerves and excites your heart. This is finally the moment where you can soar the way you have only done so in your dreams, there is no fear, no chains, no strings of a puppet, nothing to hold you back-

Through all the light, they finally bleed through to your eyes. Bars. Cold, metal bars in the warm, warm hope filled light. Just as it turns out, the light was never there, the truth was never there and there was never any freedom.

It’s all rules and paved paths and leashes and guide ropes to a promise, which shatters as easily as glass. “All will be well”? All is well when you make it well, not when it is promised. All is well whenever it is wished for, and not a moment sooner. Let not your light be given, but see it in reality, in the darkness, not one doorway of hope, but a scatter of goodness, white against black, stars in the night

I am an owl


I am an owl
in a silent, lonely world
and my face is affable
with flattened beak
and giant eyes
and tufts of feathers and fur…
they say that i am wise
behind my comic countenance
and indeed there is a setting
in my shoulders and my wings
that speaks of elegance and poise
and a strange dark mystery…
none can know my thoughts
for i fly only alone
and when i speak i talk to myself
and my voice is sad and low
speaking of all the tragedy
there is in the world…
Though at night i am strong
and i catch prey with ease
and terrify the shades themselves
and enjoy the brilliant moon
when i wake the crows plague me
they circle me and cry
accusing me of all the deaths
all the meals i’d taken
and i just cower there and cry
all my courage gone in the light 
of the sun where all can see me…
but always i endure
and wait patiently for night
when i can spread my wings again
and feel elation at the wind and think
“so this is what the poets speak of
so this is what the humans crave
this is the thing called inspiration
this joy, this dark cold night,
where i am ruler, where i am wise,
where i am comic, and when i cry,
and when i feel the most alive”
oh i would never change this fact
i’m proud to be an owl
i’d never be anything more or less
oh yes
i am an owl…