Tag Archives: #poeticprose


The following story was written for Bulbul’s Bubble #TWT Twenty Words Tuesday. Thank you to Bulbul for hosting this fun writing exchange & choosing my suggestion ‘cat‘ for this week’s prompt! Please also take some time to read Bulbul’s wonderful interpretation of the prompt, as well as the stories of prompt participants.

Little creature. You’ve been such a friend. Grey, pink, orange. Sharp and soft. Protector, familiar, judge. You’ve taught me lots.

© Niliema Karkhanis

Featured image by Lenin Estrada from Unsplash

Manufacturing hope

Manufacturing hope is my exactly 20-word story for the 20 Words Tuesday prompt: hope
Hosted by Bulbul’s Bubble

She was the stories she told. Manufacturing hope. Playing other characters with hints of herself. Composites. Driving the town over.

© Niliema Karkhanis

Featured image by Paweł Czerwiński from Unsplash

Of flitting

Cw: implied intimate partner violence, allusion

I think you thought it was me who had a tendency to flit around. Maybe you were too polite at the time to say it. Sometimes I see it in my writing. My entire flittiness. Is that a word? Is that of consequence? Prescriptive linguistics are a bore & offensive.

See how I flit?

You did it too though. Didn’t you? I never got a chance to say that your light switch 0 & 1 reaction to my multi-dimensions wasn’t exactly grounded. Was it?

Your flit

Like a live



Dipped in


An explosion



Perhaps the most poignant indicator of it all: the refusal of acknowledgement.

The victim-blaming.

I’m a poet because I hate lying & I want to leave impressions more than I want to offer any fixed answers.

But I say victim-blaming in plain language, because we need to say it more just like that.

You know?

The funny thing is…you do know.

& that’s what hurts the most.

That someone who should know better, hurt me more than almost anyone else.

Didn’t you care that you were my comrade?

Didn’t you care that threats are not love?

I’m not selfish for knowing that. For being clear about any of it…clear when I was also the most confused.

I write these letters to you. Unsent letters to you.

Not because I think you’ll listen to psychic logic. No.

But so I can believe myself.

So that I can actually believe myself.

I do more now.

I do.

You dropped me carelessy while looking away & pretending not to.

Is that not a flit of all flits? Was I not responding to it?

Flicking. Flicked.

Thrown by the wayside. Me by you.

I managed to swim.

Back into my own watery disillusioned self again. My lost body.


You took from me: illusionment.

Is that a word? In this day & age that should be of no consequence.

I’m still swimming to here in what seems like perpetuity.

At that time, my words for you were shaky. Like I was. In such physical precarity, I wrote from the heart. For you.

Comrade, that you betrayed what we had, it kills me to this day. Not that that means anything to you.

As spring arrives, anticipating blossoming, I remember our future as it left us because our beginning began too soon.

Everyone hates an I told you so. Maybe less so when it’s a note to self.

I’m less shaky nowadays.

After the night of me, the afternoon of me, the morning of me collapsed into myself, somehow my flutter finally returned. 

My silvery wings of sheer mettle. Renewed radiating energy; on an eventual return to reality, the unreality of we; the spell, finally leaving me.

© Niliema Karkhanis

For Your Daily Word Prompt: flit

Flit & flitting definitions

Featured image by Paweł Czerwiński from Unsplash

Of laughter

She falls to the floor, continuing to snort with laughter. The dog excitedly wags their tale, content & alert. The room is filled with an air of sparkle & joy.

It hasn’t always been this way. Your eyes crinkle inn glee. You  as animated even more by her pleasurable reactions.

You go on with the story. Something about a laundry card, a machine & an opinionated onlooker; the anecdote of the day which brought that absurd moment to you here when you needed it.

The story is perhaps less important than the enthusiastic telling, & the much needed break from a long sorrow, a tension of many losses. Here’s a gain. Laughter is always a gain.

© Niliema Karkhanis

For the Word of the Day Challenge prompt: snort

Featured image by  Paweł Czerwiński from Unsplash

The bone machine

Sometimes things catch up with you. Like you weren’t running, but you’re just not where you could feel it all yet.

You put yourself in work, in art, in dreams, in songs, in podcasts, in television, in anything that makes the form of things alter a little. Bends the room. Brings glow.

You pull yourself out of the things that feel good. Things stop hurting because really they hurt too much. Holding onto breath.

Sometimes literally everything is upside down. Gravity a friend & a foe. Like time.

But like it’s when after a while you think ‘maybe I’m better this second’ & then the feels they take ahold of your hand & tell you about how this is it. This is it.

Breathing. The ache of it. One moment in front of another. Making things. Trying for the things you make to be enough. Trying for you to be enough for the things you make.

Then you don’t know. So you eat a snack. You sip caffeine with milk. & the sun beams into your crystalline eyes, remaking you.

Your skin of many lines & changes holding your heart within the bone machine. You absorb the orb’s writing rays.

& that star says ‘I made you, I made you’. Here’s some more of life.

© Niliema Karkhanis

Featured image by Paweł Czerwiński from Unsplash

Pink unicorn: micro-fic

Image by Paweł Czerwiński from Unsplash

The apartment is stifling. No a/c. It is one of the hottest days of a heatwave. Too hot to think. He’s not home at least. You need a few things. You have to leave the little old bright green-eyed grey cat, whom everyone mistakes for a kitten, for now. Only […]

Pink unicorn: micro-fic

© Niliema Karkhanis

The garden

Photo by

Rebecca from Unsplash 1

The garden was filled with so many flowers. It was colourful. Pinks and blues. Lots of variety. It was midsummer and dusk was falling. They sat with a cup of warm tea and gazed towards the pink clouds floating carefully through the iridescent sky. There was a cool breeze over the […]

The garden

© Niliema Karkhanis

Pink unicorn: micro-fic

 Image by Paweł Czerwiński from Unsplash

The apartment is stifling. No a/c. It is one of the hottest days of a heatwave. Too hot to think. He’s not home at least. You need a few things. You have to leave the little old bright green-eyed grey cat, whom everyone mistakes for a kitten, for now. Only for now.

That’s all you’ll think about for days. Knowing she’s missing you & scared. Easier to worry about the cat than yourself right now.

You pack some clothes, some sketchbooks & a pink unicorn stuffed animal.

This is the last time you’ll see the inside of this place. You are leaving for good.

In a hurry, you look back around only to wave to the cat, neither of you wanting to meet eyes; as you hold the soft unicorn close to your heart & run down the long flight of stairs. You’ll be back for her. She knows. You know.

You exit & breathe the hot heavy air. Your bus will arrive soon at the corner. You make your way.

© Niliema Karkhanis

A/void: revised

Photos by Samphan Korwong from Pexels

We are like ghosts

Churning ourselves out

Instead of to butter

To vapour

Holding to our


For life

Here we live

Sending ourselves


Our houses

From robots


Time cards


Work goes

Tick tock

Nothing stops

& we don’t want it to

For the time is now


To persist

To resist




Heart sent




Messages to avoid the void

Messengers to upload the void

The universe fills itself with itself

& so we are reborn

© Niliema Karkhanis