The Curtains Close for 2015

It’s been a year full of ups and downs.

This year, I travelled to three new countries, started learning four languages online, began writing poetry and applied for my universities.

On top of that, I managed to post at least once a month as I promised and managed to keep this blog running properly. I even added a new background a kind friend helped to make!

This year is full of mixed emotions. I felt the happiest and saddest this year compared to any other time in my life. I endured hardships and both failed and succeeded. In short, 2015 was the year of life.

Thank you for continuing to visit this blog. If you do have any ideas on how I could improve, I would love to know how to make it better.

With only a day to go before the bell tolls for 2016, I wish everyone a pleaseant New Year!

The stats prepared a 2015 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,900 times in 2015. If it were a cable car, it would take about 32 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

The Poetry of Pain and Catharsis

Last time I posted, I shared with everyone a poem called ‘Again’, which was written in a confessional style. The poem was set upon a backdrop of turbulent anguish, which is reflective of my emotions at the time of writing the poem.

In the days that followed, I had brief moments of respite from the sadness that I was experiencing, but it got to me nonetheless. I began to regret ever choosing my pre-university programme, the IB Diploma, pointing out that I felt like I was losing my sanity because of it. I was teetering over the edge, so it seemed.

I wrote this poem as a way of memorialising my depressing thoughts, to find closure and acceptance for my failings. It was very hard to get by because I am constantly being fed so many sugarcoated words that I believed, but then let me down. I felt betrayed by others, but couldn’t find any reason to blame anyone but myself.


By A. A. Kamalov

Is that it?

Seasons have shifted


As hopeful glimmers fade,

Morphing to virus-infested


Chills chocking my airways

I could barely breathe.


You, and your confectioned offer like

A cruise-ship to the Caribbean


For which I have prepared for months!

Packing what to wear


For the formidable tropical heat

Of the moment.


I believe in miracles of

The Lord, happily ever afters,


But the bullet tore through

With surgical precision


Of a lobotomy –

It keeps me blissfully stupid.


There is no consolation

But complementary lies;


All the while, coughing blood

Among decaying bones of the ward.

Not too long after writing ‘Teetering’, I sat and wrote down another one which alludes to the Cyprus expedition from last March. The trip was mostly a pleasant experience for me, as my group qualified. However, it was not without a lot of struggles faced by other participants. Some were physically injured and some were mentally wounded. It was saddening to see my friends break down and drop out during the entire thing, while I was more or less left unscathed.

Looking back with hindsight, I wondered what it would be like if I ceased to exist because of the trip, which would have avoided me from experiencing the sorrow I have now. Thanks to studying Sylvia Plath and A Streetcar Named Desire, both the poems have contextual allusions to death, a common theme in both literary texts.

Both these poems also allude to mental illnesses and mental institutions, because in A Streetcar Named Desire, the protagonist Blanche DuBois was sent off to an institution as she was incapable of accepting the realities of life. I felt that school was trapping me like a mental institution, hence the references.


A.A. Kamalov

If I had fallen that day

Down the mountainsides

With the weight of the world

On my shoulders,


If I had vanished

Separated from the crew

And abandoned in the woods

In Aphrodite’s valley,


If I had simply never

Woken up that dawn

Inside the tent and

A corpse is flown back home,


Would the horror subside?

Life goes on like the harsh ticking

Of a clock’s hands. The mourning

Is negligible. I’m one out of billions,


Too worthless to be remembered.

The mental institution would

Hide my memory, suppress my

Sinful spirit from mention.


Yet as I observe, clad in white

Cloth and bathed in rosewater,

I knew Allah is always kind.

His mercy saved me from the


Bloodbaths which were soon

To follow. Relentless executions

Unravelling any crumb of

Sanity remaining in the inmates,


Failing therapy after therapy.

The psychiatric ward reeks

Of putrid decay, while matrons

Laugh and jest at their patients’ plight.

I hope you liked these poems. If you have any suggestions or criticisms, feel free to write in the comments section below. I am trying my best to perfect my poetry skills, and I would like all the help I can get. Thank you.

Again – A Poem

I don’t think I need much of an explanation for this poem. I’m feeling under a lot of pressure by everyone and I feel like I am slowly losing it, bit by bit. It’s something I can’t exactly understand myself, but I am trying to and so is everyone else. Then again, what does it matter to them? They can live on as usual no matter what state I’m in. Anyways, it will be more comforting if you can give your critique or opinion of this poem in the comments section below.


A. A. Kamalov

Here I am once more.

Entrenched in the

Abyss, mournful Marianas,

Ocean of despicable despair.


The perpetual vortex

A trumpet, a devil’s horn

Pulling me in, rotten sins

Chaining and choking


Almost a delight!

Multiple moons pass by

Burden after burden –

Compounding exponentially


Like interest. The loan of joy

For a ferry to Paradise

Is futile: take one for suffering

Instead. You’d go much farther.


The quill is mocking me now,

Squid’s ink dissolving intestines

While coral fishes swim by

With benign indifference.