• To a Soulmate for Whom Love is Impossible.

    Dearly Beloved, It is a hot Sunday afternoon. By the window I sit, taking slow breaths, counting my heartbeat, each time fighting the tears cockling at the emblem of my eyes. Outside, the congregation is exalting in hymns. The hymns are not to praise the Lord, neither to thank Him for the daily bread. The… Read more


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  • BACK TO LIFE

    There has to be a reason why I resonate well with Dido’s Mary’s in India, and it has nothing to do with the fact that Danny is a brooding melancholic. It also has nothing to do with the fact that Mary had forgotten to carry her special gifts she got from Danny, books and letters.… Read more


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  • Happiness fade – a Melancholia of the Drunk, Series of Monologues, Letters, & Rants.

    It is bad this time. No one expected it to play out this way. One moment we are all seated, laughing and saying shit. We are flipping over memories of PTSDs escapades, because you know what? This is a priceless place. We call it home, and it feels different because this is finally home. We… Read more


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  • Dear Cocaine

    Dear Cocaine. – (Of Melancholia of the Drunk, A series of Monologues, Letters and Rants, by Phill Ibsen) I have not been doing much thinking lately. My mind was to handle that luxurious bit, but as usual, it did what it did – it left me, and now I am crawling on my weak elbows… Read more


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  • Cockpit

    There were times that I used to love. I still love though not in the ways of the past. Not in the childish ways of kuja tufanye tabia mbaya behind the dark corridors of Manyatta, neither in the boyish ways of I would climb the tallest building to scream your name and tell you how… Read more


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Phill Ibsen, M.o.D

The Master of Descriptions

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