Sometimes I close my eyes and I see a girl writing tirelessly on her notebook. Even though she’s writing nonstop, a stillness is emitting from every fiber of her being. Her energy is pulsating with every touch of the pen on paper, flowing from mind to paper and from paper to heart. The cycle of a healing process. Her world for as long as she is immersed in it, is the wooden chair, the wooden table, the white walls, and an open window to a detached world that is subtly making its presence aware as if not to interrupt her. A wave rippling in the distance, a peach falling from a nearby tree, the essence of dreams that may or may not remain unattainable.

Droplets of salty water are slowly dripping from her short hair, landing on her busy arm – each droplet leaving a tingling trace and vanishing before she lays her eyes on it. From time to time, she rests her writing hand for some moments, fingering a little dent on the far corner of the table, as if she’s digging for a reason to continue writing. Maybe it’s a reminder that even though some parts of her are overflowing with emotions, there are still little openings inside her that the water didn’t embrace with its purity. In those fragments of her consciousness, the water vanished before she finished writing the right words, her hand unable to match its speed. She cannot see it yet, but there is water dripping from her hands, the table and onto the floor, forming small pools around the table, the bedroom, the balcony, and the garden. Yet, this water is not evaporating or expanding, nor in size nor depth. Rather it ripples, barely noticeable to my eyes, in harmony with her pen strokes, as if life were to spurt out of it.

Longing– December 2023

This month’s theme is inspired by the yearning to memories, humans and places which we experience emotionally and struggle perhaps expression them.

Longing– December 2023

This month’s theme is inspired by the yearning to memories, humans and places which we experience emotionally and struggle perhaps expression them.

Shamik Banerjee is a poet and poetry reviewer from the North-Eastern belt of India. He loves taking long strolls and spending time with his family. His deep affection with Solitude and Poetry provides him happiness. 

I hope there you have cushions to make jumps;
long, tensioned draperies to clutch with paw;
for gamboling, soft, formable clay-lumps
and leathern slipshoes to busily gnaw.
Do you often look at Mother and me
and bethink how you wheedled her for fish;
how in her absence entered furtively
and overturned the cover of the dish?
The Sun, perhaps there, is more shimmery;
come iridescent patchworks after rain;
and woodlets mirandous and timbery;
no bliss to chase; no warfare against pain.
When you were here, you had a houseful of toys;
you'd tousle every spoon, bowl and platter;
but that for us was sweet musical noise;
and now the silence maddens like a clatter.
Happy I am- from earth's durance you're freed;
no longer for manumission you'll crave;
Man wants for himself grace but sows his greed
and bewails thereafter till calls his grave.
To stay there, I know your ambitionis,
for none would want the world's fugacious worth.
Could you plea Heaven's potentate for me
so he takes me too and keeps us in mirth?

Piano Keys

O' ask not, for whom the Piano keys,
will play in weakness of your vacuity.
Ask not if decent airs from migrant seas,
would yearn for a new estuary.

Ask not of roads, if bright sunlight will quail;
ask not if grass 'round the paling, will live for years;
ask not if weary nights will peace avail
after I have battled Love's erumpent tears.

I will not tread upon a luring mont,
though motley petals, it'll towards me throw.
I will not fill my chalice from a font
despite its sparkle, promises to grow.

But in the long-haul, if my Piano's notes,
entunes a little and to your heart does play;
then ask its composition, long ago for you I wrote-
Despite the grief, how did the spirit stay?

Dirge in the Seasons 

The Eolian wind comes and showers,
upon my home's trees and flowers;
from beds of the sea and blows of the cay,
when the Sun in June is stinging deep,
and local meres, retain to keep,
to my dismay.

When freshet of the Monsoon time,
usurps the pleasant mood of clime,
and seeing so, unsprightly lie,
the byways and the twitchels clogged,
and roots of Joy in me are flogged;
you come from Sky.

And when in frost, the air of chill,
patrolling o'er the upland hill,
does bring me fever's drabby thorn,
and doddering I, within its flu,
whilst sighing you to my rescue,
I see you in the morn.

It's only in the bloom of spring,
the parklands wear the Tulips' ring,
and o'er its field, the plovers glide,
but still, no merry, does come near,
for you, my heart, keeps lying here-
unoccupied.

Birthday Wishes

Heart's pulse- agog, will wait from yesterday morning—
'old friends will clap, meep-horns will flap'
then shades of aglow red above the corn
will turn to eve and nighttide will be born.

At Eleven, the ticking hands will say—
'old friends will clap; meep-horns will flap'
candles afire will brighten the way
and leaves will embellish the door's display.

When Twelve is seen, but heard is not a sound—
'old friends didn't clap; meep-horns didn't flap';
all visions expected are not around
but few empty tumblers and an open ground.

A Letter

A letter in my bag from my childhood years;
a letter I received a long time ago;
does bring into the eye old thoughts and tears
and of this certain truth to show:

That love of youth is the strongest be
and brightest like the Summer skies;
purest as Zion's sanctity,
spectrums of utopian dyes.

No segregator can part
like a soul from itself disjoins not;
whose strength, a man, carries in his heart
and in silence, he's with old love's thoughts.

Then Present seems vapid, heart seeks the past:
first years of love; first lovely years;
but a letter to me is all at last,
with her image and the words and full of tears.

In Dream’s Kingdom 

With ease, the heart would simply say
of you who's absent from my sight,
gone to a staith, so far away,
to visit in my dreams tonight.

Then that shall mend my lost love's pain
where once, new life had awoken,
and fill my park with flowers again,
rebuild the walls now broken.

But in Dream's kingdom, I cannot
like Wake's, my desires exercise,
they come not as when willed or sought
nor are in the power of my eyes.

My Door

My Door is strong. I know him-
fly from him no sare flakes;
decay could never low him;
Yet why does my dear Door ache?
It aches for the spent foretime:
My Lucia, when she,
to his doorcase chime
would come and peer for me.

Old time, ah! merry; old time, ah! sweet—
joydom was in the knocks,
when from the stairs he heard her feet--
would stunt all hearts and clocks;
would agog muchly be my eyes,
for full a-greeting that she came;
I opened the Door-- a great surprise!
near his bright doorframe.

My Door's still strong. I trust him-
though now he greets not her light heels;
sorrow and pain now rust him,
fly all the flakes with brazen squeals.
With each footstep now ascents fast,
my Door frenzies, a-baiting me;
but that is someone else who passed;
not Lucia, awaiting me.

An Introspection 

When ere with the dawning morn,
Suf's bridal service will be held,
then why shall I keep a downcast heart
while she would so happily part?

Then happiest I ought to be,
for Suf, to in bride's vestment see;
for, does sooth love not reflect the lover
and in all occasions, parallel her?

Then why shall I invite the sword
to stab me and have love implored?
And why shall I depression heed
though her parting will my bosom bleed?

Longing– December 2023

This month’s theme is inspired by the yearning to memories, humans and places which we experience emotionally and struggle perhaps expression them.

R.S. is a denizen of India who writes Poetry to find harmony in life. She graduated with Honours in English and loves to read and write poetry. She rises early to feel inspired with the morning star and create new rhymes.

What care I of the maples or
The evergreen cedar,
For I know thy heart, which will
(as the wind that can never stand still)
Wander off to lands afar?

For who could bind the ocean wave
Amidst that many a fable drown
And nature, alas! without a frown,
Spectator be of the lovers' grave?

Thou may'st keep me in thy heart
But will thy remembering me for years,
Lighten my heart and purge my tears
And make my sorrow thus depart?

Doubt I, not your love to be true
And live I may when thou art gone
But dost thou think a leaf forlorn
Weathering the storm could ever renew?

Echoes of Departure

The swallows fly south when harsh winds blow
But I stay here, with nowhere to go;
Wish I could also wind borne be,
Or like driftwood floating towards the sea.


The vacant boughs of willows mourn
How brief was love your sojourn;
The sun leaps and drowns in the west
While this sorrow lingers in my chest.

Like wisps of smoke, my days dissipate
As on winter's harp notes lie in wait
For spring to melt the frosted strings
So the strains may soar upon love's wings.

As the lights flicker in the darkening sky
I pine and ponder, heave a sigh,
Why is parting long and love so brief,
Dwelling forever in skyscrapers of grief?

A Solitary Spring’s Melody

The Tulip tree has grown new leaves,
Springtime has kissed its boughs;
Snow has forfeited the slumbering lakes
As rift in clouds gold ray allows.

The moon as a pendant now resplendent,
The winds murmur and saunter by;
The misty nights hasten and flee
As tiny boats on the ocean ply.

All of nature sprightly and joyous,
Birdsongs reverb of the thrush and lark;
Spring has adorned each nook and crevice
Except my heart is vacant and stark.

Too Late! (After Richard Harris Barham’s poem)

Too late! though flowerets around me grow,
And the wind whistles thru' yew and pine;
All the hills are smeared white with snow,
But thy hand is not pressed in mine.

Too late! The clouds their trumpets blow
And the yonder hills turn green;
The merry lambs frolic to and fro,
But thou art no longer seen.

Sky-pressed the fabled north star gleams,
While my weary heart doth wait;
But from a bough afar the lone Robin screams
'Too late! Too late! Too late!'

Longing– December 2023

This month’s theme is inspired by the yearning to memories, humans and places which we experience emotionally and struggle perhaps expression them.

Dear August,

I am writing this letter to you in the hope of reliving my past. It is the warmest of summer days when my nostalgia ripples and crashes in song intervals; me, indulging song after song, chasing after a different emotion. I am sitting by the ocean so as one of its swells washes away my blue – ink –. Blueness mixed with the water’s depth, slowly swallowing my existence in its cold embrace, and I suddenly feel alive with each drop of the wave.

I am writing this letter because home is a fragment in time. A flashing moment when the vastness of the world didn’t scare you, the endless possibilities were wrapped around your fingertips, and you were their puppeteer. It is all the smiles you gave and received, the brush of another person’s cloth on your thigh, the fragrance of jasmine filling your lungs, the run through the night to catch the last bus, the heartful laugh of your friends, moments so tender, a blurry line between dream and real life.

Belonging is when you give your everything to make these fragments last longer. Longing is what I am doing now, standing in front of my past moments undressed, vulnerable, shimmering in the water.

I am writing this letter to climb at the top of the wave. Then wait for the drop.

Longing– December 2023

This month’s theme is inspired by the yearning to memories, humans and places which we experience emotionally and struggle perhaps expression them.

The geno***E in P***stine has been heartbreaking to see. to watch as thousands of homes and lives have been lost in the span of 5 weeks.

As we stand in solidarity and continue to advocate for an IMMEDIATE ceasefire, we are committed to using our platform to share the stories and educate others about the experiences of the P***stinian people.

Opening The Uncoiled to receive articles, essays, stories, poetry, and art surrounding the plight of the P***stinian people.

Shamik Banerjee is a poet and poetry reviewer from the North-Eastern belt of India. He loves taking long strolls and spending time with his family. His deep affection with Solitude and Poetry provides him happiness.

An Ode to My Home 

Even the God of Boon cannot provide,
The ease of cool-lapped tiles which make our floor,
The cubbyhole where fatty pigeons hide,
The fecund soil that plentiful trees bore;
No less than a foreland is our lawn,
Or than high seas the purling runnel's flow,
This place is a music hall at foredawn,
When voleries their gleesome numbers blow,
The goodful air that forth glides in tree lawn,
When I am at day, I go for an ambulation.

The donative of sleep is my soft bed,
Of scenery, our little grassplot,
Wherefrom tid butterflies in blue and red,
Fly inside and sit 'pon the window slot;
Cold water from the borewell with sits loo,
The foregates open wide, sweet odor send,
Of a bubble flowers covered in dew,
The lanai where cheersome sunrays descend,
To where, does come the distant hillock's view,
As if a fairing given by a friend.

A joy as great as the scentful dishes,
That mother with her tender loafs does make,
Under her safeguarding life flourishes
And cavalier breathings that I take;
The loveable moment when I father's hair
Neaten, he simpers like a boykin gay,
Whose joyness is the affectionate care,
That assures me, of naught I should affray,
Such thoughts for me love's immersion prepare,
An hour spent in what seems like a day.

Michael J. Romano is a self-taught photo artist based in Philadelphia, PA. He developed a strong connection with nature early in life, and he now uses his art as a tool both to maintain his own spiritual connection with the natural world, and to inspire others to recognize the beauty and wonder of the outdoors. 

Short bio about Michael

“Beech Roots Grasping” is a double-exposure on 35mm film captured with a toy camera. It is a visual anthropomorphism of how beech trees connect underground. People’s roots are not just individual history – they are a shared history that connect us to our common ancestors. Beech roots are in parallel to this idea, as the communities that spawned from a common mother tree maintain their relationships through their roots and support each other through these pathways. 

Beech Roots Grasping

Follow him on Social Media

Michael J. Romano – 

Instagram @mmmromano

Website michaeljromano.smugmug.com

Roots – July 2023

This month’s theme is inspired by the importance of where we come from, the idea of home and family, and what makes us belong. Taking inspiration from this and applying it to every aspect of life imaginable, we encourage our artists / writers to explore the theme with creativity and freedom or interpretation.

I remember the newspaper boys, selling the papers in side road 

I remember my neighbors coming over for a full day laughs and games

I remember the smell of the french fries, and the roasted nuts from Hamad center, our coolest mall.

I remember everything.

my mom used to take us on day trips to the cultural foundation, to read books and spend time playing and looking at the paintings exhibited in the ground floor of the gallery area.

I remember the afternoon time, with bobby pins in my hair, playing chess and card games with sisters while watching the telenovelas in the afternoon. 

coming back from school at 3pm, running to the tv only to watch on repeat my favorite movies of all time.

Folklore novels were in our hands, raised as a western in an Arabic world. 

Struggling to connect with classmates, how can I explain my pure admiration to Johnny Depp to an audience who don’t know him.

Talking endlessly to my classmates on final exams about Medium and its fascinating stories.

Writing my homework while listening to the finest classical music, indulged with best written scenes in movies of the early 2000s.

Learnt from the greatest of their time, my sisters who taught me the best taste in music, films, and books. 

How I wish those days come back for a moment, 

How I wish to recall every detail of those summer days that I call home,

When all you can think of is how can finish my homework, while watching Oprah’s show,

The Hills music intro still ringing on my eye while dining on the table, with tea breaks,

Henna Days, and Friday were for the tourist club.

I recall the late night playing under the white huge sculptures of the Fort.

The spicy sambosa from the small indian cafteria that we used to take every sunset for Ramadan iftar, 

I remember our neigbhours who we used to fight a lot and play a lot with them in front of the house, 

two boys had that black like night hair, the calm mature one and the naughty mischievous one.

Sarah and tahseer were the highlight of our preteens, they used to ring the bell to our home with their innocents looks asking to play in the hallway of Salam street.

Reading the comics while watching the children playing, was a momentary slip of truth revealed.

all that exchange of gifts and cuisines were so thoughtful and so sweet.

Reading twilight at the bus to school every morning, was the highlight of my mundane school days.

Listening to 2000s R &B on my IPOD on the way back from school, in that miniature bus that could barely fit all of school girls,

moments of teen giggles, and stories about teen boys and ice-cream after school breaks.

While me pouring my angst in a book, with my glasses barely visible behind the book,

Summer time and Little women book given to me as a gift from my English teacher, coming of age book turned to a series , 

and I realized that my first book crush was Laurie. 

Jo, Meg, Amy and Beth were us growing up as a young girls.

Remembering the first mall opening in the area, seeing a new generation with their hairstyles and parents rolling eyes on them.

Al Mariyah cinema, with dozen of beautiful aesthetic films to watch every weekend, 

I remember every corner of those streets, where we used to stand to take the bus every morning, the shady internet café ,

the printer house, and the stationary around the corner.

Eman and Amna are our soulmates who we experienced the wildness of youth.

When my sisters were experiencing the joy of life, they had all the love of life that offered them, they had the world on palm of their hands to conquer.

their trips were my world teen life, socializing at the wedding were as boring and foreign as visiting your cousins on the weekend. 

Language we never spoke, and traumas we never shared between us.

That’s Roots to me.

Roots – July 2023

This month’s theme is inspired by the importance of where we come from, the idea of home and family, and what makes us belong. Taking inspiration from this and applying it to every aspect of life imaginable, we encourage our artists / writers to explore the theme with creativity and freedom or interpretation.

Reflections of inner worlds, and personal explorations of the soul, a warm and nostalgic aesthetic, represented in a personal archive with the beauty of the traveler’s lens exhibited in a reel made like a true art painting. Breathtaking moments curated by Natalie.

Amira Hassan: Tell our readers your artistic background

Natalie: Since childhood, I was weirdly attracted by the idea of intellectuality and gaining knowledge. It started with an admiration for history, especially Egyptology with the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb, exploring then to all the other epochs like the Renaissance and new age, where I started to indulge in art history and music history, and now I am currently into literature, psychology and developed an interest for theology. Secretly I dreamed to archive a place among the greatest in history. I saw myself standing in my atelier and discussing technical and philosophical topics with other artists, or with a shovel and brush at a burial plot, or in a café with other writers… incredibly ambitious for a child, no? *chuckles*

These light-headed ambitions turned into ash but even now, I think deep down behind all my actions these left-behind daydreams of my past are unconsciously influencing my creative endeavors and goals.

2. How did you come across your creative side?

I think it’s been always there. I cannot pinpoint a moment of revelation or recognition for my creative side – it was and still is an ever-present desire. The only difference is that I did not take it seriously in the past but more like a “little hobby” or a “typically girlish thing” until I recently realized that it takes me unnecessarily a lot of energy to hold back, to ignore it and maintain an “average disposition”. That being said, I do not want to compare myself to others or display some sort of advantage, I only recognized a force that wants to break out – and what choice do I have, other than to pour forth? Else I will suffocate.

3) Why have you chosen this aesthetic theme for your Instagram page?

I think aesthetic always changes and develops, so mine will probably too. But I try to archive a warm and nostalgic aesthetic. Most likely described as a mix out of Studio Ghibli sceneries and film aesthetic of the last 4 decades of the last century combined with insightful captions.

The first impression should be preferably a welcoming and inviting feeling, in hopes to drive the visitor to stay a bit longer and look at the things I have to offer. Someone said, that an Instagram page should be treated like a living room and I agree with that, because I do think that my interior choice would have the same vibes and colors as my page.

4) What is the message you want to spread in the creative world?

The red thread – to use Goethe’s terminology – in my work is the desire to live, explore and understand the world, the people and myself. One suffers in life. It is hard and the world seems sometimes downright cursed. But still, there are reasons to keep living. With that in mind I wish to transmit the vague sense of this hope and beauty, of this depth and vulnerability – to inspire people to reach their potential, to commit to self-reflection and self-development.

I humbly “only” want to point to the moon, the journey towards it, is up to each person.

5. Can you share your creative process in making your posts, captions, and photo catalog?

I wish I could but that’s one of my under-developed areas. So far everything I’ve done was heavily influenced by my motivation, mood and the weather. Spontaneity and sudden burst of energy have been so far the fuel of my actions, which is not negative per se but leads to my inconsistency and chaos in keeping deadlines I set myself or wish to plan. 

Hopefully I’ll find a more balanced way where I have a decent organization and clear pinpoints in the process but still enough freedom to not disturb the flow of creativity.

6. Your captions are always inspirational, full of cultural knowledge. How do you research your rays of sunshine?

I usually do not consciously research my posts (except some blog posts). My mind is constantly brewing some ideas or thinking about topics, philosophies about life – puzzling and connecting all the knowledge I gained so far from books, films, interviews, podcasts, and my own life lessons. But besides that, I like to take notes and write down quotes that have expanded perspectives. 

7. When do you feel most inspired?

I am a night owl, so I get a lot of ideas in the evening or during the night. I also prefer to work in the evening at my desk because it feels like I am getting more done than during the day. My main inspirations are the films of Studio Ghibli for a positive outlook onto my life but also classic literature for the spiritual and philosophical depth. Besides that I like to observe my surrounding and I like people watching when I am sitting in a Café or waiting on a station – there is so much that one can overlook. 

8. Share a quote from your favorite Writer that resonates with you.

“May you be forever blessed for that moment of bliss and happiness which you gave to another lonely and grateful heart. Isn’t such a moment sufficient for the whole of one’s life?”

-Fyodor Dostoevsky

9. What value would you like to add in this world through the rays of sunshine on your page?

I want to remind people that it’s important to detach themselves from the superficialities and problems of today’s system and put some effort into the development of character, solidifying one’s dignity and personal philosophy in life. You have to take things into your own hands if you want to get the best out of life and with confronting good change you might also inspire and do good for others as well. The key for wholeness is not out there but within you, yet people fear to take a closer look at their soul and take responsibility for it.

10. What social media creator would you like to meet or collaborate with in the future? And how does their content inspire you?

I am an admirer from afar, so I do not think I have the guts to meet any creator I feel inspired by. But if I had a chance for a collaboration I’d be interested in the thought to work with photography creators like @vanellimelli or @wishwishwish because I love the way they create with film and they have sharp eye for aesthetic.

11. What would you love to archive in your dream plans?

In general, I wish to surround myself with good people and lead a balanced and peaceful life, where I can wholeheartedly share the things I have to offer with the people I love but also with strangers. But speaking of a more personal aspiration, I want to finish my academia and become an internationally acclaimed writer. 

12. Do you think there is something you can bring to this world through your rays of sunshine on your page which couldn’t in any other field of work?

Yes, I think – or I least hope so! It might be nothing big and touch only a few people’s hearts but I wish to communicate the beauty of vulnerability, tenderness, and small details in one’s personal life. There is so much good and a lot to be grateful for. It’s so easy to get lost in the stream of negativity and emptiness of today’s world but yet besides all the hardship, it’s worth to battle for one’s own bliss (in a non-narcissistic, noble way).

13. Share with us the most beautiful testimonial you’ve got from your audience that touched your heart deeply and added valuable insight?

I gladly do so! I’ve been blessed with so many heart-warming and genuine words of affirmation of followers, and people in the internet. I keep them all as screenshots in an album called “love letters” – a bit corny, I know but at the end of the day they are a sort of digital love letters.

I re-read them from time to time and rediscover every time that how amazing it is that people can express themselves and how much such a genuine moment of raw kindness and affirmation impacts my soul. I feel touched by those words, it’s an honor to get a respectful and positive recognition for one’s efforts, as small they are. 

The message: “What I wouldn’t give to have a cup of coffee and have a chat about life with you. I dunno why but something tells me it would be a very enlightening conversation for me.” – 26.Oct.2022

Follow her on Social Media

Natalie – @ddaanat

Rays of Sunshine – July 2023

Editor Amira Hassan introduce a new interview series on the uncoiled magazine website about a collection of instagram pages that have added an immense cultural value to our daily lives, they have added rays of sunshine in our intellectual mind with daily posts about inspiring poets, artists, photographers and writers. They enriched our world with quotes from heartfelt classic movies, from Breathless in French new wave films, to Studio Ghibli beautiful and colorful movies. We would like to give the spotlight to these personalities whose work is most valuable in the social media world, and their creative endeavors deserve recognition and appraisal.