Poems by karma

The Teenage Time Machine


Starting with today’s publications of our ACM student and Museum Committee Chairman Karma Ibrahim, you, our reader will get a glance at the creative output in the form of poems and here and there even some paintings that represent the mind of a teenage Karma. 

We all know what it is like to be a teenager. Idealistic tendencies. Dramatic outlooks. Emotional inwardly orientated dilemmas. These poems show exactly that fragile, incongruous, precarious period in our life. Poetry is just one more technique in emotion preservation. Here, it represents a particular time in life. Hope this sparks some memories (even if some of those are uncomfortable) of your own teenage years. Simply, let go yourselves into this oneiric experience.


It’s all because I chose to follow, 

Follow The yellow brick roads,

You chose to follow the rabbit,

Whose voice gently echoes,

Crumbled and damaged,

Bruised and burned, 

Blood oozing, marking the yellow brick road,

The Smokey air and the curled vines, 

The air that fills your lungs, 

The vines that twist around your neck,

On the chosen path,

The blotched yellow road,

Lay dwindled and defeated,

The rabbit led you here, 

The rabbit led you and you followed,

Led you to the land of empty wine glasses and depleting lungs.

My solace, 

Looking for solace, 



The time, 

The time I sunk,

Down mundane rabbit holes,

Thinking it was wonderland, 

I’m in over my head,

Dirt under my nails,

Trying to claw my way out,

But it was a long way down,

Spirals of derivative extinction,

Don’t know what I’m fighting for anymore,

Lead astray, 

to the eclipse of oblivion,

Searching for solace,

Where solace didn’t grow,

At least not anymore.


Unplug the mind,

you found excessively banging on the wall,

I can see the spot, 

Splatters of crimson along the frosty white surface,

It’s dripping, 

Like me, 

Always dripping,

Dripping salty tears, 

and audacious fears,

Dripping childish hopes, 

and quixotic dreams,

Dripping unrequited love, 

Dripping like thick honey,

I’m dripping so it seems.


So now I’m just sitting, 

I’m sitting in my bathtub,

In my black underwear,

Trying to erase, 

My recollection,

My memory, 

Trying to reach a state of, 


Listening to the cryptic hymns,

Of my dark discordant walls, 

Staring at my dusty mirror,

My angle depriving me of, 

My reflection yet, 

Allowing me access,

to the dimly lit room, 

My hideout,

In my barren bathtub,

With my pants around my ankles,

Black underwear along my hips,

Grasping me tightly, 

Feet lay on the granite counter,

Hair melting over my face, 

Eyes struggling to function,

Fingers raving along the screen,

Pouring myself, 

Into the empty bathtub.