Deathly contemplations

Do not weep beside my death-bed,
I am not dead, I am just asleep.
And do not wait for me while I’m in slumber,
I am not asleep, I am just dead.

Do not think of me when I’m alive,
But do not forget me for my deeds.
And do not forget me when I’m gone,
But do not remember me for my sins.

Was it you who sat beside me in my weakest of days?
How did I sound?

Was it you under the sheets with me at night?
How was it?

And was it you in the end
that covered me up with white sheets?
What happened?

How did I look?


First self-published book!!! The Rambling Man


I’ve been working on this book for over 2 years now and it’s finally done. I’m dedicating this post for my debut of my first self-published book, “The Rambling Man”, a coming of age book about a person battling with low self-esteem and self-worth to be a better human being. I’ve made the characters non-gender specific because I want the readers to be able to link the characters with their people revolving around them. Characters include; the protagonist, the Little Robin, The Life-giver, the birch tree, the orb weaver and other characters to contribute to the illusion of a world I have created.

Remember this? It’s my first draft I typed out in my office place when I had some free time.


“The Rambling Man” is an illustrated novel: one part illustration and another prose. Putting together this book triggered this whole other creative process and it dawned on me that not only is this a novel, it’s also a piece of art work. Deriving most of my ideas from my sketches, it seemed that I have unconsciously created this narrative with my illustrations and they happened to be connected in a way. What seemed to be a creation turned out to also be a puzzle being put together; a process to figure out what lies behind the mind of the author.

There have been contemplations about my novel to be purple prose but I deliberately did that to reflect the true essence of a teenager’s mind. What better for exaggeration to take place here. One moment the protagonist is sinking into a pool of quicksand and another, talking to a Robin while smoking marijuana. I made hyperbolic references to nature and how they interact with each other.

I highly recommend you to get the eBook Not only is it much cheaper but the illustrations pop out more on screen. I, on the other hand, needed to get a tangible piece of my work.

It can’t thank enough to those who have read my manuscript and while it has been a difficult journey, this book serves more of a catharsis than any other and I can actually move on from it. It’s been such a great experience and I can’t wait to create something new. In fact, I have 2 other ideas for my next book project; one dealing with domestic violence while the other is about a series of paintings that deals with the little bits sadness in life.

Here’s the preview!!!

An escape inside h…
By Hafiiz Karim
Until next time!! Oh how can I forget to thank Blurb for everything?!

Hafiiz tried illustrating happy people

This is the first picture I posted of my water colour painting using cold-pressed paper and I’ll do another post on my love for it because there’s a huge difference of using cold-pressed paper and normal paper. But today I’ll write about me trying something new but it failed.

So Epigram Books recently posted on Facebook stating that they need illustrators to work on a project. And they were looking for hand-drawn illustrations and mentioned that ‘a little quirky is good’. So immediately I thought, “Well, my sketches are 100% quirky and I’ve always wanted to push myself and be published. This is my chance!” I sat down at my normal working space (in front of my laptop watching a documentary on Cassowaries) and froze.

“I’ve never drawn a smile before let alone drawn images suited for children’s books,” I thought to myself. But I wanted to try. I tend to draw depressive figurative works so this could be a good practice; to get out of the box. 20 minutes later, I’m wondering how to draw a cute figure that would look good in a pages of a book. I was suppose to draw a a girl about seven years old, a boy about five years old, and a three-year-old boy. And to make things worst, I wanted to complete the night they posted it because I’d to head to Malaysia the next morning.

I thought I did a pretty good job and I sent the images along with my perverse illustrations (Yeah, including the illustrations of a man blowing himself.) How silly was that. Well, I’m definitely getting a call/email from them for sure. Look at the boy in green. I think it’s cute. And since it won’t be used, I’ve decided to call him Jimmy. And I’ll insert him in some of my sketches.

sketch 22IMG_5006

I thought my illustrations were great until someone commented on the post and mentioned this lady who goes by, “Little Pink Pebble”. (Do you like how I call myself Little Boy Blue and she’s Little Pink Pebble?) So I checked her works out and I just pooped in my pants. The quality of her work is so professional. You can check out her site: Little Pink Pebble.

Such a talented lady. Just beautiful.

Little Pink Pebble

You might think that I’m jealous of her talent. But I’m actually not. Even I thought I could be jealous of her. Instead, I was in a state of appreciation of her work. And I wish her all the best in her future projects.

Until next time!

“I know why the caged bird sings” by Maya Angelou

Well, Happy World Poetry Day! I decided to post a poem by Maya Angelou about ones longing for freedom and liberty.

“I’ve lost touch of my human side that I’ve let the bird out of its cage and made it my home”


A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

– Maya Angelou

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