Say

So I put a stopper to my tongue 

Cause I feel if I say too much,

If I address all the bees in my head
They would be real.
So I put a stopper on my brain

And pray to God that, the thoughts are kept at bay

Cause I’d rather take the thrashing waves,
Than the storm.
So when I say,

Whatever I say

I don’t mean it, lightly
For when I say

I want to memorize all the embraces, you gift me

Remember the way you look at me,

Smile,

And call me names.

I don’t mean it lightly
If I say

That I love how your skin brushes against mine

The way you slyly grin at me, for thinking you’re a clever motherfucker

I don’t mean it lightly
If I mention 

How the infernal mountains, pale in comparison to your beauty

How I love when your soul brushes against mine

I don’t mean it lightly
When I say

You bring along the musty rains 

And drench me to the skin

Please, don’t take it lightly
So, if I say, 

All these things, and not

I promise, I don’t mean it lightly.

mataram

at a turning point

My mind seeks success

And I miss
the light at home
The light at the diwali morning treks
The light at the last period before Vande Mataram

And I miss
the light in people

The unstoppable light

And I see
that it isn’t what you study
it is how you study it
– all knowledgable is valuable –

What have I done here?
What am I here for?

Why do I think of this so often?

I miss
stories

I miss
home.

Everyday now
Beyond homesickness
Beyond the food
Beyond.

I miss home in every sense of it

Because I know now,
where I want to be

And my heart seeks home

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Synchronous Bloom

​Your body

Is my pilgrimage 

Of worship

 

A place

Where my hands reach to

Offer absolutions

 

I use my silvery tongue

To get you around the bend

And tell you that your flesh 

 

Blesses mine, with a stain

That’s more than just skin deep

 

So I press my heart against yours

Waiting for the two drums

To beat as one

 

I press my mouth against yours

And eat the words 

That died upon your lips

 

My mouth traces

Every inch of your skin and bones

Until my hunger is satiated

 

A sliver of the midnight moon

Bathes us while we

Tangle ourselves deeper into one another

 

Every heavy breath, a sonnet

Every bite, an ode

Every moan, those three tired words

 

The air is heavy

With the scent of old perfume

While our two bodies talk

 

The burden on my hands, absolves

The stars in the sky, dissolves

And the argument our bodies have, resolves

As we bloom synchronously

When Everything Was New

​Thoughts will slide

Up and down

Much like a kid on

A playground for the first time

 

The exhilaration

Of the first swing 

Is second to none

 

And you just hope

To god that the

Second swing

Will be as good as the first 

 

But

 

Nor is the third

 

Or the fourth

 

It can never be

 

And that’s childhood.

The bliss of ignorance,

The blessing of innocence 

 

One moment it fills you up

The next, it dies

With all the knowledge

You possess

 

For the wind

Will bring along with itself

The scent of nostalgia

That you can taste so well

 

Upon the tip of your tongue

 

But like all bites

The taste, so sweet and so bitter

Dies in your mouth

Begging you for more

 

And second servings 

Are more expensive

Than you’re willing to pay

 

So sit there

And reminisce

About the times 

When everything was new

 

The war hasn’t started yet

Wait in the graveyard

Count the tombstones

Wait for the war

 

Wait to be thrown into

The trenches

Along with all those lost souls

And hold your fire

 

Until you can call out her name

 

And maybe

She’ll hear you through the crossfire

And maybe

She’ll feel the vibrations through her bones

 

So let the sun set

And wait for the smoke to clear

Cause in the end

You’re the one who has to live with yourself

 

Not your parents

Not your lover

Not your pets

 

You. You have to live

With the remnants

Of your being

At the end of this thing we call

 

Our existence. 

Paper Thin


Her hair neatly tied in a bun

That carries all of her thoughts

Which can’t be bothered with right now

For they scare her more than any shaitan could

 

She would swallow you alive

Or at least have you believe she could

Her jet back eyes

Dead against the burning light

 

She smiles, and clinks champagne glasses

Eating mussels and caviar

With the very people she wants to shoot through the heart

She smiles, an untrue smile

 

The people she believes in

Want to use her gender as a weapon 

They don’t believe her to be an equal

 

Dousing herself in war paint

She cradles her gun like a newborn 

And marches onto the streets

Her skirt, resisting the wind’s advances 

 

Her beret is tilted

Saluting the sun in it’s upward march

Her smile is crooked

As she loads a magazine into the gun

 

She turns corners like she turns 

Pages of a book that she’s least 

Interested to read

But feels guilty enough to scrape through

 

She tip toes to the rendezvous point

And snaps her fingers to the

Beat of the song that’s been stuck in

Her head since last summer

 

She winks at her comrades

As they slowly fill out the space

Between her

And the message she wants to send

 

To everyone who had her 

Figured out to be made of the same

Metal as the ones who had 

Come eons before her

 

Her comrades tie their hair in a bun

And watch her show them three fingers

Two

One

 

And then.

 

Then there was no stopping

The volley of bullets

That made concrete walls

Seem paper thin

 

The roar of the gun

Silencing any and all lies

Spoken by those despicable people

Promising something out of their control

 

The air is heavy

With powdery fumes

So they toss their arsenal

And chase their way, underground

 

Filling the streets with their hysterical laughter

My Hands

My hands

Are stained

By your deep colour

 

My hands

They burn

From the flames that glow in you

 

My hands

Are healed

By the foaming waves that twist and turn in your belly

 

My hands

Are damp

When they slip around on your palms

 

My hands

Are restless

So they tip toe upon your naked bossom

 

My hands

They itch

To draw something new upon your canvas

 

My hands 

Are battered

Fresh against your war torn fists

 

My hands

Are curious

They ask questions to the answers they think they already know

 

Your hands

Are open

Patiently spilling out thought after thought 

 

My hands 

Were forgotten

Discarded like a book that has been read too much

 

My hands 

Aren’t my hands any anymore

They ceased to bring out the beauty of the moon anymore

 

My hands 

Have broken their silence

For in the space between us

 

They have found a new home