I read a poem to him because he asks me to and I realize that isolation is a privilege.
Lack of conversation renders the memory of your unusually textured voice useless,
But still remain an outcast in.
Tables are joined for families, made into a family that is wonderfully big and ever-expanding.
I was present in one, bamboozled by the vibe of this wonderful place
dancing in your storm
A crimson dance
Unusual, in its feline kind!
The lopsided demon
Haunted my memories of
Teenage years under the blanket of pretences
I am them.
I am their dreams and follies,
And their monotony and their vices.
I am their joy and their sorrows,
And I am no one.
I don’t like fidget spinners.
I remember the cough syrup life. I remember bandage stains and the rancid yellow smell of tissues healing quite late into summer when everything usually takes its own time. I remember a heavy head. The clanging sound of Ma's bangles filling up a silence so acoustic...
today we run with our faces beating against a wind that blew the roofs over our houses, our bodies aflame in our dreams where there's never a scream or a sound of dying we never knew the scent of our mothers' skin save the ones who've helped them with bloodied needles...
A lifetime of unrealistic expectations, of irrational pressures and merciless goals, I am drowning in a sea of endless chances, chances at a picture-perfect future; each gifting a fleeting sense of purpose and ending in the unvarying, unmistakable stench of failure....
With our bodies at war
we swam against the tide at sea
have you never dreamt?
Breeze on the rooftops of summer houses against the dying light of the sun, ruffling through a row of sun-dried clothing hanging on taut wires while the nostrils fill with a smell that reminds of Ma's hands, ruffling the sense of time, place, and being; running...
The number of times you’ve skipped tiles on pavements
And fallen, with knees sore
Or tried to analyse a favourite song word-by-word
each metaphor delighting you more.
After all, I wake every day because I’m insecure
That someone else will live the day before me
why is it that we fiercely crave beauty,
that we must eke it out from the mundane,
and demand it at every passing moment?
I am not but a soul in a sea of many more,
not but a comma in a larger statistic,
but I see, clear as the day I was born,
that we seek the extraordinary
Laziness takes over you, wave by wave
Like the gentle, slumbering ocean.
To the ones looking at blades, As though they were fire exits, Doorways leading somewhere, They are not. It's a ticket to repetition. Changing your skin colour to blood, Embracing a cage to leave another behind, I promise, There are better things, You can decorate...