Three years seems like a long time,
I think back to my early 20s when I could not survive without you.
You were always there for me at any point in time.
Your form would constantly change,
Sometimes you were a crimson and full-bodied, and other times you were clear and led me to the floor.

I truly felt good when you were with me, but the next day was always terrible.
I was even more insufferable in your company, and I was not a nice person.
You were an ****** that made pain go away,
I did not feel, and when I did, it was a false sense of happiness.

People often ask me how life has been without you,
Truth be told, my life has changed so much.
I am not seen after midnight, and I feel like Cinderella (without the glass slipper).
Some might argue that I have replaced you, but I have to respectfully disagree.

Sometimes I miss the person that I was when I was with you,
I look back and the nights out sounded fun,
But I have to remind myself that it was not healthy, and I was horrible.
My choices were bad, but I own them now.

Life is good, and I cannot complain.

This piece was inspired by a girlfriend of mine who matched with a man who was somewhat lacklustre in person.

Baggy t-shirt and basketball shorts that can hide multiple children under them,
Eyes carrying bags more expensive than a Himalayan Birkin,
All while you avoid looking at me while I am seated at the table behind you.

An online presence suggests skin that gleams like bronze under sunlight,
You standing shoulder to shoulder with other members of the race of men,
Eyes obscured by shiny sunglasses whose shapes are honestly doing my head in.

Seated at the table by you is your handsome brother,
And boy does he deliver where you have shortcomings,
Penetrating my soul with a deep gaze,
I certainly know that my dalliance with you was certainly a phase.

Skin that shines like polished gold, and a face that can launch a thousand ships,
How is it that both of you have the same mother and father?
Dressed in a button-down that shows some level of decorum,
All while you have the look of a homeless man in a forum.

Your response to my DMs leaves wanting for another,
Calling me random when I have opportunities that can enrich your coffers,
Yet you refuse to look me in the eye despite my offer.

***, dusty, and musty come to mind,
Despite a profile that gleams and has lots of shine,
Sandals so worn that they make your bare feet look less ashy,
Hunched over your breakfast like you are some Siberian husky.

Your brother’s relationship status comes to mind,
Is he single, is he taken, and when will he be mine?
He was eyeing me like a prized possession,
Oh, do be a dear, and bring us the brother.

This piece was inspired by a girlfriend of mine who matched with a man who was somewhat lacklustre in person.

Baggy t-shirt and basketball shorts that can hide multiple children under them,
Eyes carrying bags more expensive than a Himalayan Birkin,
All while you avoid looking at me while I am seated at the table behind you.

An online presence suggests skin that gleams like bronze under sunlight,
You standing shoulder to shoulder with other members of the race of men,
Eyes obscured by shiny sunglasses whose shapes are honestly doing my head in.

Seated at the table by you is your handsome brother,
And boy does he deliver where you have shortcomings,
Penetrating my soul with a deep gaze,
I certainly know that my dalliance with you was certainly a phase.

Skin that shines like polished gold, and a face that can launch a thousand ships,
How is it that both of you have the same mother and father?
Dressed in a button-down that shows some level of decorum,
All while you have the look of a homeless man in a forum.

Your response to my DMs leaves wanting for another,
Calling me random when I have opportunities that can enrich your coffers,
Yet you refuse to look me in the eye despite my offer.

***, dusty, and musty come to mind,
Despite a profile that gleams and has lots of shine,
Sandals so worn that they make your bare feet look less ashy,
Hunched over your breakfast like you are some Siberian husky.

Your brother’s relationship status comes to mind,
Is he single, is he taken, and when will he be mine?
He was eyeing me like a prized possession,
Oh, do be a dear, and bring us the brother.

I wrote this when I was feeling despondent and angry about life. Particularly when I was dealing with issues around my gender identity and ****** orientation lately.

Are you a 0 or a 1 ?
Is your bounty plenty or do you have none ?
Are you fire or water ?
Are you in or out ?
These questions just make me want to pass out, and result in me just being unable to escape the upcoming falter.

Be a man,
How many times have I heard that statement ?
The answer : too many to count.
My father, my teachers, my bullies, my relatives,
It never ends and it feels like an onslaught of pressure with no abatement.

I cry too much, and I hold on to things.
I cling on to fleeting moments and memories,
From the light airy laughter to the deep anguish that haunts my soul.
My heart has been broken and shattered by so many people, and yet I still feel as if it were my first loss.

Is it a sin to feel deeply ?
Is it a sin that I don’t align with so many of the binaries that mark our lives ?
Is it a sin that I am constantly trying to repent for past mistakes ?

It’s your sensitivity and femininity that got you in this mess, said Ms Radhika.
You are too sensitive and will not amount to anything if you stay this way, in some weird way build resilience after I had been sexually assaulted at 14.
It’s your fault that they hurt you, you gave them a reason and a target, said a former friend when I was bullied for being a flamboyant little boy who dreamed of nothing but Thierry Mugler and taffeta.
You are a fat f*g and even your parents don’t want you, said Jamal, Dzaki, and chorus of teenage boys shouted when I couldn’t run a lap around the field without slowing down or stopping.
Whoever said sticks and stones may break my bones but bones can’t hurt must have a twisted sense of humour or had their emotions surgically removed.

What was my karmic balance going into this life ?
To be blessed with all that glitters like gold, but never being able to be seen and loved that would transcend seven life times or have peace ?
Did I do something wrong, am I making the same mistakes ? Over and over again the universe feels like it is testing me and making a jest at my own expense.

What  must I don and do to rid myself of this perpetual stress and anguish ?
Why is my internal monologue like Matthew Arnold’s Dover Beach ?
Why do I feel like Lady Macbeth, even though I share in none of her deeds ?

More and more I sound like Andy Warhol in his diaries,
Written and tarred with melancholy and sadness that chills to the bone,
It’s hard to not sound like Larry Kramer or Karl Lagerfeld either,
For those two are often very angry about most subject matter, and those had a fire that burned everything in their orbit.

I must admit that I am no angel nor have any desire to be one,
Nowadays, I resonate with Medea, Medusa, and Cassandra,
I have turned into something nasty, jagged, and only appreciated by certain individuals.
I am at peace with that and welcome it wholeheartedly.

Someone asked why? And it made me wonder
Pushing myself to the limit, all for what plunder?
Maybe it’s a need to show myself that I am strong,
Maybe it’s a desire to show my childhood self that you can do all of the things the idiots told you that you could not do.

A mental game is what they call it?
Sometimes the difference between a great effort and a mediocre one is one rooted in meters,
I come home sore and feeling like I have done so much,
My body remembering what it was made to do yesterday.

Is it validation, or is it a sense of accomplishment?
Does this feeling ever go away?
From tipping the scales and being unable to lift or run,
To finally be able to perform feats that I once thought Herculean.

The fire that burns is kindled by trauma,
Enmeshed so deeply in my being that it has altered my DNA,
It shows me that I can do more and will do more,
Blazing, roaring, with its flames licking the sky.

I do it because I am enough.
I do it because I know that I am capable.
I do it because I have a duty to the 7-year-old in me that I am just as good as anyone else, if not better.
I do it so I see myself for who I am today.

Ego.
Composed of only three letters, but the death knell of so many men,
And sometimes it can send you off a cliff face like those in Dover.

Ego.
One word that defines and motivates so many men,
To the bullied and vilified who have become vaudevillian villains themselves,
To the self-righteous who believe that their higher purpose is to lead the masses,
A fire that can burn its host and all of those around it

Ego.
A carnival mirror that exaggerates how important we are in this world,
A fun house mirror that reflects gross inaccuracies,
Portraying half-truths and distorting reality.

Ego.
A pillar that keeps us sane in a cruel world where powerful men who will expire before their decisions impact the rest of us,
A fire that powers a forceful drive for progress,
A mirror that shows us a comely figure despite our perceptions.

Ego.
A force that heals and poisons at the same time,
A power that can build and destroy,
An essence that has to be balanced for it to be an illuminating presence that does not blind.

This piece is dedicated to the loves of my life. Thank you for being there through thick and thin.

When people talk about the loves of their lives, they often do so in a romantic context.
I dare say that this view is limiting, and I am vexed.

Sitting on her couch and talking about her wedding,
Going for sip and shop events and just plain old yapping,
Watching them wakeboard in the Mediterranean while the wind is blowing.

Scheduling phone calls that traverse time zones,
Sharing deep changes and new experiences over the telephone,
Being a shoulder for them to cry on when times are rough,

Sending reels and memes that are IJBOL coded,
Laughing over idiots who were just the absolute worst,
Making home-cooked meals full of love and joy,
Groaning at the jokes made and the puns that are loaded.

Cackling like witches on Calle Serrano,
While talking about how silly things used to be,
Eating near Retiro and perusing the delights of Notting Hill.

These things  show depth and intimacy,
My friends know me in a better way than my lovers,
They see me for me and hold my feet to the fire,
I do the same for them, but often to the tune of the lyre.
We talk about love, life, and everything in between.

My love is platonic and romantic,
It’s big enough to cover all of its aspects,
If anything, life has taught me that your friends are like stars, guiding you at night to where you have to be.
We are all part of a galaxy that makes us you and me.

I am sorry for your loss, they say,
Not comprehending that it is more than a loss,
It is a removal.
Let me know if you need me, they say,
When they would have nothing to do with you and would speak ill of you otherwise.

Would it be ok if we did this or tell so and so?
As if they suddenly care for your opinion,
A video call from the morgue, a phone call expressing their grief while you are trying to keep your head above water,
Coming 45 minutes late to a funeral when the casket has been cremated,
And expecting us to engage in jovial conversation.

Dumping all of their energy onto you when you are trying to get through the day,
As if you haven’t just had a punch to the gut,
I am sorry for your loss, and my condolences.
Two separate phrases that mean nothing and everything at the same time,
Sympathy is coming in from those who would be the first to stab you in the back.

I am sorry for your loss, and my condolences.
Kind words that mask your true intentions and your venom.
I am keeping you in my prayers, as if god is listening to you on your purported hotline with Him.

They were always in my prayers, so this was your work?
I made sure to always thank the almighty for their presence, so you are claiming responsibility?
Oh, I am so grateful to have people like you, because at least I know who you are.

Keep in touch, you say, but I say our business is done.

You hold me in your arms,
I feel your chest expand and contract with every breath,
Hold me tight, and I have no more fight.

I melt into you as your head nuzzles my neck,
Slowly, the defences are coming down,
Once like the walls of Asgard, I am now undoing them,
You ask me about my day, and tell me how pretty I look.

Your hands clasp mine, and I can feel your pulse on your wrist,
Your words go over me like silk, and I just relax into a puddle,
I turn over and I look into your eyes,
My head lies on your chest, and you hold me even tighter,
Your smell makes me feel so warm and giddy,
I feel gentle kisses on the top of my head.

Legs entangle, and you gently massage my neck and shoulders,
You talk about the mysteries of flowers while bergamot and orange are in the air,
I feel like absolute bliss, and I do not want this to end.

I want to be your little spoon until the very end

This poem was originally written at the end of 2024 after many epiphanies were had.

Truth be told I thought my heart was cold,
I had feared that I had lost the feeling of being bold,
With no sparks being brought into the fold,
I always knew that I did not fit into any mould,
Life also told me that I was baggage that had to be put into the hold.

I lift heavy weights but have been unable to remove this pressure from my shoulders,
Feeling like Atlas holding up the earth like an immense boulder,
Filled with doubt like Arjuna before battles started in the Mahabharata,
While wanting to seek revenge like Amba.

My heart was once broken, and certainly in pieces,
But it is a Lladro sculpture mended through kintsugi,
I can now recognise that its beauty never ceases,
With every crack and fracture, a river of gold, platinum and bronze seals and connects previously disjointed niches.

Anger has been replaced by joy and love,
A deep sense of connection with those who are chosen family,
Whose presence in my life has made life a lot less tough,
For who I can’t bluff with my brand of nonsensical stuff.

The yearning will never end or stop,
But recognising that life is short and it is not made for a swap,
It is truly a blessing, and don’t quote me on this, but for once doesn’t feel like a chop.

Loneliness, solitude, keeping one’s own company,
The same feeling carries different labels depending on the taxonomy,
One almost feels burdened by a sense of monotony.

Cloistered in a mansion like Skully’s Landing,
Except that the mansion moved around regardless of one’s physical location,
It often leaves you unable to feel like you are in good standing, despite others’ persuasions.

Surrounded by swans and members of the factory,
Who knows you as a facsimile of a person, but are not interested in substance,
It feels as if you are surrounded by beauty, but your place as a spectator is firmly placed.

Not many people can understand the pathos present in this feeling,
The way the constant destruction and rebuilding feels like something more than just dharma or even karma at this point,
It reveals the truth but also blinds you to other vistas.

Nat King Cole once sang of a very strange and special boy, who was very rare, very rare,
This feeling goes beyond ennui and the lack of meaning,
Many often say that the gifted are cursed with being incorrigible, and that the curse of brilliance is isolation,
But pity the untalented who are marked with the sense of incorrigibility, and whose isolation stems from their dullness.

Classified as a form of pain by those who study the human mind,
It evolves and changes with our life stage,
Maybe it was a mage who was in charge of this process,
At least it would be something to write home about.

Silk screen paintings produced by the dozen,
Common in subject matter but hoarded like how Smaug hoards dwarven gold.
This is the feeling that goes by many names and changes one’s fate.

Claims about being a man of substance are repeated,
Despite the stamping of feet and incredibly childish tantrums that accompany such statements.

I am a man of substance,
No, say it with more confidence,
No, it has to inspire fear,
Too much emotion,
Oh no, your voice can’t keep up with your mind, schadenfreude strikes again

This is the rehearsed line that you tell yourself to absolve yourself of your increasingly frail position in life and your sins?
You are even more pathetic than we thought you were.

You lied, hurt others, and were cruel to the people who wanted to see the best in you.
You took every chance to put down the one person who made your life the great life that you make it out to be.

I can just imagine you convincing yourself of an alternate reality in front your mirror in that dark bathroom hidden away at the corner of that house, where only five steps away entire dusty volumes by Jiddu Krishnamurti on the value kindness and humility sit there waiting to be reread.

You keep on throwing out that word as if it’s the request for idlis and uttapams that you inflict on the one member of kin who even gives an iota of a thought about you.
Shame your palette could not keep up with the august image that you have impressed upon others.

You are certainly a man of substance,
And that substance is mercury.
Shiny and more of an indicator of its environment, with none of the structural tenacity or integrity of carbon.

Much like mercury, you are poisonous and when people are exposed to you, they fall ill,
And when we are exposed to yo,u we wish for your permanent expeditious removal from our lives,
Constantly shifting your form to be something that willbe  palatable to the other people at the other end of the table.

Men who have to routinely proclaim that they are men of substance are not constituted of the substances that they claim to be,
Fools Gold, Mercury, the list is there, just check the table of elements that you hold as gospel.

Now it’s your turn to deal with the aftereffects of your own exposure,
Sit and rot in your draftless room until the sun rises again, devouring an endless stream of content that would a right-wing dictator proud.

You claim that you are of sound mind, but that mind is made of clay and is rapidly collapsing,
How does it feel? To feel the vulnerability that you make light of in others?
How does it feel to have progeny that will never continue your legacy?
How does it feel to be like Lady Macbeth, constantly crying for that foul spot to be removed?

Every compliment is barbed and ****** others.
But your delivery fools people into thinking that this injection is good for you,
Go and sit with that relative of yours who is the pinnacle of success - you have a lot in common.

Tell the world how you believe that women are inferior beings to you.
Shout from the rooftops that you see queer people as less then,
And say it with your chest, you believe that people from different faiths deserve to be judged and treated horribly,

Go on, you are a man of substance.

Tension.
It tugs inside me and inside them,
Wanting to do more but being unable to do so,
Feeling the chemistry lingering in the air like white musk and oud.

It’s heavy, it’s sweet, it’s consuming.
Feelings of walls being slowly chipped away and promises of being open,
Hands being closer but never quite touching,
Legs are touching each other, but are unable to do more.

Being given the best and tightest hug, and it felt like fireworks on New Year’s Eve,
Smelling their skin and the softness of their hands,
Wanting to lean in but knowing it can’t be done,
Feeling like running through clouds and an embrace that is warmer than a thousand suns.

Inside, I want them to hold me, grab me, fireman carry me out of here,
It’s a shame that this part of the world is the way it is,
But alas, we are left with this tension.

It’s a thief that comes in the wee hours of the morning,
Magically opening doors and breaking through windows,
It cares not for your jewels or cash,
Or for other markers of luxury.

Instead, its presence wears you down,
It engages in a theft that leaves your body and mind weaker and weaker,
Leeching off your mind and the grey matter that houses it.

It leaves you incapable of remembering who is who,
It stays in the house until you leave in a body bag,
It doesn’t care for any other tags other than the ones seen at a mortuary.

It sits on your shoulders and eventually shrouds your entire body,
Constantly wearing you down like a small trickle on rock, until eventually you are nothing more than a channel for water.

It leaves you wanting release from such a miserable existence,
But keeps you alive long enough to keep you alive to watch your own suffering,
Unlike watching YouTube videos in the 2000s, it will not stop for any buffering.

It reduces you to leading an existence marked by subsistence,
It is a cruel thief for it knows your address and doesn’t give you a chance to change the locks,
It wields a knife that slow slits your throat and stabs the hearts of those that love you.

It changes you to a shade found in Hades,
Devoid of happiness and joy,
But when you exit, its reign is finally over,
But much like the rule of a tyrant, its scars are deep and take time to heal,
And it will come back for those who succeed you,
Lurking until it was allowed to show itself.

Trigger warning: the following piece goes into detail about SA, Mental Health issues, and bullying. Reader discretion is advised.

It happened very quickly,
You saw me as prey,
You made my life a misery for an entire week,
So much so, I thought about removing myself from this earth when it was happening.

You started with bullying, and I thought I could take it,
It got worse and worse, and I couldn’t stop it,
I thought it was bad, but little did I know what would make things worse.

You then exposed yourself and forced yourself upon me,
You did it repeatedly within the space of 10 minutes,
I pushed away and tried to run away.
Instead, you tried and tried again to break me,
Make me some subservient creature that will bend to your will.

Fast forward to the next day,
I am crying on the beach,
Like a Lana del Ray song.
The facilitator came and asked me what is the matter was, did I miss my mum? Are you ok?
Such a sweet voice, but the road to hell is littered with good intentions.

Of course I do, but this goes beyond that.
If she were here, this would not have happened.
You would have been beaten black and blue, and I would have never been scarred.
Your name and your lineage would have been expunged from this very plane of existence.

The next few months were awful,
Your defenders said I made it up,
Or that I wanted it to happen,
Or that I deserved it.
All you got was a two-day suspension, of which one day was a public holiday.

You got made a prefect!
You were this golden child who went through this horrible experience, a poor thing that had a bump in the road.
I was ridiculed and ostracised. My friends didn’t understand, and my bullies took full advantage of this.

I was the subject of ridicule and gossip,
I was treated like Cassandra,
Vilified like Medusa!
I had an agenda, and that I was slur that sounds like maggot,
Who, depending on who you ask either made it up, enticed you, or wanted this to happen for attention.

I was told that I was too sensitive by teachers who wanted to “toughen me up”,
My own father didn’t understand what I had gone through and only asked what happened 15 years later.
I felt truly on my own and still do.

I was an island being consumed by a Tsunami from a Hokusai print,
The wave was relentless and never-ending,
I was broken down and was told that I would always be like this.
Water filled with jagged rocks and broken branches repeatedly crashed into me,
Struggling to breathe and gasping for air,
Feeling solace in the deep, cold darkness that became my mind,
Wanting to build walls higher than Asgard’s and more impenetrable than Troy’s.

For years, I wondered if this was what made me the way I am,
Was it because of your violation of my personhood?
Was it because you knew something that I did not?
Was there something in me that was reflected in you, and you wanted to remove that part from yourself?

It’s 16 years later and I met a friend of a friend,
A lovely woman, who is there for one I hold dear,
We got to talking and shared stories. Turns out she knows you.
She told me how lovely you were and what a great person you were,
I told her the truth, and she was shocked.

Your girlfriend believes that I deserved it wholeheartedly because I was being “annoying” for not following instructions.
So which one is it, you didn’t do it or you did it to teach me a lesson?
Funny how the story has changed according to your narrative?
You looked at my LinkedIn profile, and I know where you work,
I also know about the hoax you pulled online to let everyone know that you were accepted into Imperial.
Maybe I am not the only one whose existence is a tempest.

Let’s be real, you have messed up my life.
I am not going to say that this made me a better person.
It did not give me character, nor did it show me how life is.
I am about to enter my third decade around the sun, and you sought to destroy me.
Yet, I am still here. Just to be clear, what you did was despicable, and you deserve to rot.

I will never let go of what you did and the lack of justice that came after.
I was vengeance personified, and I felt the spirit of Kali enter me,
Crushing your impact will be my life’s bane.
Thank god I am everything that little boy wanted and more, and be lucky that I don’t seek further retribution and only want peace instead.