Mist, dew and rose.

Three songbirds rose
Their wings quiet—
Weaved a riot—

Breath, then bone and blood
Whispered to noise from, for mud
Let them grieve, let them—
Yet another young note
On the hard-baked stem.
Restrained do not

Cry
Nor bleed or melt a flushed blue
Pearly melodies of sky
Do no do, do not do

Ask of liberty—
Pretty, petty property.
What of birds?
Clumsy drip-dropping words

Only a breath weeps
Only bone shakes
All ballads, the blood keeps
Only the carcass wakes

And silent, silent goes
Into the blooming blue goes—

A soft, bruised apple your pretty absence—
I loathe— this bickering, bitter adolescence;
I miss myself unripened, myself sour
Where clung to anchor, I asked for more
Oh, more, and gave it cunning and cold: joys
That lovely ruin bore. Then your dragon eyes
And how I built built you out of lone
Now from me, to me my grief well known
Take you and on and on you go
Oh, cursed be your laughter: yellow and so
Sweet as stout it plunged — so quick a shine—
Into the sulking waters of mine. Oh, swear, was mine
The tremble, decay; yours the glittery dust.
Now parched, still patient pleads this lust

Return, O seamless, sodden salve, you must
You must—

It was so quiet there
I could’ve cried out sturdy
And all the sounds would’ve returned to me.
I did not though
The windpipe clung to my lungs
Wrapped round and round till they gasped
Just a huh
Too pathetic to be pitied.

That giant tree, I will remember always
Out and out it bloomed
And stayed with me all along
However far I hazily stumbled
I looked so mad
I felt so—

My brain lurked where it desired,
Lingered wherever; and I
Followed, I followed:
Always a step behind
I said, where are you going?
Just…
And into the towering corns we vanished
So dark, so dark

I said, it’s dangerous here,
Anyone could come from anywhere
And quieten us anyway— anyway—
Just a moment…
And we sat, listening to the insects together
The crops so high up and devouring
It wasn’t much different from crowds
Yet silence— so ringing and shrill
Scream, I offered
Scream?

And we sat there for a minute or two
Listening in to the eternity forever.

Tomorrow hatches a cursed sparrow
Her pink-spotted wings and red-stained beak
They say, she ****** the song out her mother’s marrow
Her eyes, of gold and shimmer reek
Her voice is bleak and shrill an arrow
And a patient dawn she comes to seek

As will stumble her kins towards old light
She, scrawny, outside my window will sit
And sing and sing and sing on alright
Clumsily wake and my teeth I will grit
Squint and stare at the silhouette in bright
In sky alight, her little small being will sit unlit

Sleek with lone her innocent song
Though ugly and strange, I will hear on
Through rise and noise; however long, however long
Spring-kissed birds and the battles they won
Then I too will sing— what for I wish and what for long
Till, ever rushing, the flushed dawn will be gone

Then giggle she will and whisper a verse
A little advice from a little bird
To love, to love and never curse
This fine, fine, wretched little world
Then smile, and into the sky she will disperse
And I, serene, into the crown of dirt

The Magic dripped out of the night
Out of the holed hold
Of its frail, fence-like fingers
The Magic slid onto and past me
Kissed the cold, cement floor
In its drip drop dripping ecstasy
Then vanished under still
Though no deeper depths I had known

As a towel hung out to dry
The night melted onto its grey shadow
Till the moon was just a moon
And the quiet— piercing shrill and bitter.
I felt my fingers go dry
And my body
Sensed not the silky speech of my palm
Nor the whispers of sneaky light

And the city
Was a song torn apart—
Every horn upon me lunged
I slipped through the silence, and fell, but
Fell not enough
I said, Magic, Magic, take me along
But the floor for me was a circus uninviting
And in my wretched solidity, I lay limp
Listening in to the echoes
The echoes, the echoes of a laughter so far away
(I said, Magic, Magic, take me along)

And the moon was just a moon
The evening star I could not see
And sleep was a ragged little thing,
As the sharp dripping,
With last and last of the Magic, was gone
I sank, I sank, immobile —
Oh, In the ever-stirring city
It was a night lonely

Strike— bare, boastful light.
Snakelike, your silver serenity
Strike with firm, flaunting fatality
Surrender then, to specks flush-light.
Split asunder, your thriving fragility
Shuddering then, a humble complexity
Shimmering so lovingly bright.
Spin I the crystals; your dancing simplicity
Simplicity— oh, so generous in its creativity
Scarce old stars rather I,
                       than sun’s lifeless white.

Grief is good, O naked shivering—
Grief, the last full blossom
In the rich, rich ***** of spring
Laden with hues, their gentle smother;
Reap it they and morph a shrine:
Grief, the violent girl of a silenced mother.
Grief, the first decay of decay old
As the sky beats down and down,
Burning all green to gold.
Grief, the cunning god
That quietens, and teaches the art of scream.
Grief then, the ripe fruit’s bitter-sweet cold.
The first fall that a thousand follow,
Crystal chambers of the first frail flake.
Then, hues that all white swallow.

On, on swirls the necklace.
A countless tyrant beads
Still, countless laced with grace
True, shrines tumble, and daughters weep,
Falls then burn, and summers melt
Thirst and ash into fruit do seep.
This despairing tickle in so deep—
But suns to snow and sweet still on subside
Own thus the jewel, and, hush, be off to sleep.
Oh, in here a faceless sky long stubborn stood;
Years blank, till snow and sun lit up from soot

O naked shivering, grief is good.

Still they lie on the river-bed.
Unforgotten; daughters of the sun
their itching, prickling, stabbing beams
And dusks that ran ran red
But tread on, the circus just begun,
The ripples— mote by mote— by seams

The sands stir and rocks twitch
Dull-eyed creatures still non-living go
Roses bloom, say, roses rise
Once lively dawns to sacked towns switch
Body and body and body we sow
Roses bloom, say, roses rise

Say, still they lie; still sessile
Of tens a blooming heart we plucked
Still some more we knew as our own
Stumble on we desperate while
Lie we still in the river-bed tucked
Oh, those parched pieces that once shone

and these wretched blooms undying

The silence stabs, but not painfully
So; intruding, its sour and soft luminosity.
I felt a thousand things ooze out of me
Dream-dipped drops dripping so drowsily,
And each ticklish sweetness echoing; to sea
I sank— past lids, through lashes, all. With glee
Snaked under I under I furtive; faint and feathery.
To dark I fell, to naught, to white monstrosity
One, stream of plea, two, agony, and three
Well three— I filled, filled with scarcity.
When all the ripples quiet lay, I in melody.

Dissolved in traffic
we forget ourselves
Metal and muscle of bone, of beast
Marrow of bloom
and whip-quick flapping of pigeon wings
When father coughs his crackling logs,
we know he arrives, we hide away our games

why don’t you study, why don’t you study, where have you been

So terrified of the world he,
with his sky-shaking speech.
father, father
what have you seen?

My limbs twitch and eyes flee
He knows not what to say, and we
never learned.
Taut skin aged to crease, and all that clover smoke

and dust from road,
It sits so stout in his placid gaze
I sink, I sink.
Say, father, father, will you not leave?

Dissolved in traffic—
Gyres of grey and their loosened rings
mimicked by the reeling of kites
So long he roamed
Within those slithering maps
almost became,
almost them.

Memorised the city on his very palms.

Father, father, I never could learn
the twist and twists and turns of its trails

The city got lost and I,
And I, oh— I

The whispers fade
of footsteps strange, and closed are hearts
in breathing reliefs
father, father,
What have you learned; father, father
we become ourselves
father,
The birds all settle, the metal melts, the
noises die, the traffic, oh, the traffic
your good old mistress, we forget of it—
father, father,
What have you learned

Not still, no, the rumble still plays
With thunder
And vehicles onwards go
There are so many clouds
And albeit too far their talks
I can almost imagine

No poems or music
Weaved upon lyres
Today, they too
Are polluted with normality
Such treacherous natures
Of this ever-stirring yonder
The surface speaks art,
And in depths aridity crawls

Cruel, so cruel their lightness
How I painted and sang
Of their rich tummies
How I danced in their blood

They chirp now a vacant gossip

I should’ve known
I should’ve lurked away
From their shows
Breathe now I in the rue and in a dim, dim fury
So cruel, so cruel the blue
So cruel and cold
In its silence
I hummed my throats parched
In mine, it vanishes, vanishes to grey

But tread on
The car stops and I slide out
Back in my rehearsed role
My stinging skin melts beneath the mask
The classroom roars

It is awfully quiet today

dancing off to The Beetles’ tongue.
there is gloss on lips and all features rest
for nothing else
of decor could be found
in the sudden haze, the sudden haze
of that mad devour

we have stumbled on the edge of order
and now tumble we—
beneath, beneath, under
these treacherous waters with masquerade licked;
a calm— a calm shimmering
like them Sirens almost.
come, it cooed, and went and went we
to its feather-light lure

and jumped and swayed our arms about,
skipped and laughed then laughed
till stomachs winced

loathed
and we have loved on the lips
on the lips, but slipped
as smeared, pink hues;
oily and glittery in their innocence

there lurks chaos in its smothering, wet mouth
and we moths flutter
closer, still, still...

and for us ripped
the golden lake its skin
and us it held, held till took from us
all

we have lingered precarious and
surrendered crumbled,
and crawled out dying, dead, undying

still to those chapped, glossy
banks we go
and dance and dance and—

But deceptive blood-robed pomegranates
With their piteous decay, and sullen seeds
Packed as kids’ taut skins in sand-tinted crates;
With bloom, with ruin, and sweet as reeds
Them reeds naught know of plain parched mourn
As wails it and yields to their illiterate lips;
As stumbles then snakelike out— thin and worn.
Begotten unwanted, poorly fathomed, forgotten wisps
Of old, odourless leisured hours,
That scrubbed, so gruntled, and scratched the fruit.
Then white silks soft within parched blue days;
And no heirs birthed, sublimed the flowers.
Touch it; the crumple and crêpe is not yet soot
If it could bleed, it could bloom alive, ablaze.

Here is it
Another quiet march of words
I bring no rhymes,
no fragrant tragedies seasoned to fable

The teacher speaks
and walks up and down the narrow aisle
All eyes upon him linger
All but those frozen on text
as if lost within it
Some somewhere nowhere
Some then
left right, left right
dance
One line, one line more

and so far away I lurk
So hollow this echoing of being.
I lay
a shell drained of warmth
In a deep, dim cavern

and it is it

What more could be said without I
ripping and shredding my skin to waste
Still may not stir
those angry animals beneath
Still I may twist and shrink
Naked and full and, oh, so, so lone

But the teacher speaks on
and I feel the weightlessness
of all the faces of which I am one
Pressing down and down

and write and write I might
Skin upon skin of an undying hum
But anyone can do that
Thousand men before me bled
What fiery pearl I, moulded from dust and
their dry, abandoned ash

but lone, but lone is lone
however it may sing
However we may—
In this little, little world
tossed, left right, left right

It is strange and scary
To think so,
Still, I do
If I had not known music
I would’ve still known you
Still would’ve heard
The inarticulate whispers of your gown
Still then,
Gentle lashes silhouetted
Upon a sharp gaze

For the moon does not rise and set
Merely for its night
And the Mayna birds sing
But little to boast
For who dare boast but I
Who speaks and speaks, on, on of you

And they tire and groan
Who is this?
'Bet we could flicker a tad bit prettier
A sea’s sigh gentler than this leaf
That lives and lives, on, on in you'
Try then, I say, just try

Every dawn and dawn, they sing
Every dark and dusty blue
What do you think?
Curiosity tilts their heads
And I smile through my laughs
Still not, still not

And they wilt a little
Quietening down for a new show
Before a new sun’s birth
Before another shadowed sky

It is sweet and smooth
The envious mimicry
Of silver and song

Still not though, still not

No music I wish to wade in
Just the touch and touch of her breaths

I tell you
reckless rebellion sprouts
upon a hopeless soil
where
every scrawny arm
itself grasps,
its own kin smothers.

but they need not know
of the madness we house

still, tired I am
of moping around.
tired as well of doubts
so,
hollow us albeit,
let the sapling grow;
bloom and all and on—
till a stout, angry fuel it makes

then burn we may
and ashen too.
and I know you’re scared
curse this valour— oh,
curse we, yet
fail to topple
this palace of cards.

cards: silenced tremors.

fight, we fight the tyrant air
that holds firm our wings
and will let not go

and I know you’re scared

any clumsy wind may bare for us
our own restraining snakes—
stink of mud, of rot and ash.
but they have not yet.
not yet.

let grow this mad and
burning tree
let grow, let grow
for when you rot, I
willingly, foolishly
mimic

So, that third floor of the building
was forbidden,

and up we climbed three
quiet, mischievous rats,
As thudded and thudded
our frantic chests

Where echoes, as waves,
of every whisper plunged
into the unlit well—
Scurried away all the lizards
at the unbidden thunder
of our steps

There sat
the pretty, pretty sun
awaiting—

Smirking past a dust-licked glass
'So you made it'
yes, yes, yes
and look at our trembling veins,
Gazes alert as spot-lit fawns’

Fear is beautiful

and only now do we know
only now, only—
A thousand hours of conch shells uncurled
Only just—
And we’re never going back

Then, the teacher comes
and roars out a fury
As we stammer and serve her
with our sorry words

but a smile dares slip
and down into the gaping sea
we go—

Then flutter and run we
away from her tides
Thread with thread intertwines
and we weave laughs
out of the lively looms
of our throats

run and run
as up chuckles the buoyant sun

No wrath shall hold and pull us now
Not again to those grim, dim
places shall we go

we have witnessed the luring miracle
of a little fall.

outside, the cosmos swirls on,
in here, the daisies scream
and ask the walls of who they cage
they silenced stand

one prayer was broken,
and one hushed;
one was hazy,
and one too late.
one then, never offered

in the age-slicked thread
of that shapeless rosary
sun on moon falls
with naught a sound
but a sigh.
and moon on sun still

within, a finger, a finger flays—
one nail was chipped
one’s skin too dry
one, imperfect a temptation,
and aching for ache one.
one then,
left alone with a clot

ask the walls
of their unwavering serenity
as hollow, massless bones
they stand

laced with cracks,
with clatter, with
thousands an uncounted
blemished prayer,
and skins as
paints scrapped off—

waiting, waiting;
to smother the daisies
to a quiet marrow

Settle now,
you tyrant prince
So pretty your tantrums—

There is a chaos
oozing out of this weaved stronghold
so quiet,
no kings, no servants hear.
Guards joke on of drinks and thunder
Mothers, with children,
wander, and so do moons and ghostly clouds
But you will not sleep,
what is wrong?
(what did you do?)

What old folks’ lore
awaits our fall
to fill the blank of its words—
What dogs sniffing around,
a thousand suns after,
for the long-smothered stench of our bones?

Then, so lovely a waking—

Dare not you stir, wretched bloom! Dare not
you whimper or flinch
Still now!
As rats we stand
to the great shadow
of our unleashed beast

Surely, some doubts lurk inside its head—
Surely, we are the dead; surely, statues…
Never known a taste of life,
surely, tasteless we!

and pleas and pleas fill up our eyes
As, slowly, the beast moves

Hush now!
do not you flutter, do not sing.
Still, still—
as, oh, the shadow
smaller goes.
Oh, far, and now further

so close we were to an eternal night

(and the flock of birds
to sun sails
as winter crawls behind)

Had you giggled a smallest of tides—
oh, but don't you stir now!
Give me your hands,
your soft-skinned ankles
and neck young—

It is alright.

You’ll grow up to paint
wonders on these ropes and
They will not ***** as much later
No, not snakes! Ropes they are. See! Harmless—
Hush now!
Not a whine, precious child,
not an accidental sob

(the winter comes, I know,
but dare not you shiver.)
Still behind a betraying gust
may hide the unleashed beast, so
be done with this excited foolery.
Hush! Don’t you weep—
No, the beast still lurks; it does,
it does, it does, and dare not you move!

You’ll bring upon us a plummet undying

Stop now! Stop with your flutter, your
trembling gaze,
stop, stop, please—

Sepals to skeletal fingers, to yellowed limbs
sunken
She watched the moon, all hazy
and small.
So rugged its whites
as sheets with times stained
Watched it on she did.
(So dusty the skin) Oh, I had loved you
Tens a monsoon’s rosy day;
had loved you dry, as
the suns danced and danced—

So shallow the gaze and the dark’s quiet tusks
So deep she
into her noisy withins.

The forth storey roof with
its precarious railings
and the pitiful, grey street, a wound below.
Its drains and gutters all sawed open
and naked—
In the sudden, spinning fright
I almost held her;

a palm or a palm
or an arm
I almost held—

I knew you so ample.
Whispers of touch, and ballads
such and such
rolled so effortlessly now
on the tongues of memory
As birth her I
though tens a monsoon’s rosy prayer
Bead on bead falls

in this wretched, unending rosary

(With drought-coated of lips) I had loved you a petal
so chaste and unbloomed
and a sepal you had—

Not a blossom I,
still she held, as the winds
As vultures reeled around our beds
So frail our bodies
so terrified and alive,
As dirt bowed, and leaves bowed and all
to the vultures mad

Two lambs us, yet gods we stood

'til whites of her wilted to gold to rust
to dust, and slipped
through the cracked of my hold,
Through a thousand guarding winds
and tens a
vacant sepal
(As crowns and cages
of blossoms wilted unused, they stood)
So shallow a gaze

and the dark’s quiet tusks—
Wade I,
swim I, in the caverns of me where an echo
breathes, and
drown I, undying.
Such windless a serenity
As damp of monsoon’s mornings
rosy,
I had loved you a vulture mad,
but dare I—

no one loves a wild rose
love they may
the boldness of its stench
or sweet blood
that stirs within
at every touch of its teeth

but a rose is not a petal
or its blush
not the sturdy stalk
dressed in laces
a rose, a rose, a rose it is
and wholly it lives
wholly sings
to winds as nonchalant they go
to beads unblemished
an lips of gold

but its words
no gentleness adorns—
no yielding music
in blossoming gowns
its song, as ocean
smashing against rocks
cold
as all around them
glows a sky
angry and bleak

could I say,
no one loves a wild rose
—no one dare
and an infant may smile
to a sunny girl
blush a maiden, a mother old

but a rose wild,
wild stays;
and such simple its lure
I am left a forest
bowing.
and I like you, I
like you, I like you
whole, whole—

I mistook it for a cry
but it rarely ever is
As a lizard
ugly and still a corpse
under the frail dress
of a tube-light old—

As its eyes
alert and quiet
A sleeping village
where every whisper
every rustle
is tossed around
from dark to dark

and a tail
As the burnt edge of a leaf
Curled up on the wall
once white
—flayed to grey

I mistook it for a cry
Readied a sword
forged by dawns
Carved and beat
a shield
out of nights’ sleepless
eyes

But when ruin descends
it binds the dark’s calloused hands
and every whimper,
every crackle
is smothered
In its rusty, dry throat
(Restless tongue, a guard-dog above)

When ruin descends
it does so a flower.
A stone rolled and rolled
pitifully
down the road—
It does so lovely
and patient;

As a blossom taped
to the cement wall
watching the smoky light
for unfortunate flies
That may appease
its ablaze pyre of a mouth

While I sleep,
I sleep a dusk’s last breath.

Sun-catcher of a child,
Ever crushing light to mirthful specks
—Hue-kissed,
One pebble you jump from
To the next, where around the grave
of your glassy eyed dove they sit.

A candle in hands
yielding to the flushed flesh.

On one, then another, you jump
Muddy soles and tears
dried to a wakeful slumber.
Ships, donned with innocence,
set sail;
papers withered and wet
by the lips of this hazy stream—
My, how many letters did you write?

Sun, hold these eyes and sun,
cry they out,
Pearls and pearls
And pockets filled with melodies
of your long-hollowed dove,
You leave your prints
on the worshipping pebbles—
Deserted this desperation, is it not?
Then, run, I hiss, and—

You— you, naive, moon-loved of
a weakened rose,
Round and round you skid
(A ritual learned from the ballads of a dove)
A flicker in your palms
Try you
birthing yourself a god
Resurrect your dove, you will, you say.
You will, you will, you will!
How foolish this sorrow;
foolish more the hope it feeds.

And, tread away, I hiss.
Oh, tread away!
The haze is rising, as the old sun
shrinks—
That ******* of your chaste love—
Would that I
could mold ruin out of hatred,
would that, (but I am dry an angry cloud).

Tread away—
Oh, I shout a forest gone mad.
No frenzy, you have known, none
can you fathom.

Crystal waters of lakes dawn-licked,
Round and round you whirl
your ****** beloved dove.
(I will, I will, I will!)
Oh, but,
honey of my aridity,
the vultures are here, and— and
it is not your cold, grey dove
they desire.

Then you, so adorned a dream,
Softened to a violent idiocy—
Would that I
could grow cages out of despair,
You would have had enough of these doves
and their skies twinkling with tales

Then you,
honeyed tea, and sweets
with gold shrouded—
A tasteless devour—
The vultures are here,
Precarious sun-catcher!
Vultures! Vultures—
But did you ever really learn…

Yellow in its fury, the fiery of tide
comes hissing down
A dome above us it roughly weaves
A tent, a shroud, then a restless tomb.
Seals, will say nothing,
and fish as unfathomable go,
This, I must say, before the sweet pyre
is lit:

Last dark, I sank in and clawed out
the gentle song of this sea.
Not a creature shall stir with voice,
as we, ghastly, love—

The town’s folks sleep on a heaviness
unknown to the night
Unknown to all, but your luring sway,
as tugged of strings;
the puppets, they lay—
Snoozed off to oblivion at the command of your hums.
Not a grain shall
mimic our melody,

Now with winds all harvested raw.

Yellow and grey, and blue
in its curious interruption, not this darkness,
nor that one, shall speak.

This pearl I say, that one then,
And a glitter-kissed sky we—

These marble walls, so soft their press
and smothering churn
Thirsty—so thirsty; a pink, dusky fire
it aches.
In I, her, through skin and flesh and vessel all;
Through lymph and blood, its quiet march.

Not a gnawing gust, no tossing tides
shall mimic
this black, black show—
This— Chords, with flicker,

with ash and plea,
with fight, with brutality,
So lovely, plucked.
—all is lulled to slumber.
All, with its sea and
yonder opened wide,

Bone to soot to pollen
to dust.
Settled, settled in us.

Red, then purple and green, the burn.
Then skin, then whites to a black, black show.
(Curtains drawn, and strings cut)
Its thirst quenched,

the sea,
leaves I, her
on its ashy bed.

Some people are so fiery a sky
No thunder rules their ground—
no ablazed suns

Some people run to other people;
they take less or more of their lands
—like all they have or
A little more still
to the furious seas where no god lurks.

Some still, are glass
or breaking bits of it
They love a sky, with lightening
ploughed.

Some nights are restless, oozing words
Some,
So vacant a fall—
Some then, somewhere within.

No thunder, no people, linger on this coast.
No gods; none built;
no suns bow—
Still, the noisy silence reels
Slow and sudden its dive,
as we, in talons, wilt
And still we, in skies, slither.

Light and little;
mistaken,
so easily, dead—

In you I left a little kiss
A speck on lip of lip.
Like a leaf may
On a leaf spring-coated
Before it slides off and off
And into the brown below.
Like a star may,
On the window of a house
Cold in houses cold.

I lingered by the shores of you
Dried, a bone,
Memorising the hues of
A sweet, sweet marrow—
In sun it glittered, in moon sang—
In you, in you, you.

This restless room—
And ants devour around
With their fast steps and abdomens angry
And a scene of us
Through deep, hardened dirt, I dig out:
You held a garland, of foliage weaved,
I smiled a kingdom
All alive and gold.

And the young leaf will forget
Of the rusty feather
That stumbled past it,
One young dawn—
And the house
In houses lone,
Will sublime
In the day’s pretty love, but

In the blue, a bottled letter—
Too small a gift
For an illiterate sea, but
Hold it it does still,
In its secretive embrace.

So, when you born
To an arid tree—
And in blood of stars I wade
As down descends
The sky we built,
Do not cut open the insects
In your frenzied search for me—
All the kingdoms
Could I smile
In you I left with their riches and green.

Dried, a bone, I
Remember the hues
Of a sweet, sweet fruit—
In blooms it blooms, in stars
On frosted windows
In you, in me, you.
So, when I sway
In this lovely quiet,

You sway too
In the dawn.
And born you
Then born you
And reborn on a spring—
In you lives a little kiss
And wilt you,
It wilts.

There, she lies on the altar
Almost held the sun she—
almost in her hands
Opened up, a rose-bud chaste
petal by petal by blood, with
a sting, so sweet and sweet, as
sunset reborn a bee; she was
gold and silver and black at once.

Almost held the sun she—
and no wax wings used
Oh, Icarus, love you did a wild sky,
— yourself a light-licked doom  
as your father cried,
Your father cried for you.
A veil as simple sour starlight she wore
as wings of wasps as beetles she giggled

Icarus, flew that you
—and with tongue-tied elation too
Icarus,
she rambled on for hours long.
A letter she held in spring kissed hands
—I will wed you to the sun, her father had sworn.
The sun—and a sun he was,
child of the sea, some sword in honey
dipped; now her awaiting.
And blushed she did herself a dawn

The altar, on the altar.
Almost held the sun she—
Swallowed a mayhem for the father's sin.
Icarus, tell me of the plummet.
Tell me of the greens you saw,
of blues, of whites, of the whirling world—
Men go around around her
their soles all ready
to crush lost skulls an empty moor.

Twirling,
the dust, like may have her hair
before the wedding day
Strands and strands, gently styled—

Spears, swords, rubbed to mirrors,
to lakes lifeless
Armors and ships laden with life, with
sails, the fluttering doves;
As the winds dance once more—
as harbors vacated, as waves torn apart for the horde, as move they on— on too the sun— as
She still lies.

Icarus, Icarus, was it the ocean
that cupped its palms, or did the soil cave in
as down into dark's slick throat you slid?
Surely, was soft, the sea's well-loved mouth,
Surely soft or true

She lies on the altar
a trinket glossy on a hoof, a ****** in the bell,
how does one say—
the valley of lilies, she grew it inside.
Spilled out on the stones, they are fed
to the flies.
Almost held the sun she—
Icarus, must you know

You did not sleep a wretched silence
within the womb of war.
No crescent blades you drank down a leaking throat—
She lies on the altar, vanquished for moon
— for metal upon bone
for blood, for blood, for blood.

A father’s green promise—
Seasoned to rust before the king
Icarus, on the altar she lies—
a ripened land far, far away lures her king
to another rosy worship.
Icarus, Icarus,
on the altar

Needles struck in my weakened moon
And out of their gaping pores
Bloom strands of light
All sleek and soft in their intricate might

The world, you tell me
Is a lion flayed alive
And all the stars and suns
And bits and pieces such
The animals it loved

And I on these—
No
Dare I say I too itch with lone
No ‘I’s here
We, on these still clouds
Smothering thick
Walk
Our hands ****** into fleshy planets,
Eyes, drowsy beneath their gentle dusks

And all the screams
That we may have lived
Are drowned before they reach us
In the viscous air
Just, just beneath our feet

The land that birthed us
Worships a flame
That will ****
All that it has ever ruled
And the lion is bared
Its gold discarded to mud
Its pleas withered

Upon a stake it rests
Sun-warmed flesh made love to
By honey and precious vines
Kissed by ants
Crows—
No vultures, not them
They eat the dead only

And life bleeds out of our moon
—our moon
As nights lick it off

This is how I remember you:
A whimper beneath
—just a small ****
That grew where it shouldn’t have
Dried off in a minute
And a whimper above
Just a note, young as a twinkling star
At the edge of an eye

And this is how I remember you:
A face beyond the clouds,
Oblivious in its agony
And a glimpse of silver above
Fading away quietly
A moment
Before it is gone

Drunken, we walk
Lips curved, content
Skins as calm lakes untouched

We have lingered here
For hours or more
Many sunsets we have swum through
No moons, no kings
Begging our hearts for immortality

Slowly, the glimpses go away

Clouds get fatter
And golds and silvers
Collect dust
Somewhere—

I do not know what becomes of us
Only that clouds
Crowd around
Swooning for the petal-soft
Breaths of our light chests

Loving us slow, slow,
Slow
And we forget
Everything but.

Needles struck in my undying moon…

What is this new-found lust for madness
Marching hand in hand with my blood?
Does Moon know it is shrouded
In the sky’s black love
When it is?
Last night, I tossed a rope up towards Jupiter
Tossed and tossed
Till the hook, like a talon,
Took hold of the peachy pearl
I climbed then
Clumsily up the sky—
Up and up I went
And watched the dusty city,
Its flickering lights, and glorious glamour
All beneath me
Oblivious in its slumber

I ruled it all
The yonder, the earth, and beyond

Then the gusts came and kissed me a storm
Have you forgotten your place
Little human?
And the rope wavered
Harshly so, as a dead man tied to a bough
I feared that Jupiter
Would flutter out of my grip
And send me plummeting
To the pitiless land
Where I am from—

But climbed on I did
Through all the havoc
Such was my desperation to soar
And the moon tusked
When I dared try kissing its light
A laugh so pure
I forgot the numb of my hands
Keeping me there
Where only the clouds are known to roam
Forgot the small, small
World below
And slipped I then
Out of the short-lived ecstasy

I was a child lost in a lake
My limbs moved and moved, immobile
Down and down did I fly
As winds above me rushed
Darkness was the blood of a lamb
Unwashed
And clotted
I whirled around myself
Till I did no more

What is this new-found lust for madness
Marching hand in hand with my blood?
I fear I will drag myself to my altar
And spill whole all
That is known of me
Till I am one in the silent night
Kissing my sick Moon to sleep—
Swaying to the faint sounds
Of the orchestra of winds
A dead dove tied to Jupiter
Far, far in the black
What is this new-found lust for madness
Marching hand in hand with my blood
Begging for war—

If only I knew how to mold bricks out of lone
I’d build you a house
And paint it with flowers
That mimic the colourless
hues of your gaze

Leaves, I’d tie to stooping fingers
Of our barren talks
Fruits with moonlight in their stout tummies
your chapped lips
They envy the sweetness of
Do you know?
(Too bold a flattery, you say—
Dare me then; dare you)
Gentle I’d go
Show them the tree
And they’d make their nests
In its laden boughs

A crown on your head
Weaved out of patience
I’d softly place
If only I knew a way past this barricade
That together we built
A thousand years ago
I’d be a flock of wild geese
Guiding you out

Oh, my fluttering wings
Calmed in the sky’s blue embrace
I’d soar around in winters cruel
I’d watch and watch
The edges of our land

A bed I’d carve
Out of roses and dawns
Hang up my rivers
By the glass windows shivering in our storm
Oh, there is a kingdom
I would like to save
A bunch of bluebirds, and a quiet queen
The slender moon far, far away

If only I knew
A melody strong enough
To cure this aching rebellion
Oh, if I did! If I—
I watched, and watched the shores
Of our land
No ships came with their armours ready
Your own bluebirds,
They fight now the flowers
They ravage the fruits

If only I had a drop of divinity
Sulking somewhere inside me
I’d banish their light souls
Out of their bodies
But bluebirds,
Are pretty
And so is the mayhem
And so is silence,
And you aridity

Lurk at a distance,
I know not
What to build out of this lone

Frozen lakes, a little more do freeze
Frenzied lovers love once again
A bewitched battle we dare relive
A spear we’ll take, a spear let go

Such are the deathless hours killed
A thousand ashen folks forced to live
In ballads eternal, etched in stone—
No mourning, no worry
Shall dig us a way out of this dusk
No morning, no chipping sparrow
Betrothed to spring
No sleep awakens our drunken peace
No ghosts unfading in need of slumber

Withered we weep, withered still our waltz
Withered we love, withered still still

How beautiful is our desolation
How recklessly brave

Oh, what star kissed poems rush
Though the blood that gushes
Out of ravaged bones—
How lovely do we ache, how lovely go on
So profound is this torture and its pleasing touches
The breaths leave us for the blue above
And we, shivering, lie

But so, so beautiful we slay
So brutal stay—

Frozen lakes, a little more do freeze
The beaten bards out again on the streets
To preserve in blooms
A thousand wretched tales

Oh, how valour never became a being so well

I never learn, I never learn
Keep mourning your ashes in the golden urn
You were the dawning sun opened wide
A purity I slaughtered for the god inside

I never fade, vague as fog, I never fade
Into the scarlet waters, I wade
Dusk weeps and deserted I wait
Wait, I wait, O timeless Patroclus, I wait

A thousand ships, all united, set sail
To free their heavenly queen and her veil
A thousand ships I could’ve let burn
Into the wretched battle had you not run

Rambles, rambles on this silent sea
Your extinguished heart will hear not a plea
You took all the humans in me along
This bleak divinity, worth not a single song

Never not do I hope, never not
I hope, I hope, in this despaired hope I rot
You lurk a painful past in my unseeing gaze
As rows upon rows of men I raze

In the halls of living, I search for your name
Your love-licked body I surrendered to my flame
I hear your starlit lips yell at me to stay
Achilles, Achilles, live, you ****** sun, they say

All my charismatic promises I forget
This wish, sweet moon, you shall not get
I tear then my heart in search of you
A river red as doom, and a stillness blue

I am here, Patroclus, now spare me this lone
My frenzied ghost screams soundless on
Our ashes kiss and kiss in the golden urn
I never learn, alas, I never learn

I stole a sheet from the test papers
For my hands are filled
Already with ink
from exhausted pens
Well, that is all I planned to say
But I must keep on this ramble
Only these words feel real
Only they keep me warm

Sun dies gently behind the clouds
And gossips scatter around
Girls in blacks
And yellows and reds
Scarves dyed in greens, browns
And blues
Intricate galaxies stitched
On their swaying tunics

I do not dissolve here
In these beautiful tides
and their slow dance
Not with a carnage stuck in my chest
Not with the bleached dawns
Rising and rising restless
And we’re all fighting, yes, we all are
Why then
Is this field so lonely?
Not a mourning, not a deafening blast
Is heard

A barricade of silence
I wrap around us
Us, I,
The boy
who constantly yells for freedom
And the girl
Who will let him not

Then again, us
I, the two children inside
One weaves a step out of his fingers
Other hops on
Peeps out of my eyes—
“Do they want me yet?”
“No”
“You, then?”
“No”
What then is wanted,
They wonder
But do not say—

It is an ungrateful inquiry
All luxuries they have known in this house
Crowns and swords, dresses, blooms
None kept from either
Why must
Then they want out?

Then the guys pass by
The scarce colours
that fill up their clothes
And hoarse laughs erupting
Their uncovered heads
And princely gaits

I belong there,
No more than here.
Not in flowers, not in bees
Do I blend
Not in capes, nor veils

No weapon I wish to hold,
Not an anklet studded with gold

In the grass, I cross my legs
Far from beetles
Far from wasps—
I watch red ants crawl up my shoes
Crush them, I do,
Casually beneath my fingers
One, then, three and more
Until dusk is silenced
by the night

Not a beetle approaches
Near
I wear the shimmering skin of a wasp
Not a wasp calls
I am skin only

Later,
The black sky comes
And takes us far.
The girl climbs up my spine
And pulls the boy along
They zip me open
And crawl out
Sit next to me, and they sing a song

I am the castle
Who could not help them live
I am the rusty duel
They were born to fight
Yet love me still, they do

And the crescent—
It is a woman nor a man
A crescent it is,
a crescent, stays

And when darkness comes
And eats the world
We join our hands
And build a softer one
But what good—

It is too dark to write now.
The lights flicker like stars
with smoke sickened
They pound in my head, pound and pound.
I hope the ramble
Was worth the theft

Flowers fight flowers
To aridity
In my chest
Such is a penance
Must paid
For your distant benevolence

A liveliness so ecstatic
It slays and slays
All bits
Of melancholy peace
I’ve known
Lust you,

I lust you to war
Lust you, I lust you on
Nothing purer dare I claim
Lest the Sirens
Whirling
Within your gaze
Question the chastity
I have so well known

There is a desolation
Beneath this devouring tide
And you do not get me
You do not understand
I have always
Loved bleakness
Have always loved
A piece or two
Of you

And here
Bees fight bees
And the carnage
Weaves you a golden dirge
Soft as satin and softer still
Will you not hear—
Will you not?

I sink and sink
with the fair maidens
Who lured me to stillness
And not a note
Not a tune stirs its gentle wings

Your mute Muses
They know not a taste
Of hues
And I lure myself
Into you
Still

How awfully beautiful
Is our dance
How bleak—

Treading on through the hazy crowd
This circus dims with every dawn
Every dawn, I say, every dawn
Not the funeral, nor the mother knows
But dusk is a pitiful thing
Wrecked and lone, a pitiful devour
Overruled by its own shade

The crumbled clouds
Plummet upon us
And our skeleton hands
Sculpt gods out of mud

One for lightening,
One for the calm
One unborn and one undying
For you one, for me
We worship them then
Light up a fire that runs down our veins
And we bow

It is a beautiful blasphemy
A painful ecstasy
As the goddess within
shrivels to stone
And dust becomes the funeral
The mother
Dawns kissed and kissed
By dusk’s benevolent shade

The jester lies still with his king
And swords are headstones
Ripping skulls apart
Only uttered eulogies bathed in red
Dusk is a pitiful thing
As flames gush out of our skins
And ground can hold no more

Gods, gods still
One for war
And one for birth
One loving, one deaf
For you one, for us

Mortals, we trod through our immortal realm
Deathless we’re buried in her stoney arms

Dusk is a pitiful thing
Gods mourn our funeral
We, mothers no more
The circus dims
Dims to life with every dawn
Every dawn, I say, every dawn

You must love me
Oh, no, but you must, you must!
I am the muse they request to sing
in your old, beloved books
I am the twinkling butterfly
Over a thousand darkened blooms
Life twirls around on my palm
Deathlessness sleeps
Love me, love me
Mustn’t you now?
I have whirled and withered
Since the morn
Of this endless mourn
I have heard all smothered wails

Must you sway
In your precarious little trance,
must you?
You sure do know
A thing or two of heaven
But a thing or two merely
Must you love me, oh must!
I could tell you a dozen more

Death surrenders his cloak
For my dresses
Must you see—
I am a snowy woman kissing
Her mulberry love
I lurk on the vivid edges
Of an infant’s dream

You must hear me,
You must now, you must!
I have pushed my way through
The froth
That settles on the surface of the stirring sky
And I fight on,
Hum, oh I hum
One upon another lullaby
Luring the day to sleep
Must you love me!
Must you not?

Bruised and scarred
I have a hundred tales of beauty
Unheard
Must you ask,
Oh, must you ask only!
You sure do know some secrets
Of godhood, but
Must you ask me about yourself
Ask, ask, mustn’t you ask!

Love me!
O you peace-less, fluttering moths
The sun smirks an immortality away
Must you love me
For a single night, must you!
I wait, I wait
I count your molten bodies
That dreamed of kissing
The mighty sun
Counting, recounting

I wait, I wait
Then curl away in my lone vacancy
I wait
Then bloom again
Uncountable deaths I have died
Reborn only for you
Must you,
Oh, must you love me
Mustn’t you?

I shine a full goddess tonight
See me, ask and ask
I have so much of living
To spare
Oh must you love me
Love me—

Here I lurk
Clutching my shadow
In my fists
It shivers, shrivels, sighs
A flame shushed to silence
On its ashen throne
Here I grasp
Grasp the oozing, burning night
That drips down my fingers
A palm beneath a palm I place
A palm beneath another
It the creamy tiles kisses
And will come to me no more

A rumble wobbles
around the room
Of laughs and talks
And talks
However do I mingle
In these faceless folks?
However do I fathom
All these massless worlds
Orbiting around ecstatic tongues
That birth them
Birth them on and on
Birth them meaningless, and birth them blind

I think,
Maybe when the flood dies out
I think,
Maybe then I will see
Pick up the shells this land could not drink
And read the tales preserved
In their wounds
Maybe the drunken ghosts
Serving all these brightly dressed drinks
Will approach me too—

Not yet though
Not yet

I pull little hymns out of my throat
Roll them around in my mouth
It is there they sway,
There they wilt

A gaze chained to my eyes
Wanders about
Like an injured fly
On one face it rests
On one chuckle stumbles,
A crack skipping down the wall
A high-pitched laugh blooming
In the corner
There is a bleakness, believe me
In this world

A bleakness so pitiless and rotten
Its stench covers all that is born
All that is not
All—
There is a bleakness
And I often mistake it for my own
But I do not now
It is there in every eye
In every corpse hanging between the ribs
It grows up like a sturdy ****
On arms and legs and
Bones
Up and down the aisle it flows
In this classroom twinkling
with childish mirth

Up and down
It pats heads and laughing cheeks
It is there
It is there
And will not still
Will not stir either

I think,
I must warn them
These energetic faces trying
to resurrect joy
From the flesh of stories all skinned alive
Warn them
I must, I must
But the words pile up
And floods pile up
One upon the other thousands
And I lose myself somewhere

The chatter blends in with the chortle
And I cannot tell
The shadows imagined
From cloaked figures swaying around
I would warn them, believe me
Warn them I would
If only
If only I could grasp hold
Of this darkness
That mimics me everywhere I go
Ghost of a black lamb
I once sacrificed for
A purity I loved to violence

And longing never became
A shackle so well

I think,
maybe when the flood dies down
I will breathe,
I will breathe maybe
Here we lurk
A slave upon a slave rests
A slave beneath still
Two ghosts I birthed,
Two lambs opened up,
One will not love me
And one will not not—

Not a seat is left here
For your gentle grief
The ritual started a breath ago
And has not tired since
Not a glass is empty,
Not a plate unused

Now meet him in the quiet shadows
Of the garden humming
Itself to sleep
Now dance on with the beetles
You two,
For the hall in here is full

Not a gossip chirps the name
Of your long loyal lover
Not a searching glance
Birthed for him

Here, the ladies sparkle around
And spices giggle on tongues
Here, kings now stumble on their crowns
And goddesses
Painted on windows
Smile the lambs once killed for chastity
In their altars

Did I not warn you, beloved?
Did I not open the moon up
Vessel by vessel
And weave a castle out it all
Did I not surrender?
Spared a throne for him, I did
and a thousand ones for you
in my bleak little hall

I watch you sneak out into the night
Pearls kissing your cheeks,
And teasing your lips
Slipping down that slender neck
Shining a dawn
in the fading lights
Oh, how I envy
the silliest of things!

Precarious dresses
And grasses smothered
Beneath flushed soles

Oh, how I wait and wait
In the hall I slaughtered to silence
For your peace
The stars I invited, drunk on boredom
And sunlit teas
Warm no more
Oh, how I wait, I wait
My breaths away!

Not a dove dares mimic the grace
Of your beautiful grief
Not a moth dares look

You swirl about his finger
And the world does
About you

I sewed myself a dress
Made it prettier than spring
Oh, the laces hiss like golden snakes
And winter sits, a heavy shroud
Did you not prefer frozen lakes over
Golden flowers?
Why then, why then—

And as the dreamy plants
Whisper soft verses to your dress
You sigh happiness in his
Melancholy embrace
Oh, I know,
Not a shadow is left here
For me to blend in

How I wish I were him
your sweet, gentle grief
Oh, how I wish
I were a nameless goddess
Buried in the glass window of a rotten hall
Swaying to the sounds
Of your laughs

Sometimes, sometimes
I will sit in my own room like a stranger
I will gracefully drag the chair out its den
And run my fingers through the white fur
That is white no longer
It lies there inviting
But I prop myself on the table instead
Head just touching the shelves above
Books kissed by dry dust
College notes never noticed
An empty fruitcake box
A candy wrapper
I run my gazes up and down the walls
Up and down
Up and down

A disheveled slave girl bare—
Still for me
Someone has covered her wounds
With poems ripped out of forgotten books
Her tears slide down like curious cracks
Beneath the silver veil
A bottle of Kerosine oil sits patiently near the pallet,
Rows of paint tubes
Children’s beds in a quiet, orphanage hall

Unfinished canvases awaiting a god
Brushes scattered around
Scattered like arms and legs
and skulls
In a tired battlefield

Sometimes I reread the stories
Scribbled on the doors
Quotes as bullet shells
abandoned
and hollow

Like a stranger
I admire the designs on the wall picture
Leaves of all the races
And the blueness beneath
Like a stranger
This silent, beautiful girl I see
For as a lover I have long ceased
A shy dove scared
Quietly humming a tune
I have never known

I look for the person who smiles in the pictures
The girl who’s known to talk to the walls
But the bed is empty
And folks in the photos
Will not meet my eyes
The verses swirl around in the air
And fumes of the oil
Rise up
Slow as the arrival of blooms
Slow as a withering moon
Till they are everywhere
A horde of soldiers
Marching down my throat

There is no one here
Somebody once taped the roses to the window
And painted suns on pieces of stray T-shirts
hung them up as tapestries
But they are not here now
The walls reek of aridity
A slave girl who will not smile

They like to preach to us to
Always be ourselves
But who are we—
Some fancy clothes wrinkled on the floor
As if passed out after a jolly evening
A fidget spinner
Spinning spinning spinning
In my hands
The fan groaning—
A symphony struggling to scream
And fumes rise up

I jump off the table
And slide the window open
The city, a worried lover, rushes in
It kisses the room
Its beautified bruises
Washes her with light
Air jolts the calendar awake
“Are you here?”
“Are you here?” It seems to ask
Are you here, are you here, are you—
And the walls nod their tired nods
A practiced, perfected ritual

Sometimes, some nights
I will tread through my own writings
Trail touches down
My own drawings, looking
For myself
Looking, looking,
And forever on search

Sometimes, sometimes I will realise
that no matter how many plants I hang
And words
I nail to these walls
To make them mine
I will always be a stranger to this room
Searching the stalls for another anklet
that will smile a star
in her next alluring dance—
A slave girl
And her golden crown.
Dah

The dust storm
Whipped the world red
Trees all freaked out, I and my brother
We climbed up the solar panels
On the roof
And laughed
In the face of the sky

The city swirled
With the drunken stars
And lights bled
In our flooded eyes
Laughing does that to you
We did not weep
For the sky did
And darkness
Was a horde of wasps let loose
It devoured our sweet,
Ripened day

I grabbed his wrist
And spun him around
Our feet kissing
The grumpy, old ground
We blended
Like ink in milk
Stirred round and round
And round ran the heavens

We laughed
Laughed our stomachs
To painful exhaustion
And the gusts hissed on
Rain sneaked down our clothes
Ran soft touches
All over

Do you ever settle down
On the edge of the world
And watch the beautiful
Oblivion chase itself?
Do you ever laugh
Even a dog moves on from its tail
After a while
Or whisper
“Will you not stop? Will you not stop
For I am here
I have climbed a thousand peaks
And slaughtered many a ravenous
Creatures
In the valleys of time
to get to you
Will you not stop?”

A gust of hues.

It says something
And you grasp it, you
Grasp it almost
Almost
But what is it
If not an oblivion?
Unfathomable

And a voice comes
From around, inside or
Maybe somewhere in between
Maybe
Maybe nowhere at all
It ruffles your hair
And pats your cheek
Have you forgotten your place
Little human?

Winds then shushed
The clouds away
From their beloved sun
And gold gleamed
Up, below, and in between
Every pearl that plummeted,
Blushing
I watched the sunset
Peep out the night
And I wondered
If rain was overrated

Have you forgotten you place
little human?

Because when the euphoria dies down
And cold begins to bite
You watch the raindrops
Beat the world to silence
And day breathes its
Last laughs

You wonder
“What now?” What now?
You wrap an arm around an arm
And shiver
What now?
Even a dog gets tired
Of whirling

What now?

Nothing,
The hues whisper
Now sit on the edge of oblivion
And we will do our magic

And maybe the world
Still chases its tail around
But you forget
For a breath or two.

You know, this woman
Never fails
To astound me

She is mixing the ladies’ fingers
Chopped and fried
With sautéed, spiced onions
And I watch
As she dips the pan
Toward herself
And all the oil runs over
Like a lost child
At the sight of his sister
In a crowd

With the other hand
She pushes those vegetables
Into the awaiting ***
Places the pan aside
And grabs hold of the ***
Twisting her wrists
Working up the magic

She flips the greens
Over the crescent onions
Mingling them up
And in front of my eyes
She has cooked up a dish

Then she spins the wheat dough
In between her fingers
Nimble as a dove’s beak
Tossing it from palm to palm and
All of a sudden
It is a flattened sun

She turns it around on the griddle
Before exposing it to the flames
It rises, rises, then falls
A breathing thing
And
Goodness be ******
She doesn’t even burn it
Not a single mark
She cooked the sun over blue fires
Turned it into a moon

I wonder how she does it
My mother
Master an art she doesn’t even like
While I—
I fiddle around
With my pens and brushes
The smug blankness

Of neglected canvases
And unfilled pages
Mocking me of a fairy-light child
I could not become—

I think I let this blueness overflow a bit
Mother’s being tender again
She talks to me like a bee does
To a sleepy sunflower
And does not mention the missed classes
Does not remind me of the exams
She says to me
‘Ayesha,’ she says,
‘Ayesha, you brood too much.’
And I know mother.
And she jokes that she might have to
Burn this notebook I keep scribbling in
Because it does not make me happy

She says to me,
‘I know you’re brooding when you write
And all that writing makes you grey.’
She says she’ll have to throw it out
In the street
But I know she never will
She’s too tender
Too tender, my mother.
I think, ‘Will I have to myself then?’
And I think, ‘How many will I throw?’
And I think, and I think till the sun
goes down

But I brood when fairies are on their way
To the stars
And mother,
Why are dead things always the scariest?
Sorry, I know I’m supposed to be
Focusing on these Orbital radii
But I can’t stop, mother
The atomic structures
Keep mingling with dragons
And their pretty eyes

Mother’s being soft again
I am a little child stumbling up the hill
And she never asks me to help in the kitchen
But when I wander around
Light as a wind
She lets me chop the vegetables
I do
There goes an onion, so quiet
Chop, chop, chop
Mother, do you think if trees bled
We would still butcher them to pieces?

Chop, chop, chop
Mother, who carved this goddess out of my name?
It feels heavy now, wings mighty and huge
I can barely stand this mortality
Chop, chop, chop
Mother, does it not pain you
Seeing all the coriander dry in the pots?
The dirt that birthed it from a quiet seed could not keep it alive.
How are you so strong?

Mother, mother
It reminds me of my Morning Glories
Last year
They bloomed so happily every morning
And they’d wilt by the evening
And the next day
The slender plant would make more blooms
They kept dying, mother
All of them
On and on and

There was nothing I could do
Nothing the stems could do
I watered and watered and watered, they kept dying
Born to wither
And in the winter, when the sun wasn’t as cruel
Cold did the job
And all the leaves fell down
empty plastic wrappers, they were
And I pulled the hollow vine off the railings
We burned it that night, I and Faizan
The fire ate away what was left, and
Ate herself when nothing was

chop goes the last lamb
I sacrifice a lot to my wolves
The sparrows outside ask me why I do not talk
I do, mother, don’t I?
I talk a lot, a lot, a lot, my skin gets tired of hearing
The silence hops around the kitchen,
a mad cat

Mother wipes the heat off her forehead
The stove whispers on
‘You’re brooding again, Ayesha.’
‘Whatever, I told you it was not just the poems.’
Everything’s a poem to you, Ayesha
No mother, I’m just tired—