The bus
won't wait
for you,
if you are
running late.

Too late.
The bus is now
too far.
The bus
didn't wait
for you.
Who
do you think
you are?

​गूंजता है धड़कनों में
आज भी तेरा ही नाम
जैसे खूबसूरत सा नगमा कोई |
वो दिल जिसे फूलों की तरह
सजाया था कभी
टूट कर बिखर गया क्यों ?
​ख़ता क्या हुई मुझसे
जो दिल तोड़ कर चल दिए
एक बार भी मुड़कर
क्यों न देखा कभी ?

Wield your words like running streams,
To conjure truth from fractured dreams.
Let language bend, let silence speak,
With power tender, fierce, and sleek.

Trace the edges of what's unsaid,
Where longing lingers, soft or red.
Let vowels tremble, consonants bite,
Unmasking shame in morning light.

Speak in spirals, chant in flame,
Name the ache that has no name.
Your verses ripple, raw and wide,
A tide of pride we will not hide.

So wield your words, your sacred art,
To mend the cracks in every heart.
Let rhythm rise, let meaning swell,
And cast your spell where silence fell.

The world is already
much too loud :
tone down
please don't shout!

It feels so strange—
as if I’m out at sea.

No land in sight,
only blue waves
rolling back and forth.

Sometimes
they bring me calm.
Other times
they bring despair.

eyes on the pavement,
the tiny architectects
of sky bound prayers.

the children draw dreams
with chalk-stained hands
on the cracked concrete,
flowers, and sky bound birds,
and home and stars and rainbows.

a shimmer of light on stone.

will the chalk bleed before the bloom?