I'm not an artist but I've opened up galleries with your name painted all over the walls

they're a souvenir encoded in brush strokes of downward spirals and rose tinted tunnel vision

the lights are blaring and my sight is blurred by tears and the street lamp flickers, almost sympathetically

a street lamp can understand, so why can't you?

I still smell her hair
coconut, it smelled like coconut
and her little earrings tinkled
when she laughed too hard
and she sang
like it was the last song she'd ever sing
and she ran
like she would leave the world behind
but now I'm alone
with only her memories
to provide me company

they said we couldn't be one
because she joined her palms while praying
and I didn't
because she sang praises of Krishna and Shiva
and I didn't
because I was to read the Quran
and she didn't
because her god and my god
were just not the same.

I wonder if all these gods,
and all these messengers
had an agreement
that one god's people
were not supposed to mingle
with the other's
and one who defied this law
would have only one fate.

if it is so,
then I shun all gods
because I'd rather be defined
by who I am
than by who I bow down to.

-a.g.

She folded me up like origami, turning something used into something beautiful
And smoothing out the creases of my geometric heart she kissed goodbye the girl she called art.

"We still find ourselves in the Dark Ages,
we simply invented artificial illumination."

Conscience
Is always honest;
It is we who corrupt it and suppress its voice!