freedom

Again

So I decided to come here

and face the music that

once loved me. And somewhere

tonight, as the fireworks burst

and the stars came up, I saw your

eyes and looked into them again

and as the music played,

you were mine and I became

yours, all over again. (more…)

Ride

Death is a white man with alabaster skin,
pretty blonde hair,
un-calloused hands
and eyes grey as a monsoon sky.

I met him just last week
In a dream where old friends became strangers
and god was nowhere to be found.

Death was a man
and there was no fire, no streets paved in gold,
nothing waiting for me-
just a polite gentleman with a black Cadillac
ready to take me on my last ride.

He opened the door to the back and led me in,
whispering secrets I could not comprehend and
answering the questions that were running amuck in my mind.
Then he closed my coffin shut and all I knew was darkness.
There I lay,
as I felt the car move at blinding speeds on a curved road
much like the ones back home.

I wondered why my last ride was so miserable,
But then I heard him say it was for the best.
It was better for me to feel and not see
The life I passed by.
So that when we reached,
my heart would be free
to turn to dust and
return to nothingness.
For suddenly I remembered all the people I loved
And all ones I hated
And in that moment, I did not care anymore.
I became free.
Free to approach annihilation.
Free to die.

You see,
Love is strange. But, death is stranger. (more…)

Politically Correct

If I was not careful with my words,
diplomatic, biting my tongue and lip –
I’d say, Godse’s spirit runs free today
like an untamed horse galloping
on no man’s land.

But then I won’t say it, for fear
of being branded with the anti-nationals,
grouped with the seditious.

Screw it all.
I just want to teach peace
and quit the violence the way
the whites quit India.

Political associations are the bane of my destiny. (more…)

Boys and Girls

Narratives are often exaggerated
for fear of unaroused laughter and silent
mockers. There are those that wear diamonds
in their ears and walk around with side swept hair
and burnt broccoli in the pockets of their white collared shirts.
They do not care for comical stories of unrealized
imaginations and dreams of blemished rejects,
dark skinned and unlike their distant loves.

The world may talk of new beauty beyond sizes
and colors. I know white creams and botox
still make the most money.

Photo credit: kissabug via Foter.com / CC BY-NC-ND

Why do you sing of them?

Because he loved me the least and he hurt me the most.
Because somewhere I got tired of still waters.
I fell for tsunami waves, crashing on my shore
destroying every little piece of me. I hated him in the beginning.
I hated him in the end, but somewhere in between
I fell in love with the idea that the roar in his waters was meant for me.
He screamed and cried, and I cried too. And somewhere there
I began to see the words and melody that formed on my lips. It was
magic. But the painful kind. (more…)

Today

It’s funny that I didn’t even get to school today,
despite it being that day where I’d usually be up in arms
with yellow roses and chocolate éclairs. But not today.

Today, I slept in because I don’t really care to go
meet a repulsive personality who’ll tell me, I’m not worth it.

Last time,
I was a slut because I didn’t tie my hair.
I wonder what I’d be today. (more…)

Mirror

Behind dilapidated buildings
of a cold heart,
half constructed skyscrapers
of untold futures,

torrential storms of summers past
and unforgotten,
bouquets of dying yellow roses
now lay brown, untouched.

There are trellised streams of salty waters
formed on what once was a handsome face.

There, the soul of my deceitful self lay.

On a valley on top of a mountain,
In the worlds I created in that
honeycomb of a mind.

Messy networks of beautiful lies,
forgotten and now buried
in jars of black clay made of a magic
dark as the pupil of my eye.

Purple blood run through my veins,
the remnant of undisclosed secrets,
of undiscovered lives.

There are cracks on my lips that
even expensive lipstick does not cover.

Signs of the created past I told
with the smoke I breathe
out of the same mouth that tastes
only bitter blackberries.

Graffiti on the walls
of the last chamber of this soul.

I will one day return
to the beauty of unspoilt innocence
and unadulterated truth.

I am well

I have been losing again.
Each day, an uphill struggle
with double-edged swords
that come in the form of
literary chromosomes.

I’m stuck wondering and
prying, forgetting what I am
for the pleasure of being
somewhat happy in an
unknown habitat. A zone
of no comfort.

They say that I am a libra
and so I must know how
to weigh my priorities right.
They’re wrong. They always
have been. Stars can never
help me win this battle. (more…)

This is not love

Your eyes say things your heart does not know and in your mouth, I see a smile so beautifully crooked that it is now lost as I whisper truth in your ears. There is a life you do not know and I am a song your strings and cymbals can never play.

Your green jacket and yellow monogram, your glasses and mustache, your cash and cards – even your strings and cymbals – say you love me. And I should hold on to you, they say. I should love you back.

But I know the dreams you have been having. I know your fears. I know your truth. (more…)