Frustigue

You and I should have our own words, don’t you think?

Our own words,

Different words,

To say what we feel

For those random, incongruous bursts

Of whatever it is that makes us hammer into the cracks

Of each other’s vulnerabilities. . .

I think I will call mine frustigue - this feeling -

The sound
Of pounding rubatosis,
As that little nerve on the corner of my right temple begins to throb,

As I feel the rush of blood crawl up my cheeks

To mirror the changing colors on your face,

And I can almost hear the clamoring emotions trapped inside of me -

When you ask

And I answer,

You ask

And I answer,

You ask

And I answer the same fucking question!

You can’t change the way I feel, you know,

By changing the words you use to ask.

And then you say ‘Don’t shout’?

You alone understand my fears

As I know yours;

It’s like fighting a battle we both lost. . .

So you just seal it with your middle finger

And a loudly mouthed ‘fuck you!’

Untitled

'talk to random people on the internet'

I typed -

It was my loneliness. . .

I have had better days

And worse

But that doesn't mean

That I still couldn't taste the heartbreak

On my tongue

I know I tried

Again

And again

And again

And again

Until I could feel

The cracks on my soul

Until I wanted to fall apart

But couldn't

Until your name on my lips

Became a soft whisper

That didn't quite reach my heart.

My Love . . .

My love

It’s like the dank tea bag in my empty cup –

Used, drained and discarded

My love

It’s like the inbox of my e-mail account –

Cluttered, with epitaphs of my past

And yours

My love

It’s like your threadbare, chequered socks

With little holes around the toes -

How you loved to dance in them!

My love

Is in the fading lilies

Pressed between the pages of Neruda -

Some words of loss

Some words of hope.

   

My love

It’s like the alley by your place –

No matter where I go

It leads me back to you.

Exsanguination

Stay,

Just a little longer

Until the candle burns out

Until my heartbeats slow

To a whisper 

Sit on the couch by my window

Let me watch you watch me

Until all else blurs but you

Until the scent of your skin takes over

As last week's lilies fade

Stay until I see the love

Shatter in your eyes

And flow away with my tears

No, watch me

Don't look away

Don't go yet

Not until the blood dries on the sheets

Don't go

Not until my body grows cold

Like the frozen bullet on my side.

You held me

When I breathed first

So hold me, Maa

As I breathe my last.

(Composed 06 September 2015)

When I wrote this piece, the Sheena Bora case was on my mind. This piece, although influenced by the case, is not a representation of it. 
I do believe that exsanguination does not have to be physical. It can also be an emotional draining (bleeding) of the spirit; over time, it takes its toll. 

Us

Let me take from you until you have no more to give

Let me give to you until I’m barren

So that when we’re done

There is no you

There is no me

But just us. . .

So that when you breathe me in

I know the scent of my skin,

And when I touch you

You understand the fascination I hold

For the ups and downs and planes of you;

So that when I speak

It’s your words I hear

And when you see

You see through my eyes

How I see you.

Let our heartbeats mingle, mash,

So that when your heart beats

Mine echoes,

And when you smile,

It flows into my lips.

When I close my eyes

Let me dream your dreams,

When you shiver

Through a nightmare

Let me calm you;

Let me meet your demons,

Let me bury them

As you slay mine. . .

Let me be your anchor

As you are my ground;

Hold me firm

And I’ll steady you

So that through life's hurricane

You stay grounded in me

And I in you.

Hiraeth

You skirt the rim

Of yet another dusk;

You watch the russet heavens bleed, swirl

In a riot of red and orange,

And embrace your universe.

A moment, an hour, until time turns indigo,

And the sky bursts into a million pieces

Of shimmering shards.

The wind quivers,

With the false promise

Of absent showers -

The kind that brings

Drum rolls

That echo in your chest,

In imitation of a long forgotten song

Whose words are lost,

Yet the hum remains

On your lips;

Like the sound of his laughter

Just the sound, that’s all,

As you begin to lose the little lines

Around his mouth:

They disappear

Every time you close your eyes,

Fade a little

As you draw your next breath...

Open the fist around your heart,

Your fingers won’t keep it together;

Let it break,

Let it breathe,

Let it heal.

If he is your hiraeth,

You’ll never find home.

National Poetry Month, Day #1. 

Possibilities

I dream of a warm Summer afternoon;

I dream of a rocking chair,

Under the Peepal tree in my grandmother's backyard;

Of little ghost stories,

Born on moonless nights

With dry hay whispering in the wind;

I dream of wrinkled fingers,

Rubbing warm coconut oil in my hair;

And the scent of the last orchids,

As the cuckoo sings its farewell to Spring;

I dream of

The sound of crumpling candy wrappers,

And the aftertaste of tamarind candy,

On my tongue:

Sweet,

Tangy - 

Like the taste of possibilities...


On the occasion of 'World Poetry Day', I reminisce and, at the same time, anticipate.