poetry

Sid

My son Sid

His Thomas kept falling in the ditch

O’er and o’er and o’er again

He wakes me up at 6

“Mama, Thomas fell in the ditch”

He says no good morning

No good night, no good day

Just Thomas falling in the ditch

He screams at my every touch, like

His body has third degree burns

My child, mine but not yet

He holds his Thomas engine and runs

Around the house

Whole day, in circles

Like my relationship with him

For all the vocabulary he’d inherited from me

All he retains:

“Thomas fell in the ditch”

I wish I could save Thomas

For once,

But I guess, Thomas has to keep falling

In the same ditch

At least it makes Sid happy

poetry

We sleep…

Inspired by Palestine Refugee camp

We sleep in tents
Inside the camps across the line
That separates nations
His teeth dig into my skin
As if barbed wire pierce through the trespassers,
My screams are muffled
He holds my mouth with his wet palms
To hush up
Not to draw too much attention

Sand flies across the land
Border lights glow as if stars in the night
Dewdrops trickle down our faces
My lover runs his nails up
From my toe
through my spine
Tugging my strands
Not so soft anymore
My hair has weathered storms

Gunshots are heard at a distance
More blood tonight
My land, their land,
A little child has no land

He pulls my clothes away from my body
And his pants
Every gunshot makes my body shiver
He holds me close
I can hear
Chaos, a mother weeps
As he tastes my quivering lips,
My broken lips now bleed
From the military strikes

A silhouette of the crowd are protesting the refuge
The refuge is a prison now
Oh, the irony
The protectors are the real destroyers
The world watches as we burn
In the fire that consumes us

My shivering palms run through his chest
I grab his skin and dig my nails into his rib
Blood forms a teardrop
As he moans
Wriggles in pain
He holds me so close
His hand firm holds mine down

More people leave us tonight
They become stars
But we no longer weep
For our hearts are frozen numb

He holds my neck
As he intrudes my sanctity
He enters the inner sanctum
The temple doors are open
The wind makes flame flicker
As people bicker
On both sides of the fence

Our Gods are the same,
But do they even care
Intruding, invading our spaces
The cruel wind slaps my breasts

I sigh
More gunshots
More cries
They are getting closer

Flying machines unleash the fury
Lighting up the night sky
As if it’s a festival of spirits
Leaving our world

He chokes me
And looks into my eyes
His eyes pointed towards the sky
Tears rush down
Pierce our cheeks like ice
When the world around is destroyed
Tonight we create life.

And then they come for us.

poetry

Aftertaste

The aftertaste of your love

On my tongue

The excess of sweetness

Not that of candies and chocolates

But the twisted overdose

Of whiskey with crystallised sugar

That soaked in your skin as if

I was romancing a bottle

Of my doom

In the dark corners of your room

Lit in fluorescent

And tinted sunlight,

The creaking of the bed

To the sounds of your skin

Running against mine

The friction, the pain

It was a desert storm

Not the soothing rain

To the silence of our empty house

Screeching in each other’s ears

The look of rage

Into the eyes of lust

On a sultry afternoon

Like entangles kites that burn in the heat

of the scorching sun

While we are set ablaze in flames

Of your fiery desires

Healing my throbbing nerves

And curing your sleeplessness

Leaving an aftertaste of your sweet love

On my bitter tongue

poetry

Love

How do I describe thee?

Do you exist beyond the letters that make you?

Are you the first light of a new day?

Are you a blooming rose?

Or you as soft as newborn’s nose?

Are you the gentle breeze on a gloomy noon?

Do you come on time or sometimes too soon?

Are you the waves that lash that shore?

Are you the lilac sky going against the orange hues of the sunset?

Are you as beautiful as a pure smile?

Are you two souls that wait a while

before they separate?

Are you the moon that stares at the dark side of the earth?

Are you a star that glitters through the night.

Are you the last goodbye

Or the first sight?

Do you exist after we tear apart

Or did you exist between us as one

Are you a faint hope in the bad world?

Or are you our only chance at life?

Who are you?

poetry

I love you

Words flow out of my mouth

Like a waterfall

In the spring

Always in Abundance

As water droplets of stories

But when I looked right at him

I could feel the waterfall recede

And choke my throat

My tongue took refuge underneath my lower teeth

As if they were both conflicted

If those words should ever flow out

I cleared my throat

And fumbled with meaningless conversations

Until my brain and my heart

Asked me to throw it up

And I said “I like you”

“I like like you”, I blurted out

And my feet began to sprint

Out of his sight

God knows for how long we ran

Me, and my mouth

Before it took a deep breath

And then,  it slowly whispered

“I love you”

 

 

 

poetry

Existential Fear

Bop is a form of poetic argument consisting of three stanzas, each stanza followed by a repeated line, or refrain, and each undertaking a different purpose in the overall argument of the poem.

Opened is a window to other’s home
I look inside, I find mountains, beaches
Foreign places, medals, trophies and
Souvenirs, a London bridge, an Eiffel tower
Weddings, proposals, offsprings, a college degree, an accomplishment
Oh! It scares me, uh oh it does

Strikes the eternal fear of my own existence

Why look there, you ask, as if I have a choice
If I look in, to my home they send their voice
Existential crisis, sets in. My home looks dull now, so sullen, oh the cracks
On the pastel paint, the creaking sound of the window
The broken light, how do I fix it.
My neighbour’s home seems so bright
So flawless, the colours look through his window
Here I am, deep in melancholy in the centre of my living room

Strikes the eternal fear of my own existence

Am I alone, I wonder, what’s my way out,
I ask
Do I not look or do I not feel, ignore it is or check if for real
Is the window view a mere facade, or my life a monotonous charade
Maybe just maybe, I paint my walls in crayons and make art on the pastel
See the beauty in my own imperfection, my house, through blemishes and cracks
Here I go, close my window, beautify my own abode, and no longer

Strikes the eternal fear of my own existence

poetry

Elegy for lost love

The elegy began as an ancient Greek metrical form and is traditionally written in response to the death of a person. The elements of a traditional elegy mirror three stages of loss. First, there is a lament, where the speaker expresses grief and sorrow, then praise and admiration of the idealized dead, and finally consolation and solace.

Oh, dear sky, pour

Pour for her

For her who has love lost

Love lost forever.

 

Oh, dear sky, rejoice

Rejoice for he joins you now

Now he lights up your night

Your night stars, oh sky

What are they, if not love lost

 

Oh, dear sky, don’t you

Don’t you lose heart

For the sun will rise again

While your star shall twinkle through every night

The morning promises you a new sunrise