snapping fingers for each other

You are blessed, you gladly become a compass to the other You listen to silent spaces, release it afterwards to choirs across horizons You are like homing pigeons; bring stories home to read together You colonize, playing center to fragile corners of the other You are hunters, of lost treasures in frayed pockets and laughter

Airspace closure

The pilot in baritone says he needs to fly around spaces sounding confidently vague, forced it must be how he was briefed reminds me of the rhetoric that stutters in our streets our homes these days he must have heard words futile words, language of  burning tongues each syllable delirious with avoidable political slew meanwhile elliptical

Possibilities

I have a graduate girl And she gathered things to love Things like hugs, kisses, warmth Things like family, fights, fortitude I wish her some more Like a voice of fortitude A tongue of humility Like faith from afar A time full of endeavors Like conquest of all fear Like notebooks that kindle a fire

Taj Mahal

You raise me up Taj Mahal For 450 years You raise me up Hibiscus, limestone and jaggery to hold in memories Tattoo’ed stories in the color of burning rubies You raise me up An embroidered cascade, in symmetry revealed A lonely paradise of four rivers, bequeathed You raise me up Your serenity ebbs and flows,

Flames – just in the forest

About you, when you flame the forest  framing spring from the barren aravalis a city which drew it’s celebration from you every Holi years ago when orange shamelessly celebrated uniting communities when color had not become an ideology gorgeously humble  nondescript you surprise with blood red blossoms leafless simplicity transforms into an endearing riot tri-foliage leaves

Monochrome

The rhapsody of black and white Fused lines between tassels muted and bright At ease, a salt pepper palette of cutting edge Goodness of an oversized mane or a quirky wedge A paradoxical source of resilience and strength  Breaking perceptions about monotony in length Highlights a symbol of ageless pigments  A contoured look, slaying with

The beast that returns

Shrieking solemnly in disharmony Wails darken the church sanctum Like an opera crescendo Interlaced with devil drums Shattered prayers turned Into ripped angel wings That stay like velvet remnants of an opera gown, on a once opulent church ceiling A choir solemnly surprised Singing a last silent note Easter in hell, Easter in hell mothers

The first generation chit chat

Why are you always insisting on Hindi And when will you stop wearing the red bindi I hate it when dad’s stories are only about the past Why want trauma, want trauma, of transition to last Why do we stay marinated in perseveration techniques And when will you start integrating without fatigue I feel sad

24/7

  appendages shredded, nothing bookmarks life better, than scars, flesh crescendos up my spine, and into doors and windows, winter settles enduring one bleak day at a time faltering at fragile moments,  gathering around acrid dumpsters hungry, like starving insides invoking courage, as I scour for food just something, for the babies today knowingly I

Nirbhay unanswered

Part 2 – now Nirbhaya now present in an unending sky making space for your vast sadness you nirbhay again, cutting through the clutter launch yourself into the pining moon unflinching, you become the scar on her face homesick you, malaise inhabits vastness you nirbhay again, walk your stength across starscapes seeping your surety into