the bleeding womb

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I was surprised when

the walls around me tightened

Encasing life waiting to sprout

hope defined by the kicking gulps

soon to be crawling out

through the birth canal

 

9 months of playing entertainer in charge

culminate into an intense hormonal orchestra

I introduce the world through sounds

since there is no such thing as a womb with a view

I offer a theater like exposure

to the voices that tap at me

try my best to focus the curious ears

to notes of music and sounds of prayers

The life I hold

has dreams and fears

but a thumb suck

or placenta lick

is safe zone enough

It is a hectic 9 months

for me and my baby

as we build skills

and breathe and remember

I know my limits end

where yours start

and am quick to withdraw

as they nestle

the squirmy bundle

between your breasts

I do withdraw my walls

in relief but also

a nagging fear

of the world that

I give up the little soul to

by collaborating

in the event of birth

 

the intrauterine practice

of heart beats in pure oxygen

and absorption of your smells

is never ever enough

to prepare for that

to come in the outside

I have never figured out

how to help

the placenta

teach separation

or the fluids

feed tears

nor have I ever learned

to match the motion

in my lap to that of

the mother holding herself

and rocking in bereavement

for her son

nor have I been able to compare

the dilation of the cervix

as it opens to life

to that of the leery pupils

that dilate in flawed glances

towards the little girl

 

I caress the new life within me

closer to my blood

as I and he start a journey

and succumb yet again to hope

Withdrawing from my judgement

of mankind

so I can hold deep down

in myself a life that

is not compromised

till I have no choice

but to listen from the outside

to the desolate screams

of a Pradyuman or an Arushi

 

I cradle flawed life

for an exciting 9 months

I pulsate with divine mystery

and then

bequeath it to you

turning back to my void

I am not brave enough

to see you bid farewell

to the seedling I bore

 

 

 

 

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Kaleidoscope

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Height

genes played strong

towering over the pull of gravity

eyes ablaze at the illusion

Accent

just expressions

they gathered in the love of a land

waves of voices in protest

Communities

eyes wet in collective shock

acknowledge each other’s loss

walk in silent chains of arms

Food

is a wonderful prayer

served in recuperating bowl fulls

with delicate cautious hands

Prayer

in prose written, poetry said

mother saying not to forget

the longing for her dead

Missile

premise being evolution

loud, louder, loudest they shout

small stories spewed by big mouths

Dreams

interwoven in border tales

threaded fears of legal stamps

dreams lingering like bookmarks

Color

bleached in apprehension today

white washed walls stare in exhaustion

years of indecisiveness may end

Politics

is caricatured in shabbiness

narrow minds court hesitant history

hoisting into imminent chaos

Grief

rowing boats across highways

lingers at drenched post box pillars

aches on restless backs of responders

Cities

live the survivor’s guilt

looking skyward at disheveled reflections

of life, then proud of its copious humanity

Purpose

modest moments of triumph

barring the amateurish clumsiness of power

humanity offers a formidable resilience

kaleidoscope

kaleidoscopic emotions

that mirror an abyss of memories

and bruised hopes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mavericks and Hurricanes

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Hurricanes let loose

mavericks at play

 

hijacking lives out of homes

hashing out arbitary pardons

hosting criminal robes in hearts

not prisons

tranquility greeting torture

traumatizing storms through miles

tiring relentless political monotone

torn apart mankind by betrayal

of faith

Blinded by foggy venom

blowing winds closing in the devil

Bastardizing votes and forefather vision

bloodied flags hoisted and fluttering

in havoc

reflex manifesting in assault

rescue and repair operations at test

repeating recycled dramatics of greatness

repugnant antics in the name of God,

evil itself

status quo to status quo

nada – ‘ storm’ hits 130 mph on the southern coast

zilch – ‘trumps’ greatness on the floor of the House

zero – eradicating trust with ‘sacha sauda’

 

Status quo to status quo

hurricanes let loose

mavericks at play

 

 

hukm*

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Acceptance is
when you stop asking why
why becomes a lifelong gift
when luck is not about you
rather about him
when your focus shifts
from flight or fight to fulfillment
when love is the moment
your eyes meet
not satiation of yearning
rather continuation of yielding
it is letting go and letting in
promising to pursue
despite the pain
acceptance is when
you begin to listen
to the music in dissonance
when you fight
through your days
with fervor of worship
subscribe to doubts
and encourage the voice
that rises from within
when immersion into clouds
brings a feverish outpour
of sweet rain drops
when death does not
create listlessness
instead it opens doors
to new lives and languages
where strength is
the very nucleus
of vulnerability
and not an antonym
acceptance is leveling
hukm is beautifully obvious
when
you are
His
hukm becomes yours

as much
as you
let go
and as deep
as you
echo yourself

in and from his hukm

*hukm – the divine will

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finding poems in bazaars

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Farmers markets

Formula shopping
taking a break
to touch, feel, talk
bountiful sights
encourage a break
stir up sensibilities

Farmers markets
baskets with strawberry
luscious and anticipative
the onion skins itself
on the cobbled walkway
pleasingly purple and crisp
fried potato’s lean into
the air,a concoction
of self-indulgent treats
pancake stalls make concessions
to pointless chatter, families
tugging at heart-strings
relishing the bubbling maple

Farmers markets

in tryst with life
clutching to the earth
yielding yet to it

ready to serve at the altar
of homes, fragrance, color, texture

to become stories

 

Garage sales
luck and love on shelves
discovery and dramatics
rehearsed negotiation
observation of flaws
each piece an attestation
to letting go, each selection
a proof of usefulness
things, offer an ever evolving
attachment paradigm

 

Garage sales

the baby crib was
not a need, after
the miscarriage
the picnic basket
rattled with laughter
from memorable trips
the painting packed
because their home
was on short sale
the jacket , a swag
from marathon events, monogrammed
before he took to
the wheelchair
the baking set served
kitchen tables with love
the brooch pinned fur collars
now sat next to a boxed watch
wondering if someone would pause
the golf clubs erect with pride
having served many practice holes
the silverware collection
still flawless as it reflected
curious finger marks
the wedding veil
carefully beaded with a fringe
a small tear, that corner
where the father of the bride
had clumsily stepped upon

Garage sales

treasures, tears and thoughts
fragile in hope
quivering in readiness
to move on

retrace steps, redesign lives
and offering themselves

to not be things

Twenty tournaments and yet..

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Twenty tournaments

Since that moment when you left us

with

the world beneath our feet
and its many broken parts
like crumpled sheafs of paper
fragrance in your closets
neither here nor there
scabs on our heart skins
rubbing hope into each other
instead, dripping voids

Trying to illuminate
Twenty tournaments

Counting twenty tournaments
Still bidding farewell

to our life
the queasy stomach
and shaky voice
narrative memory
in longing words
mystified, repetitive efforts

purposeful
our search for hope
well tried yet opaque
voices in prayer
and stoic silences, stunned
seemingly, collectively
in free fall

It has been a while

since the storm, yet
recovery ever in progress

Twenty tournaments

 

Will you answer?

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When does God make his plan for pairs?

Why do you let me dream unfettered?

Where did you learn your patience?

How can someone promise forever ever?

Which role do you relish the most?

What makes you want to talk to me?

 

When did you bring tenderness to your songs?

Why do I need you when I cry?

Where do you hide the sound of my laugh?

How do you stay sure at all times?

Which book translated you for you?

What anchors you in us?

 

When did you start to seek the beyond?

Why does the night stall in your arms?

Where did you abandon the ego?

How will you handover a legacy in diligence?

Which mantra enables your clarity?

What definition of duty will you author?

 

Will you always be the spring to my winter?

Will you discover me at the cusp of every life?