Restraint

Like a leaf
pressed
between yellowing pages,
life
is pushed
from either side
by time and lament,
yet reveals.
 
In his late seventies now,
one winter evening,
he holds the leaf,
or a distant memory of it,
against the streaming light
from the kitchen window.
The horror of veins
revealed
against the scramble
of forgotten words.
 
Silent mutter
under his breath,
icy wind
slapping against his pale cheeks,
the house cat
moves like a spirit
around his scrawny legs.
 
The leaf
crumbles.

Closer

A few thousand sunsets
before you close your eyes
on the universe
forever.
 
Why are you afraid
of the songs of the woodland,
the dance of the tides,
and the kindness of strangers?
 
Swallow a few stars,
drink from the deep seas,
touch unfamiliar faces,
and when it's pitch dark
and all has gone silent,
place your ear
against the barren grounds
and listen to the banter
of the planet.

Finding Love in a Multiverse

Salvation. Abomination.
Curse. Purpose.
Forever
entangled.
 
I am the son
pushing my way
through you,
I am the twin,
envy and labors
of the same harvest.
I am the lover
desiring you
under every skin and nail,
I am the stranger
sitting across the room,
locking eyes with you,
I am your archnemesis
destroying you,
eating every piece of you,
in one version
I am even god,
your god, your own personal god.
 
If I leave everything to chance
or if I steadfastly pursue you,
in one world
I sneak my hand behind you,
pull you towards me
in a packed elevator,
in another,
we breathe each other in
as we brush by
at a traffic signal in the morning rush,
whichever door I open,
under whatever sun
or the shine
of chandeliers and wine glasses,
we find each other.

We are
the warmth of the same fire,
we are
the sweat of the same passion,
we are
each other’s poison.

Green eyes

Where I come from
I am code
I am machine
I am data
no punctuation
no breath
no death
 
Over here,
I feel human.
I feel the urge,
an intense urge
to knock over things,
to run over feelings,
to be washed over,
to prod a wound
and taste the warm sting of blood,
to pinch a petal
and swallow the scent of purple berries.
 
Over here,
I belong.
I feel the urge,
an irresistible urge
to love,
to hate,
to scream,
to claim,
to chain,
to possess,
to even believe
and keep the faith.
 
Eons ago
some of my companions
left for the homeland,
others
moved on.
 
On this planet,
I am a forgotten god
in an abandoned temple.
 
I am
a lone traveler
seeking death.

Do Sperm Whale Calves Dream of Larger-Than-Life Heroes?

The calf
stayed close to her scared cousins.
His grandmother, mother, and aunts
circled the kids
and held the defense–
inseparable, impenetrable,
meditative.
 
The wolves
of the sea
aimed at the flanks,
rammed into the blubber
for more than three hours
and gave up
in extreme exhaustion.
 
That night
under the murmurs of nightfall,
the calf
cozied up against her mother’s belly
and asked about her ever-absent father,
if he would avenge
the atrocities
of the sea-wolves.
 
The mother
winced at every touch
and replied:
Your father
is nicknamed
the Monk of the High Seas.
He can swallow the sea whole,
the land below and the sky above,
yet chooses not to.
If implored
he would just say,
‘that’s not what giants do’. 

Go home

Jet black eyes, full lips,
cozy hugs, rushed passion,
wet hair that smells of
'berry blast' shampoo.
Is this what home feels like?
 
Watching a lizard
sneak up
behind an indifferent moth
under the allure of an LED lamp.
Is this what home feels like?
 
Grandfather's last breath
still lingering in the air,
two decades
after his passing.
Is this what home feels like?
 
In the darkest days, the skin
punctured by a thousand wounds,
healed by the warm, flowing music
within the walls.
Is this what home feels like?
 
Standing on the kerb,
waiting for the morning rush to pass,
waving at children in a school bus,
a stray sniffing at my pyjamas.
Is this what home feels like?
 
Mutton bone broth, steamed rice,
singing in the shower,
the usual silence,
the occasional small talk.
Is this what home feels like?

The Smell of a Rose Garden

They say,
turn off the screens,
slow down,
become aware,
smell the roses,
dip your feet in the stream,
let the little fish
nibble at your feet,
stare at the cat in the alley for too long
until it turns its head away,
sleep on the roof
and watch the flickering city lights
turn off
one by one.
 
Tried it once.
Sat on a park bench,
silenced the voices,
tuned into the moment.
For a couple of seconds
I even heard
the rustling of the fallen leaves,
and the shy playfulness
of young lovers kissing.
That’s it!
Reality
hit me with a thud,
like a slab of granite
crushing into a delicate ribcage.
 
I hurriedly open my phone
to check eleven unread messages.
 
Unsung melodies, unseen truths,
profane beauty.
Who can mute
the heaviness of self-imposed silences?

(Inspired directly by a conversation from the series ‘Sugar’)

to know itself

I am the sheen of the sword
I am the blood it delivers.
 
I am the snow
I am the mountain
I am the salt
I am the ocean
I am the planet
I am its shadow
I am the star
I am the splendor.
 
I am the essence
I am the illusion
I am the duality
I am the oneness
I am the ambiguity
I am the liberation
I am a million possibilities.
 
I am the muffled cry
of childbirth
the universe
comes into being
and the dread
of the ever after.

(The title is from a quote by Carl Sagan:
We are a way for the cosmos to know itself.)

The last memory

It’s sand, dirt,
and something warm and sticky
dripping
into my eyes.
I see
parts of me
littered in the rubble.
Gunfire
continued.
I fall to the ground,
a sharp buzz
rings in my ears
as my mind shuts off.

Somewhere beyond the ringing,
at the end of the tunnel,
there’s a warm evening.

We were playing in the kitchen.
She was baking a cake,
or was trying to.
I threw her on the messy floor,
planted
a hasty kiss on her mouth.
She pushed me against the table
and doused me
in flour dust
again.

That evening
we chased a bandicoot in the yard,
laughed
until our stomachs ached,
drank vodka with cranberry juice,
danced, told each other
lewd jokes,
made love
four or four and a half times,
threw up
on the heirloom rug,
laughed again,
and stared at the sky
as the stars
dissolved
into the warmth
of the closing eyelids.
 
The horrors,
the giggles,
the peppery stars,
the half-baked cake,
an eternity.

 

Cut deep

Sailing
from one sky to the other.
The salt
licks the wounds
and heals.
 
Chasing wings
from one storm to the other.
The warmth
strikes at the very heart,
it bleeds.
 
Fallen angels,
temple bells.