I remember fields of youth
where we so grandly played -
we were strong, fleet of foot
how we wish they'd stayed.

The eternal spring of loving
ah, those endless days of bliss -
when tender words were spoken
and expectations of a kiss!

The days we worked with vigor
the nights of splendid passion -
we're they then so long ago?
or have we fallen out of fashion?

Middle age has flown away
all that's left is dying slowly -
all our sins,  we hope forgiven
in the hopes of being holy.

What's left,  is heaven's arms
praying we're accepted -
quashing thoughts of hell
if sadly,  we're rejected.

After years of aimless wanderings
Leaving behind the cities of midnight revels
And the fevered journey in metro rails,
I am back at the land of my people.

Wherever I went,
Under which ever roof I slept,
I had carried my land,
As a jewel in a casket
And ensured it rested safe
Ever under my pillow

As I moved with aliens
Unable to merge with their cultural mores,
I saw my land glimmer in darkness
Like a dew drop on a moon blanched leaf

When I sweated in the blistering sands
A patch of green landscape, like an oasis
Wafted me in a cool embrace
Then dreams poured in like star light
And I wandered in the meadows of my youthful love
My heart struggling to forget old longings
And memories lashing upon me like tidal waves

Pursued by that inalienable shadow
Suddenly being born in flesh and blood
I hastened to the streets of my youth
With hopes galore and plans vivid

But alas! There is none to recognize me
Oh! I am a stranger here
An unwelcome stranger among total strangers
Now I wonder which is truly my land?
The one left behind or the one just landed in?

Oscillating between these two worlds,
My fractured identity looms large
With worms of memories wriggling in my flesh
And a myth suddenly dying in my brain

your words exactly:
"i believe our paths were meant
"to intersect,
"but not to sustain.
"to touch,
"but not to cling.
"to meet,
"but not to unite. "
and i still love you,
despite.

When my mother dies

I'll get a tattoo
not in memory of her
but in memory of her
hatred for tattoos

           I don't know

what the tattoo will be
I'll decide when I get to the parlor
what it is isn't the point
the point is

          how I'll live

will be up to me.
I'm not sure how I'll feel
but I do know I'll have the freedom
to chose who I'll be


          without her.

this bathroom floor tile
knows me better than you do
you slid through
and the caution
slippery when wet sign
you took is the only
difference between the two
pictures in the funny papers
mercury and magazines
now we’re all victims
and more confused
you refuse to breathe the life you took
back into me
like my restless tears refuse to keep this filthy floor clean