The desire to show myself
Could get me killed
With the malicious intentions of the world that I inhabit.
The name on my forehead
Is that of a caste
I am what they say I am born with
Then I must tell you that I am born with a gift to create
Would you then call me the creator’s own reflection?
Leave the question unanswered.
I desire to show myself still.
I want to tell the world about the art
That I had created
The covers of the books I designed
The books I am about to write.
Then I contemplate what I want to share
Through this feeling to bare myself naked.
I realize that I want to experience
The dazzling beauty of the smile
Radient on the reader’s lips
On the art connoisseur's face
The artist that I am
And not the illiterate brute that they call me to be.
The truth is in my nakedness
And I desire to unveil it in front of you
It, the cloak of my pen-name,
The mask of my unrealized self,
The naked body of my noetic being.
Nov 23, 2017
Nov 23, 2017 at 5:30 AM UTC
If our souls were open sockets
That connect us to creator God
Our realities would be mere chargeless particles
Reluctant to feed from the Source
Because we don’t care
What our realities must feel like
That is the reason why when I say
You are free
You go away like a wind
freed from a season’s chamber
And blame me for standing still where I was
Who will know that I stayed where I was
Because I wanted to collect
My soul oozing out of the open socket
That the creator God has sent my way
That I wanted my realities to be
In the form of the Love that I wanted to love you
Those tales that I told you
Where not out of the blue
But my dreams about us
My hopes and expectations
Our togetherness remains
Like a story untold
In the depths somewhere
In the open socket that smiles
At me with helplessness.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 1:47 AM UTC
Poetic scars kissing my quiet sugar thighs
Ash blood hair with lungs full of gasoline
The streets has wings filled with pockets of disease
Sidewalks are notebooks recording my thoughts
Homesickness leaves bruises on my feet
Retracing lovers tears from the corners of my mouth
Petal tongue made of feathers making lovers sigh
In this muted ghost town
I'm suffocating with the void of communication
Plucking strings and church bells my nerves doing flip flops
Murals swooning the train station amidst the shallow shores
A drinking waltz climbs my eyelids
As I pour you down my throat
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 1:28 AM UTC
I haven’t read the Koran
So I can’t say if Islam is violent
I’ve read the history
I’ve come to know the crusades
And the passion of Christ
So I feel guilty
When I am asked
To respond to terror
And stay quiet
At the bearded bombers.
My wife is Hindu
She is offended
At the mention of religions
So I choose to be a secularist.
I do to church and pray
For my beloved ones and myself
I don’t say I’m going to church
I try to be as vague as I can
I say I have to commune
With an old friend
Or that I have some bread and wine to purchase
Then everyone is happy.
I envy the bomber his blindness.
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 12:16 PM UTC
The lake was a sprawling uneven mass
Like a slithering serpent of uncertainty
Underneath our boat
We counted the moments to the future
The yards from the past were still very few
We feared of getting lost in the quest
To relinquish our past
And to marry a sweet future
Our destinies intertwined
On the road to blood and war
The war was unending
The blood was raining
Then we found ourselves
In the embrace of each other
We fell in love
We fell from grace
The ugly war
The incredible noise
The unimaginable distances
We had to escape
The boat was just a metaphor
Of the times we only knew
How important love could be
In saving our souls from drowning
In the coldness of life.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 4:07 AM UTC