a man scratches the
remains in the pan
the metal spoon and
its touch makes the
pan beg for mercy and
the man for more
"may men move mansions
in the magic of their mistresses"
a song plays in the background
a canvas waits for him to stop and
start smudging
a woman across
the street in her balcony
leaves the last two
drags of her cigarette
and fills the water in
the ashtray to extinguish
the smolder
incensed,
goes back into the walls
there's no one to
caress the moon tonight
and the cats gonna weep till
the sun wakes up the dogs
then the man washes the pan
and as soon as the pan dries up completely,
hunger stealths in again
like a sad mouse to a broken trap
the woman got goosebumps
and she closes her window
thinking that it was because
of the winter breeze outside
Nov 5, 2020
Nov 5, 2020 at 12:39 PM UTC
Bloodstains
on copper sheets
Sewed with blue
bandaged thread
Toned down with milk
Ninety-nine percent
of the world is empty
by the occurrence of it
Twenty-five people
are suffering and
the pendulum still smiles
The teacher knows
what makes its young men angry
He is afraid of the checklist
There is a high opening
in the suddenness of it all
It creeps from my sunrise window
And smells like fish and lily
Sometimes
the features of the beggar
make me doubt the evening sun
Sometimes
I think if everything
would be fine without water
And sometimes
if water would be fine
without everything
These men,
these men demand their rights
Shouting,
wanting to land
on the rings of Saturn
Light,
cosmos,
me, and water
are lighter than the
thinnest sheets of condoms
thrown from balconies of ravaged cities
We are doomed
to become the thief of the present
We are friends
of the tiffin boxes packed for tomorrow
We are neat
Nonexistent
Oct 27, 2020
Oct 27, 2020 at 5:19 AM UTC
I rest my head against the last bottle of squash I had in my house
watching the patches of worn-out paint on the ceiling
thinking about the number of times it had been repaired in 21 years
have seen almost every color of sewing thread in all these years, we have come far
there was a time when we didn't have options
"either A or B"
my mother would ask me every time we were at the super market
A was tomato ketchup
B was green chili sauce
it was hard to choose between things
when you don't know what you love less
but I loved my mother more
I didn't want to be there with my father
so I have to choose
without any escape
mama was beautiful
but she was never hungry
and today when I brought both of the sauces
she didn't want to taste any of it
"what brings you home so late?"
she asks this almost every day now
and I realized it was never about A or B for her
and options were the case for a naive mind
there is a long way to go until I can think of myself as a little wise whenever answering her
Oct 26, 2020
Oct 26, 2020 at 11:03 AM UTC
My money is
burnt over the edges
Like a tender togetherness
on the soil of boredom
I like having
conversations about
the last solar eclipse
and broken jet planes
Fighter planes
not repaired properly
I like to
know more of
what happened yesterday
I regret waiting
for the tomorrow
But
it will eventually come
Come like a
summersault over
a franchise of well established
educational institutions
And break like a
fragrance under a bloodthirst.
I know of you
And you just know a
part of me
But how will you convince
of not knowing what I still don't know about me?
Oct 25, 2020
Oct 25, 2020 at 10:58 AM UTC