Dear Santa, when you find this letter
please burn it
my tears flow me too much
by the sound of
marching band outside,
they create havoc everywhere they go
the noise on the platform
cacophonous, a syndrome.
When you read this letter
my words may shy you often
the pain and the misery
twin sisters of certain injury
don't evade me, don't cease me
and the daylight is no excuse
for them to return
injury after injury.
My vain is too low
the cost is too high
Words written in morrow
brings certain someone some sorrow,
oh reader don't read this
it has plans to turn you fool
don't open this, don't read it
my breath collapsing, increasing
for the wise to leave it at the door.
May 27, 2021
May 27, 2021 at 5:39 AM UTC
I miss old summers
barren streets with flats so hot
scorched our faces and tanned
our legs and races.
It was simple simply sipping
mugs of sharbat and aamras
and cool drinks
made under the small roof I call home.
Not much on television screens, we sat
cross-legged on floor
playing games that require no brains
and stitched clothes for the dolls
from rags thrown away by mother.
She scolded us
making us stay quiet
handing down her books, old comics
to read and learn and to stop whispering
stories of action and myths
gods and fairies,
for the heat is too much
the sun is too bright
and the sweat on our foreheads
tickle our skin
for we were incorrigible
and never quiet.
As I sat down and read
I imagine yellows in the land of gold
colours dissolving into swirls
my reverie takes me to future unknown
thinking about how much I'll score
just to go outside, step outside
and make my fortune grow.
But the sun has now set
my friends are all outside
they have stories to tell too
mine remain unchallenged, unquestioned,
oh my mother fake-wept
on my injuries, and her fear
so unresolved of my mind kept in darkness
that my grandma starts to lull
the same old stories that her grandma sang her to sleep
far, far away from the land of gold
epiphanies too much for a seven year old.
May 17, 2021
May 17, 2021 at 3:06 AM UTC
The year was 2014
And I thought justice was delivered
I saw them everywhere
On billboards, posters, newspapers
And we knew humaare acche din aa gaye.
We were shown repeatedly how congress was corrupted
How one party changed the face of this country,
And how they are right, others are wrong
Us and them, I cared for development
Economy and justice
Swiftly, they were delivered.
The world saw us happy
But the reports are always wrong
Dropping our ranks
We are developing, they said
How far are we to develop? No one knows.
They kept the internet charges very low
So low that everyone had access
They had access to modiji ke foreign visits
But some forsaw what was wrong.
They were put behind bars
Some wanted justice, but She was blind to saffron
And we knew modji kaise galat honge
Not minding justice is revenge
Justice is unke desh me ghuss ke maarenge
And justice is righting every wrong.
Dec 26, 2019
Dec 26, 2019 at 2:24 AM UTC
She makes her tea like every other hour
to hear her dog bark at cars.
Rummaging through the cards
she finds some ink
and letters two,
were dissolved in tears.
He comes every night
to hear her cries
against the door when their kid once smiled.
She passed last summer
lost in love,
we saw the future
without her kind.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 11:59 PM UTC
In the lines I find you
neath the skin of the paper
will reveal the gloried truth
and the horified past.
In the lines I find you
calm and tyrant
stolen the witch's dream
to solve your own past.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 11:58 PM UTC
Her ghosts reveal the different lies she lived
Lies here the buried gold,
Now claimed by the merchants of the west.
She was the loveliest
Her steps told some other tale
Of one handsome and cruel.
Born out of rudeness was never-seen love,
her cosmic mind
which revolves across the time.
Day by day, she made him a jewel
only to be left with a bleeding pool
of silver and bronze.
It was a year later
Or two,
she hears a whisper that one day she might rule!
Along the path she cross
she meets nocuous mules,
as they weren't a change, she changed under the moon.
She steps upon an unholy site
occupied by hackneyed tribes
to see the winter lost for words
brings out the caged animal from the muzzled.
Before tasting the earth
she gasps for sun
for he is the holder of the unknown and forsaken.
Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 10:21 PM UTC