Tangled unfinished thoughts  
rehearse midnight waltzes
in attempts to fill the gaps
left behind by transient dreams

We swim in pools of flowers picked from the gardens
Grown from your words
Going back and forth between poetic sonnets
And bare laughs
Feeling pain in our ribs
Healing the pain in our hearts
I try to write sentences too cluttered to make sense of
With metaphors, like gardens
So that you may not accidentally figure out
Everything you mean to me

So that you and I can spend a lifetime together
Picking words apart
Searching for meaning and walking with the stars
Because these midnight conversations
Are too precious to be lost to effortless deciphering

I am a nomad inside my own mind
I dwell in my thoughts for a short time
And then I’m off running
Through scapes of sandy dunes
Made up of sand crystals
That come from different dreams
Versions of a story waiting to be freed
And I run towards the water
Where happiness resides
Wandering over hills
Watching the sun set and rise
Looking at the stars
Searching for the times
When memories were moments
And my dreams were still mine

Somewhere in the tremor of this monsoon rain
Your heart itched in remembrance
And denial took its hands away from your eyes
and so, you cried,
you cried a mountain of tears
Enough to fill the gardening pots
When you watered your roses
With salted despondency
And the flowers began to wilt
You realized to set these dreams free
But even then, they were too far within
Like the arteries in your chest
Keeping you alive

Waterfalls of your everlasting memories
Flood down, pooling into pre-existing floods
Of stories, you left behind
Words I could never seem to understand
Memoirs of pain and grief that lay dormant on my skin
I swim in the ocean of teary-eyed nights
That colour these passages
Trying to decipher, trying to find the beginning
But every time I dip my fingers into these cascading waves
My eyes always seem to latch on to the moonlight
That you left behind
And stars that fluoresce with remediated happiness

The waters turn to sand
And I sit in this empty space
Echoing the future to your dissipating anguish

The birds speak of a kindred soul
One that basks in the afterglow
of a solemn moon lingering in the daylight

and you watch as nights go on
the way it changes phases
falling in love with the idea
of embracing the volatility of life

Moon sailor, you watch pensively,
Hoping to catch sight of the evening moon
Lost at sea, your heart searches
for a lighthouse to guide you back home,
But clouds wash out your bones
As you make your abode in the sky....

....Dreaming

You’re awakening is always a beautiful one
It encompasses the adrenaline rush of life
And you tend to fade into the sunrise
As your back rests against your bed rest

You wonder where the morning goes
When you’re out searching for the colours of your dreams ...

...after you blink it’s nightfall
Because time is limitless, it’s a construct, a measurement
That feels undefined

you start to pour your body off the side
And You feel the blood in your veins shift
Your headaches start to disappear and reappear
And it’s time to once again run towards tomorrow

Until the day the morning never appears

Although I am a dreamer
I wasn't really free
Even though I was a realist
It was a dreamer I would be
Because I was lover
I couldn't really see
And since I became a hater
I was always hating me
Then I was a sister
But one I couldn't really be
And then I was giver
But Giving was not free
And someday I'll be a mother
Only then I'll be me.

You stand on one side of this
Mountain,
And I stand here,
Where fields of memorial Howers grow
Where colours blend into cobblestoned paths
To make hopscotch grids,
And carry children's laughs
Tell me where you go
When I try to reach out
For your cold hands
How easily you fade to memory
How easily It all fades to black
I find myself far from this mountain
Back into my restless eyes
Where I left reflections
Of you, my dear past.

Find me a world of my own
Tell me my story, tell it over the phone
Let the static blur the lines
Between crowded rooms and lonely times
And if the world is looking for me
Tell them I’ll be in the clouds
Finding a place to breathe out loud
Amongst my dreams and all my visions
I will breathe in my own illustrations
So if the world comes looking for me
Tell them the Nefelibata is finally free

I’ve placed myself in debt
From borrowing the past
And now my headspace is always unclear
Regrets tied around my wrists
And the future, always slipping from my grasp
Runs ahead
Holding signs too far for me to read

Take a walk with me down my favourite street,
down memory lane
it’s still under construction
Memories built and renewed
I will tell you stories about foreign colours
so you can paint them onto bricks
placed by some past version
of myself

I don’t think I’ve lived enough life to be nostalgic

But I can’t shake this melancholy
Instead, I look back now that the journey is over,

Whatever the journey was
Sometimes it’s just a walk to the other side of the neighbourhood

Remembering and singing songs from a life I never lived

You know that feeling?
When you remember a moment
Restructured to fit what your emotions desire
And then it’s born
Out of empty space
Nostalgia, a blue flower

Let’s take a walk through my dreams
You see them speckled with hopes and memories
You’ll see they are broken and incomplete
You may even see behind the grey clouds
A hint of sunlight stringing beaded fascinations into things to wish for

What is this feeling that seems so foreign yet familiar?
As we head our own ways
down our own paths
maybe we will think to look back
but until then  
Let’s walk back to the fork in the road
and reminisce over everything we’ve seen,
over and over,


until we meet again.

I don’t know how we ended up here
The mountains and the crisp air
Something cliche about the atmosphere
Something I read in a poem in my notes somewhere
A feeling of contentment dances nearby
And infused with the oxygen we both breathe in

It has thorns like roses
and solemn hues
the pinpricks from picking
these flowers have left maps on my hands
that I read when I am lost in the woods
by my childhood dreams

At the break of dawn, letters sit by your bedside
narrating moon sonnets,
Remnants of satsuma and rose, colour in childhood streets
and you find ways to bottle nostalgia into a fragrance,
and with it, blooms melancholy.

I drank a whole glass of nostalgia,
Took a flight around time,
And found myself sitting where I started,
In a state of unnerving silence,
Thinking about how the thunder
Stored in my swollen heart roars,
whenever I’m somewhere,
Lost in my memories.

I sometimes sit on our old couch in the basement
And think about what we left in its recline
The leather is cold and distant
It is coated with the film of time
Stained with tears, laughter, and secrets Nestled in the crevices is all my growth
When I lay my head against it
1 can hear dialogue from the movies we watched
And faint conversations with ghosts

Red branches,
out of place?
White snow,
been here for days
Old goodbyes,
In a tight im brace,
Just couldn't let go

You
see pain,
Feel pain,
Live pain,

I cannot give an explanation for this pain
But I will sit here in silence
Peeling away the darkness of your pain,
find the embers of hope in your pain
And use it to ignite the fire to keep your cold hands warm.

You wash your heart with evening rain
as waves of drowsiness hold out
paper boats made of written dreams
that search endlessly for a lighthouse
to guide them home to you

Paper will always be a mirror,
Where words will be the reflection
of your thoughts and hopeless dreams.

If I could see the world I'd paint it so the blind could see it too
So that they could hover there fingers over the strokes of France and Italy
Or maybe they could smell the culture from the continental divides
Or maybe they could just envision the architecture at its easel
But what's the point when they can already see.
When they can touch the world and feel the boundless gravity
The kind that holds its ground in rich escapades
Or maybe they could hear the gunshots of the hate
But what's the point when paintings will warp soon.
And even with all the paper paintings and all the paper planes,
We might even see the world too.

Greenlights takeover the afterglow of the sun,
Raindrops paint cities on our windowpane,
We run onto the street with our bare feet
Hand in hand, holding onto a parachute made of dreams.

I hope you keep the taste of your dreams on your tongue,
When you’re gathering the courage to run towards stormy waters,
And I hope that when you reach the shoreline,
Your unspoken words rest on your eyelids,
So that every time the water burns your eyes,
You find comfort in your heart’s lullabies,
Written for you to keep you warm,
when the thunder shatters your barriers.
I hope you remember all the words we exchanged,
Because I’ve written yours upon my sleeves,
Hoping that you would remember them too.
I hope that when you reach the other side,
You’ll find the colourful remnants of the setting sun,
They’ll wash the lightening away from your eyes,
So that you can see the outline of your shadow,
As you reunite with your past self,
The one that hasn’t forgotten how to dream.

We were trying to be soft spoken
Little words but very broken
Quiet voices and loud screams
Senseless whispers and impossible dreams,
But reality is hell and love is war
In a life of cliché and nothing more
But small talk with some sultry silence
Is what I call the perfect evening
Where it's you and I
And the sound of our scribbles, laughs and tears
I'm the writer and you're the pen
Where an evening alone with you
Is all I need to conquer my fears
Burn my rage
Onto a page
And let the world read.
A pen, you are all I need.

You write letters with your broken pen
after waking up from a dream
undisturbed, among peonies soaked in water
your feet rest against the sand
that once kissed the moon
and the stars write back to you
transcripts of our conversations,
like fragrance, they leave a trail in the wind
and we remember them
on those odd nights of wakeful dreaming

I'll stand here, on the edge of time waiting for the world to pass me by
soak in the sun, with every last breath
then disappear when the smell of rain starts to water the earth

When the soil rises into my soul, blanketing my heart with it's earthy embrace
I'll soak in the water drops, the ones that dance on my finger tips
and watch the clouds start to grey

I'll let you colour me, with your rain
I'll let you cover me with your pain
I'll let you envelope me in your everlasting sent
oh petrichor, I'll even let you take my breath

I'll paint my face with plaster
Forget the happy ever after
I'll build up all my walls all over again
I'll keep my lips quietly shut
And never come out to be beat again
I'll rip up all my stories
Break into all your glory
But I'll hide them once again,
I'm sorry I even spoke out
I'll disappear in the fall out
So maybe we can forget this one again

And we sit on the porch steps
our bare feet rest on cold cement  
the space between memories and contentment
starts to occupy your lungs
we watch the distant rain, still too premature
yet you, in fear of the future
run inside.

In endearing silence,
Exists the stillness of black and white,
The painter holds the palette against their chest,
And their heartbeat colours in the pigments,
As their brush strokes the canvas,
Droplets of light begin to surround you,
Like floating fireflies, or stars on earth,
And in your eyes, colour blooms,
You sit, framed, in black and white,
But the smile you wear when you stare at wonder,
Brings your colours back to life,
The painter captures a portrait,
Made from the paper of destiny,
A picture of you finding yourself,
As the silence waves goodbye,
Leaving behind echoes of your hopeful laugh.

Honey drops in to the Milky Way inside your tea cup
We sit chatting for old times sake
Friends of distance and enemies of uncertainty
I hope you’ve paved your road on those maps
That you pinned onto your walls
I hope the sun didn’t chase you away
I hope the foreign thunder stole your heart
And you found reflections of a beautiful past
I had written the night before
Inked into letters from the moon

From across the ocean, I waited for your postcards
Yet we sit here, with our thoughts
dancing in the silence between us
Your spoon makes ripples in your tea,
I dream to see the world you’ve seen,

You reminisce and I travel with your memories

You in your full bloom, at peace,
like swirling honey in warm milk,
made of rich pigment and velvet petals.

take a breath, and paint a picture,
of the transient atmosphere,
and you swaying with the ocean breeze.

send it to that part of you
that is lost in endless worry.

My thoughts take the shape of water
And drizzle down from the hands of smokey clouds
my scalp itches with desperation
to feel the coolness of the September wind
run its fingers through my hair
but here we are, under canopies of summer rain
thinking about the leaves changing colours
and how everything will fade again
my lungs, they ache for foggy streets
to inhale the tears of evergreens
and wander off to where the air is thin
I write in dark corners, hiding from heat waves
With an aching heart that yearns
to see you grow

I would here stories about soldiers
Those who wouldn't just fight
They would pull triggers with their speech
Their words were their weapons
Their eyes were their smiles
Their souls held lives
Of those to whom they vowed
To keep all promises
And hold onto justice
Peace in a quiet world
Will always be loud

Little footsteps in this moon dust sand,
I chase my memories as they flee my grasp,
Racing the clouds to embrace the sun.

A heart, content, is left on your doorstep,
I hope, someday, the person you are meant to become will trace back the way I came and exchange the goodbyes we once hung
out to dry.

But until then, here in this momentary stillness
An opportune silence blooms into this heart of mine,
And it seems I've misplaced it in your moonlit palm

Pictures of you: saturated. In motion blur.
we cast nets into the ocean of lights
to catch flames and fireballs
that ignite to the sound of rain
and resist their inherent nature
to extinguish
and so do you,
in rebellion

I always wondered,
Why in my culture, we wore a red
And not a white
Then I remembered she is a woman
Her blood is rinsed with sacrifice
And on the day of matrimonial happiness
She shall bleed out
Maybe it’s a cry for change,
Or maybe it’s compromise in its most crimson reflection
But when her hands are stained with henna
And her arms laced in embroidered elegance
Does her blood begin to change?
And if it doesn’t, will she be thrown away
Like the burden on her fathers head?
That chokes him from the day she was born to the day she is wed
Is that why her mother once wore the colour red?
I think to myself,
a lamb bleeds too when it’s cut for it’s meat,
And then it’s coat is no longer light
Is that why she wears red and not white?

I found myself lost in the wind
The coldness creeping up my skin
Right through the threads of my clothes
And I remembered just how free I was
Amongst the raining leaves and swaying grass
It felt like I had left everything once at last
Wondering if the wind could carry me back to my mind
So that I could gather my thoughts and be redefined

I lay here searching for wakefulness
hours after sunrise.
Outside, remnants of a soft pink rest
among new-born grey clouds,  
And embers of a morning sun fade away.

I admire the transitioning sky, remembering how this life is a mystifying blur made of hellos and goodbyes.

You always carried me home with your gaze
In your laughter I could float freely with all my fears left to drown in the sea of your reassurances
I slept in my dreams clutching the threads of my tears
So that in my wakefulness,
I can embroider them onto the fabric of a forgotten past
To keep the memory of your name within reach
So that when I whisper it into the sea breeze
Everything once cultivated grows inside of me
And a garden scape of indescribable ease
Is complete with streams of water that run
from your heart to my shaking hands

Paint the colours of the haunting sky,
With the breeze that ignites your fire,
The seas that whisper your words
And put me sound to sleep.

Paint me with colours of love,
The velvet reds of a rose bud,
The pink lips of a cherry blossom tree,
And the cayenne of your fairytale dreams

Paint the universe with your glow
The one that colours you when you dream
Covers your eyes when you sleep
And dances on your skin when you smile

I’ll admire the landscapes you’ve left for me
Write your name in that stars when I fall sleep
Keep the taste of your remembrance on my tongue
And recite it in your memory to the curious mind
The one that asks where you’ve been all this time

You’ve befriended discomfort,
Left behind your childhood streets,
only to walk down dark foreign ones.
You kiss away your mother tongue,
Surrendering to an unfamiliar one.

                      ...............

Your battles are carved into my blood vessels
and I will carry them with me
as reminders of patience and faith

What becomes of these fleeting reunions?
Do they wash away with the sea salted sand
and becomes fragments of a conversation once had
Do they transform into the sugar in your coffee,
or the honey in your tea,
and compel you to never forget about me?
Or do they live in this rustling wind
that picks fights with your consciousness
and leaves you in a state of rumination
between the present and the past?

Where the atmosphere meets blooming water
and boats of paper mache dock
You carry your dreams in a garbage bag  
waiting for an eclipse
to sew back together
your words of reconciliation that you sold
in exchange for hopeless daydreams
when you were too afraid of the aftermath
of healing