this house reeks of joy tonight
a teary-eyed girl— laughing
the gas heater and its sizzling flames
crimson socks with golden stripes
and a woman eating a slice of strawberry cake
a boy revising his lessons,
a man listening to news
the sound of oven and the roasting chicken
a boy making jokes
an old woman, on her rocking chair, smiling
— sipping tea

and the lights flicker off— the oven passes out
but the silky strands of fire in the heater keep swaying about
— burnt shadows on the creamy walls.
roast rests uncooked in the blazing heat
and the girl gets tired of laughing
— maybe it’s the sleep.
and her eyes ache
— maybe it’s the sleep.
the boy puts away his books, stretching his limbs by the fire
woman places her blood-stained plate aside
and the boy runs out of jokes
—maybe it’s the sleep.

but the heater keeps hissing
and gas fills up the room—
air packs up her bags and leaves, unannounced
something heavy slithers in and out our lungs.
heat and suffocation drip out this overfilled room
the roast waits, patiently, to be cooked
and slumber sinks deep in our bones
and our lights go off—

and though the flame twists and turns
—no one sees her
and the roast screams
but only the metal walls hear.
this house reeks of a peaceful joy
and the old woman dozes off to sleep
the girl covers up her feet
the boy yawns and hides his face under a pillow
and the news go on but no one listens
and only the heater stays awake in this house
— reeking of a flammable joy.

and the roast curls—
the roast curls up in his deathless form.

Sun! dear sleepy sun.
Do you know what the squirrels are saying?
Say they heard from mice and moles
there’s a land beneath this land
Could you believe so?
These rooftops that you melt on
These trees— these roads— these waters—

But the lakes there, a frog exclaimed, are colder than dark
The buildings are grey skeletons— sometimes lesser
And trees— leafless— fruitless; tongue-tied with the winds.
threads stretching out in those nightly depths.
And humans— oh humans
but the snake shuddered at the mention

They’re raw! He hissed
like coal! Like a child’s burnt sock, alone on a blasted road.
there’s no flesh, no blood, sometimes not even—
But they’re alive, continued a worm
I heard ‘em talking—
Walking soundlessly in those ruins
saw crowns glimmer vividly over their heads

Sun! dear yawning sun.
I see you’re beginning to fade
I wondered if the folks there knew about you
—There’s no light there, not even a flicker!
but the snake told me.
and birds soar deep, wingless though they are,
in a sky choking of mud.
No one breathes for there’s no air to spare.
And the rat trembled,
and when I asked him why he did so
he only shook his head, closing his eyes.

And I thought
There’s a girl beneath my feet
A girl— withered and alive; alive
her inhuman sounds scaring away ants and spiders.
a sparrow up that bough
a crumbled mess of bones below—
And as your crimson colours pour over these silent moors
we put on our white-gold tires, and diamond rings
lay our worn-out daggers down to sleep
with only the dusk as witness

But sun! O should I admit
That I was bewildered
What land do you talk of? I asked.
The land below, said a rabbit, then pondered.
No, this land you talk of! a sky moulded and pounded
ash-white trees, sooty chirps,
vanquished beings with kingdoms and gems
— living and talking and—
and a squirrel scowled—

But I see you’re exhausted now
Here, I’ll cover you up with these clouds
And draw all of the curtains
the moon is only a street light far away
and stars, our locked up jewels
And I’ll guard this mortal sky for you

You, my sun, shall now be off to sleep.

"I can stop whenever I want," I thought.

Days pass on in a blink or two, nights even lesser
Sometimes they linger to catch their breath
while the moon sails like a leaking, exhausted raft—
forever rowing, never moving— in a silent sea
And even if I could grab hold of the sky
and spin her till a peachy blush lit up her face
what good would it do to this melancholy land?

When a grief-stricken snake banged at my door, one stormy night,
I let him in for his toothless, shivering lips
—blue like cold himself—
became the very cause of my liquifying heart;
what could the piteous reptile be offered but
a chalice of fresh, steaming, crimson blood
He gave me his ruby smile and I tied it around my neck
How do you repay such love— how so
if not by surrendering your own doomed flesh?

Did I, or did I not
Roam about narrow alleys of ancient cities housed with words?
make home with wounded rugs left
in places even orphaned kittens avoided
—slept like an unborn child through sunless hours of dark's embrace
Swam through tireless waters—
with a pillowcase filled with tales
Crowned by impressed kings in some lands,
robbed by faceless folks in others.
Carried a plank or two when stories stopped earning me food

All worth another flip of the unheard page
Did I or did I not then forget it all—

As winter moved on to the land next door
sky stole away the very snow she had once abandoned;
lifted the frosty veil off her sun's flushed face
But even as fox gloves and lilies opened their arms,
I let the snake stay in my castle walls
sent out an army and fought wars against stars
when he said he deplored the light
He grew up fast, developed a habit of hissing—

And the neighbourhoods passed like ecstatic tides
left behind by unstopping ships

The moon keeps chasing his blooming sun,
never too far from her rays
and they kiss in the mornings and kiss in the dusks
And the sky steals quick glances at sea,
as he smiles knowingly
The snake fills up a goblet of wine,
feasting upon treys filled with meat—roasted and boiled and baked

And I stumble through empty streets, vomiting out all but him—
Vomiting out all that’s left of me—

"I can stop whenever you want," he whispers.

Arms up, fingers clawed
as if ready to rip open a sky
pants —and sweats
and she sings.
a mad girl, people whisper.
rose-eyed, she weeps
as her mother pulls her in embrace
"she never stills" she says, flushed

a mad girl, people whisper
runs through rows of chalk-scribbled women
reaching for something unseen
Sings wordless ballads
with ever-changing tunes—
a mad girl, people whisper.
Bare neck and a bare heart
arms up, she leaps as if ready to soar
oblivious to the world bellow.

a mad girl, they whisper.
as I watch her struggle
to climb up the void—
A tree laden with blossoms and boughs
she tries opening her sewed wings
to grab a branch that lives
solely for her.

a mad girl, people whisper.
but I see him too, I wish I could tell her
but she speaks in colours
and mine have faded— wish I could tell her
I too have slipped off his walls and climbed again
too have tried chewing away his doors—
away, away she runs in the yonder
never once out the chains
a guitar in her dances softly—
as notes try taking her her
— as she tries following

Eyes filling up with every fall,
you'd think she were sinking

a mad girl, they whisper.
Utters wordless words that no one catches
but I too have shouted till could no more
too have cried tongueless tears over vacant airs.
a mad girl, people whisper.
As she looks up in despair, and sobs
her mother harshly pulls her in her lap

She extends out her arms— frightened.
a lover reaching for her submerged beloved
screams as the tree disbands into gusts
taking with himself, her only home

whose sky is green and the ground soft
—leaves ***** at you as insects bite
whose winds whirl about, kissing you slow
slow,
slow,
slow
— their arms around you,
Kissing you— whole— to sleep
where only sound is that of wood talking
and your heart breathing
far—
—far away from the world

a mad girl, I whisper, late that night—

on and on it goes
deep into the past— and forward.
  Still, on and on it grows
a spiral unfolding 
                                eternity
sideways, upwards, downwards
   — inwards
                  on and on—
and where all— that could be imagined— meets
       is this now.
Is this now?
    there we all sway
        there we’ll all stay
shallower than light
empty— empty—         emptier yet.
and there we’ve been.
shining fires— vanquished stones
betrothed, sundered;                        
carved into our very own       e n tr opy
   and deformed back to cosmos.
we’ll be there—
when we are; or are not.
scattering like pollens.
      Unseen.
                       far—

far away from this now
this mesh of a single thread
         on           and on which goes
On— on still
as strings long passed whirl around us again,
and what’s to come late

— comes already.

Under the night—there’s a lake
beneath whose serene, silvery strands
blooms a city so filled with buzz
folks chock on it—
In the coal-coated sky, planes flutter;
billboards shine over gleaming malls
reeking of marbles and crystals and wealth
and little kings and queens prowl about—
ants dressed in facies—
and balloons breathe freedom
as children’s distracted fingers let them go;
blues and yellows—neons and pinks
and greys.

and overflowing pavements cuddle into the hysteric roads
winking cars, cursing vans—
honking and screeching and scratching
and laughing and—
Screaming? Shrieking!
Crying blood! Crunching metal!
A mother covers her toddler’s eyes
as pieces of flesh scatter around like confetti
A crowd gathers about what’s left of the—
human.

—ants before a rotten grape.
kings and queens with their buggies and guards
tiaras and lockets— arrows and darts
and the lights still smile, adds still run
and so does the blood—
and so does the dog with a missing limb
and so does the car that never stopped
Nothing remains of the flower, nothing of the bee
Statures jump out of ringing vans
men in suits— men too late.
They collect the pieces of steaks and the dog’s leg
and take them away.

and a slim lady cries, melting her smooth skin
A child, gawking, lets go his balloon,
A teen chocks on her wine—
footprints engrave in the clotting blood
Through the clouds, flies up the balloon
carrying the first scream, the first screech,
the panic of the driver who vanished,
the frenzy of city still as a corpse—
up, up into the breathing water —

another prince screams under his trembling crown
and in a wounded street far away,
whimper crawls out of a ravaged girl,
grubby boy weeps for his stollen rug
a woman curses, a girl trembles, a guy laughs,
a man sleeps, a lady paints herself, a cat dies, a trigger is pulled,
a cigarette is lit, a bottle breaks open a leg, a wolf howls,
a boy weeps in his bed
—a little whimper for each.

and little bubbles wade in her delicate waves,
the air pops those pomegranates open as
tongueless stories disperse around—
silent on her glossy lips.

and over her, the night sky yawns
as I crawl under her layers, and close my eyes,
listening to the sloshing waters, the owls far away—
begging for the bubbles to stop the screaming.