I wonder what lonely sees
 women with pretty eyes
— a library in the night
a classroom with broken chairs

white-boards
         and bullet-holes
echoes in the halls,
giggles on the swings—
a group of laughing men

wine glasses with their clinks
an unread book—
     a wet matchstick box

I wonder what lonely sees—
when he wanders around the towns
  — whether
endless moors beneath    glass-lid skies
  empty roads,
and emptier cadavers —

or
— just the world

as it is—

— but I did not dart into the field with a sword in my hand
I stood by the archers, choked poetry out a quill’s hollow chest

my sisters could slay heads in smooth, swift motions
their tiaras glimmered in pools of enemy’s blood,
but I only gagged at the sight of rotting flesh

led no soldiers on my armoured horse,
I sat by the rocks and stared at the ocean from dawn to dusk
picked up the flaccid of my limbs and willed them to endure
one more step, one more step, one more step,
one more—

shook and whimpered under weights of my velvet sheets
I drowned a hundred deaths beneath the layers of silent nights
— could’ve fought dragons, I chose shadows instead
and I did not win wars under the silhouette of my cape
I curled up at the sound of cannon *****,

shrieked louder than the wounded every time
an arrow kissed a heart
and I saved no bruised kingdoms with my flowing blood

sat by the roses and talked to the bees
cried out tears for a carcass of crow,
******* my bones with my feeble flesh
and I begged them to not break apart,
begged through every sigh of the air,
— every burning book,
— every hissing of the rain
every drop tiptoeing out a mouldy tap
I begged them to not break apart

walked though the forest with a lone wolf in my skull,
I sat by a newborn **** singing her back to sleep

and I cried out in pain when a knife ripped open my wrist
did not jump through dubious cliffs and roar with the winds
nor did I fight a hundred knights —
with a broken arm and a tired blade

I winced at the sounds of slashing swords
— shivered at the thought of a dagger’s stab
I dragged an obsolete chest through aisles of dusty, empty shelves
and I whirled around lilies and laughed with the frogs
all while melting away—

I Inhaled, exhaled all night— all day— with these rusted lungs

escaped a thousand chains that snarled in my bed,
I forced dry breads down my narrow throats
and saved a young jasmine from a greedy bird,

fell down thrones and I kissed a hundred grounds
through bleeding lips and muddy gowns,
molded my hesitant voices into tunes of ballads hand-stitched
I brewed tales upon tales for the lonely moon

I willed the vacant of this heart to breathe
every day,
every endless hour,
—every whisper of the despaired firefly
—every flutter of the wind
—every chuckle echoing in the sea
every tick of the yawning moon
and every tock

and don’t you dare—
don’t you dare
tell me about the battles they fought—

to those who randomly go around disliking comments:
I hope it makes you happy.

breathe—
like mint shrub under a drizzle,
Ink clawing it’s way up a quill
Like lemon grass growing
Like steam rising from a cup of tea
Like parchment.

Like confetti circling a cyclone
Like a whip kissing skin
a branch cracking
Like chalk against cement,
Like nails on sandpaper
Like glitter.
breathe—

But sometimes I lie straight on my back
Under a heavy quilt—
let my limbs slump away, let my fingers sink
weakly into sheets
And I think,
this is how we die—
Insipid eyes blanketed by skin
A book incomplete—closed midway, without a mark.
They may tie our chin and skull with a strip of cloth
to prevent our loose jaw from falling open,
this— is how we die

Like the carcass of Morning Glory
hanging— swaying in the wind
Like coal left behind by a burning log,
Like a dusty painting.
Like a moor.

No wings sprout out of our jagged backs
they put us in a box and clothe us in dirt
No earthworms spare our clotted blood
Clouds don’t come bowing down
nor does sky break to shards— for our escape.
solid bricks, we never did mind sleep
nor the warmth or tight embrace of our beds
the world's too big anyway— for our shrinking selves

Silence—
Like a beetle crawling down a leaf
the ocean behind a portrait
Like moon, yawning
Like a folded paper, filled with scribbles
Like dusk.

Like a still child.
a tongueless nightingale up a bough
Like words in a bottled letter.
Like rubble under smoke
Like a palette, unwashed.
Like a bone.
Silence—

And someone knocks under you—
You dig out the coffin and break open its lid
But it’s filled, to the brim, with mud.

And time spirals on—
Pushing us behind, and we fight against it.
A puppet tied to the sky,
wishing to see the end of an abyss
Like a stone under the ocean, dreaming of stars
breathe—
Like a newborn leaf.
breathe—

But the time spirals on—
and we, with the dirt, reunite.

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.