i stare at the ceiling and hours go by.
clocks tsks—
and cars, outside, laugh
lamp paints shadows on the walls
and the chocolate melts
—a flute sings
and winter settles on the floor
the fan hangs still— still— still.
a bear snores in her cave
and baby owls, with their moons, watch—
a river hisses meekly
and crops bow before the night
air chokes on gold
—and crescent yawns
the clock tsks— the clock tsks
i stare at the ceiling and hours go by.
the clock tsks.
the clock tsks—

Could I have seen them,
I’d tell you
in words—tunes—or hues.
but there’s more an eye can do

an eye can want.

cobblestones—
wooden benches
Skeleton trees, and pretty profiles
Sometimes, crimson skies
or crimson dirts— liquids even.
—she touches all she wants

          she wants all—
glimmering,
       teasing, deceiving—
Black boots on cement old
—yellowed pages sewed together.
  she wants all.

an eye can breathe.
And that was where they came
in caravans.
—inhale

perhaps snow-covered grass
   Or cracked desks
Perhaps trees laden with beings or
just—nothing.

Could I have heard them,
I’d tell you
in clinking bangles— carved ice— or weeping flutes
Could I have—
—could I.

they walked in— nay
flew. Nay, swam.
nay—
Could I have fathomed—

Carried torches, I think.
they marched deep into my caverns
—carried mirrors they.

what of the paw-prints engraved in mud
Crumpled letters
    lying naked in puddles— nay.
my caverns bore silk smoke over velvet nights.
dark—
and dreary and dying
and dead—

but they marched still
And their torches hissed.
Sapphire boots on sooty rugs—
     They marched.
They sang—nay.
painted— nay, moulded a
world out of cinders—
Nay.
Could I have touched, I'd know—

on every turn and every crease
They placed a mirror pure  
    as an infant’s tear
—or maybe a sharpened gem
who would dare to know—

In every dungeon and every hall
Their stares flickered like neon serpents
—nay.
Sun-licked butterflies, nay.
halos above mountains chaste—nay—
Could I have felt—

But one
—exhale
and they were no more.
Went into the rain perhaps,
or past moonlight
    maybe in pine trees under the sea
Could I have tracked them down—

but there’s more an eye can do
An eye can want.
light—
Between the dawn,
    between the darts
Children in smiling yards
light—
   inside coal,
Inside a broken sword—

She touches all she wants
   —she wants all.
and a ray falls on the mirror
and the mirror tosses it to the next
  and next, to the next—
Sun knits a web inside me.
beams and glitter—

Like a child’s song
or a kitten’s roar
—a war cry
Could I laugh like a spear
or mould the starlight into words
I’d tell you—

but the rays marched on
into me
   swift like kites
warm like— like iron.
nay—a mother’s hug
Nay,
beating drums
—or an armour’s clatter, nay.
Could I have known—

But there’s life in piercing screams
—And I was burning
But is it not a privilege
to watch the world wither
from the very roots of the flames?
to be their very mother—

when your wings melt
and towards the ground you
wilt
but you’re flying still—

Practiced pain and misery memorised
A shawl swirling round but nothing is covered
—nothing safe
Little woman—

Why do you roam so free on these greasy roads
People—
people are everywhere, don’t you see?
Do you not know how easy a shell is broken
—how swiftly the pearl is stollen
Little woman— little woman
Where do you hide your crystal wings—
Did you sell them for some loaves of breads?
Don’t assure.

Your eyes bear no tragic fruit and
I wish they did— Lord, how I wish so!
Anything but this casualty
Placidity—
Have they long forgotten
the sky-high castles they were robbed from?
All those moon-struck crowns—
Don’t, don’t assure!

Don’t spread out that hand
Don’t show me that tight stomach
I beg you don’t show them that
stomach—waiting to be filled—
Where in the hell do you sleep?
Don’t you have a door to lock?
Don’t assure—

You priceless, prince-less little woman
Why do you roam so free on these greasy roads
Why do you beg? Why do you—
I wonder why I ask— I with my flowers and bees
wonder what I even know—

I know that in some other dimension
—perhaps beneath a crease in the warp of time
They like to rip flesh off bits of bones
of lovers and friends
dress it up in spices and sauces for feasts—
And their kings do it, and they do
Children are taught, and
house-wives prepare them for special guests
Humans, wrapped in sacks, are sold
in markets— or traded like rice

I know some take pride in the love-kisses
their whips leave on flushed skins
And tallest of corpses are chopped like logs
—carried like crops; cleaned and
beautified— like porcelain; somewhere,
screams are sung on weddings and
Lyre strings talk about mothers’ pleas
Where gatherings of men and women and wealth
are served with their own roasted limbs

Where molestations await invitations
which are not scarce—
I know some like to beautify battlefields
and scattered fingers and ribs and feet and—
I know that tulips are planted in blasted skulls
And children leave paper-boats in warm, rosy puddles
— stars are extinguished for their
unbearable lights and moons are
exploded on festival nights—

I know you look at me and wonder
if I admire canvases gigantic
with stories loud and heroes bewildering
I know you ask of my role on this street,
at this moon, with you of all planets
—and plants, but I only
know of the canvases they burn

—and canvases they tear and
canvases used as shrouds and— canvases
that wipe away clogged ruby tears
I only know of the flowers I painted—
Colours I yelled at
for they were not bright
And the painting I buried under coats of white
for it was not pretty—
The memory I killed over and over and over and over and—
Watched the cadaver walk right through
its death

I know I was not called, nor welcomed
And I know there are worse wars to be ceased
but I only see the bruises on
this child’s dusty face, and bones—
bones and how they push at his ragged flesh
I know not of the demon that lurks within his shadow
Or what tales you carry under your glamorous suit
or what told him to try running with your coins—

And I know there are worse wars to be ceased
—I know there are worse wars to be ceased
and I know— but please for the sake
of dawn’s first ray, of sea’s first breath
don’t hurt him—

Tell you a secret
I’m going to meet the crescent tonight
He followed me around
As I ran though the woods behind my house
a denim bag bouncing on my back
Behind the coal-coated trees, he hid
and emerged only when I begged
—Where do you go, he asked.

away— away from it all.
I locked myself in the basement
Left her nothing to live for
I’ll be far when her stinking body is found
asked the wolves for a ride
We are to meet by the arid hill
Go now—banish like you always do
I do not wish to be seen by a light
So he crawled behind a placid cloud
And I was off again

Ran till eerie voices begin their waltz
—and coward of this heart yelled for him again.
We talked till the dawn
And I walked back to the sick brick cottage
unlocked myself, I wiped her stained cheeks clean,
—apologised
And she was out again—
for yet another day with the world
her mysterious lover

now I am to wait by the window
Where a caravan of dark will pick me up
And carry the light of me
away— away from it all
up; up into the deepening sky.
and he has promised me a circus of stars
We’ll sit at the shore of night
—dream of horizons undreamt

and he has promised me a swim
we’ll plunge into the sun-kissed waters
and watch galaxies collapse into each other
—eternities and breaths away
explosions, explosions and explosions
voiceless—voiceless— voiceless
Remnants of wars between stars
memories of folks who withered
centuries ago—

Then I’ll come back to myself
At waking of the light
disband into the scattering crowd
—confetti.
and in return for his favour
I am to live with myself
till death comes to lift the day away.

Where have you gone, little child
—my little child
You told me all your secrets
but never told me your plans
and was it nothing to you?
—all those golden weeds we plucked
and laughs that bloomed
I should’ve built you a castle out of it all—

I should’ve covered the windows with dry leaves
and letters
I know well of the temptation, but
what was ever so promising in that hazy night?
My little bird,
didn’t I teach you how to fly
didn’t I adorn your feathers with petals
—and poems
I wrote tales for your wings and
Will this be your repay?

What of the endless hills we sailed over
All the gleaming waters we kissed
I should’ve built you a kingdom out of it all—
We could’ve been queens of a starry land yet
here we are

I sit with the weeds, they chew away our lilies
you have long run away
with the dark
and the world is dry—
the world is dry without you.

“Where is the assignment?”

You ask a question the philosophers have argued over

“Didn’t do it, sir.”
“Why?

Because..because…
Where do I even begin—
I usually begin with stories
They fly in through the window, peck at me
Until I emerge out of my cotton caverns
Today, they brought along a fox, orange like melting sun
She hid under my bed and didn’t crawl out until
I sacrificed to her some of my food
had travelled villages and trees in search of her child
Streams and bridges and bushes, she had asked

told me of a little, blind boy with a ***** sack
He wandered about streets, and parks
Every turn memorised over years— every fortunate bin.
His scarred hands searching for softness— of
half-eaten fruits and soggy breads— of cloths.
Dry papers, he collected and sold to people unseen
He slept on the grass, sang songs and gave her food
Then one day she waited but he never came
Then one more, and one more, then—

But you don’t want a story, do you?
right.
Uses of crystalline solids.

“I’m sorry.”
“Were you sick?”

Sick?
Yes, I was sick. But not like that girl, over there,
With a runny nose and funny coughs
I was sick with strange blisters just
under my skin.
they itched and burned, and I could not calm them down
Instead I winced. I curled up like an injured worm
And when the doctor asked me where it hurt
I said nowhere
I said there was a campfire inside me
I said the fish hanging over it had turned to coal
wild-grass soup was spilling out the ***— it’s hisses in flames
I said the people had fought themselves to deaths
And now the fire was alone, and the camps too
And the mother fish calling for her son
And the moon,
And the bodies—

But he said it was just my brain talking

“No.”
“Did you have to go somewhere?’

I did. Past the raging seas, beyond all mighty peaks, I followed a jolly fairy to the hidden garden where all dead flowers go.

“No, sir.”
“Any guests?”

A guest, I did.
But I didn’t invite him. I don’t even know his name.
He banged in through my locked door
A hazy grey shadow with two horns, four fangs and many claws
He ate nicely and didn’t judge my dying plants
He made a blanket fort out of my unfolded clothes,
we had a tea-party,
I painted his claws pink, braided his fur
he crafted me a paper-sword
And we duelled till our weapons creased and sun stopped burning
Then we sang together in our husky voices
And I’d tell you more but I swore
to protect him.

“No, sir. I did not.”
“Then where’s the assignment?”
“I forgot.”

I didn’t forget. I sat down to write but my brain
started talking. It talked and talked
and didn’t cease. Not until I hid back in my caves
and walked away from the night.

“I’ll give it tomorrow.”

Uuh...

“You sure?”

You ask a question the philosophers have—

“Yes, sir. sure. I’ll give it tomorrow.”

Bless tomorrow.