Not a seat is left here
For your gentle grief
The ritual started a breath ago
And has not tired since
Not a glass is empty,
Not a plate unused

Now meet him in the quiet shadows
Of the garden humming
Itself to sleep
Now dance on with the beetles
You two,
For the hall in here is full

Not a gossip chirps the name
Of your long loyal lover
Not a searching glance
Birthed for him

Here, the ladies sparkle around
And spices giggle on tongues
Here, kings now stumble on their crowns
And goddesses
Painted on windows
Smile the lambs once killed for chastity
In their altars

Did I not warn you, beloved?
Did I not open the moon up
Vessel by vessel
And weave a castle out it all
Did I not surrender?
Spared a throne for him, I did
and a thousand ones for you
in my bleak little hall

I watch you sneak out into the night
Pearls kissing your cheeks,
And teasing your lips
Slipping down that slender neck
Shining a dawn
in the fading lights
Oh, how I envy
the silliest of things!

Precarious dresses
And grasses smothered
Beneath flushed soles

Oh, how I wait and wait
In the hall I slaughtered to silence
For your peace
The stars I invited, drunk on boredom
And sunlit teas
Warm no more
Oh, how I wait, I wait
My breaths away!

Not a dove dares mimic the grace
Of your beautiful grief
Not a moth dares look

You swirl about his finger
And the world does
About you

I sewed myself a dress
Made it prettier than spring
Oh, the laces hiss like golden snakes
And winter sits, a heavy shroud
Did you not prefer frozen lakes over
Golden flowers?
Why then, why then—

And as the dreamy plants
Whisper soft verses to your dress
You sigh happiness in his
Melancholy embrace
Oh, I know,
Not a shadow is left here
For me to blend in

How I wish I were him
your sweet, gentle grief
Oh, how I wish
I were a nameless goddess
Buried in the glass window of a rotten hall
Swaying to the sounds
Of your laughs

But deceptive blood-robed pomegranates
With their piteous decay, and sullen seeds
Packed as kids’ taut skins in sand-tinted crates;
With bloom, with ruin, and sweet as reeds
Them reeds naught know of plain parched mourn
As wails it and yields to their illiterate lips;
As stumbles then snakelike out— thin and worn.
Begotten unwanted, poorly fathomed, forgotten wisps
Of old, odourless leisured hours,
That scrubbed, so gruntled, and scratched the fruit.
Then white silks soft within parched blue days;
And no heirs birthed, sublimed the flowers.
Touch it; the crumple and crêpe is not yet soot
If it could bleed, it could bloom alive, ablaze.

A sorrow that feels like a mother
Out of shape, with a little scar
A cool kiss-mark that I wipe
On my way out of the house
Do not stumble, mother. Do not you
Lose your way on your way to us
I love you with childhood, with maturity
With the stubborn memory
Of chipped walls and a crammed room
Where you lived as a bride of waxen wings
Do not laugh when you speak
To us of flight. Do not warn with
A softened voice.

The cloak of your quiet
Leaves a scent in my palms
And the women sense it
The men are lured, they promise
Absolution, and I flee
Like a fly, return like a fly, I cower
In the shadowing absence of word

And it is in all my work. You,
Candle. Bribing the night
For momentary mercy. Do not laugh
When you itch to weep.
Your woolen arms loyal to tear
To fear and defeat. I know a lament
That talks of you

With a swollen lip, its reticence
Brittle as chalk, it bursts as a stifled
Fruit of spite, it eats eats eats you
I hate you with shame, with burning
Flight. I hate you with the sun.
I write all night, I cannot sing
I rob the little sleep of dream
And weep weep weep for you
Then crawling I sink within my blue
And let the morning dove take lead

I am lost, and the cave is blue
All facets of it, some faded, some sure
Crystal tears flicker on the jagged
White eyes, the stones speak nothing
Merely blink as the turnings of lights
In keen grey wells of silence
My life, as a ragged brush, paints
The night to be raw and torn
Leaves the canvas blank for a moon
Throughout the sky are pinned
My letters to the world, flip-flopping
As wild wind horses hop about them
But in the day, in its darkness
I can recall nothing of the colours
The walls scuttle away from me
And the cave, though endless, shrinks
I sit down into the shape of an insect
And feel the firm embrace of lone
Of stone, I begin to feel myself of stone
I rush to the waters, they rush to me
Bleak blue turns me over, takes me
Through months, I sail its roudy mouth
Blissfully unseeing and faceless
Until the coin of the sun flips
And blackness washes everything clean
The sea still, sags to rock, entombs
Itself and me. I am lost, and the cave
Is blue

Here is it
Another quiet march of words
I bring no rhymes,
no fragrant tragedies seasoned to fable

The teacher speaks
and walks up and down the narrow aisle
All eyes upon him linger
All but those frozen on text
as if lost within it
Some somewhere nowhere
Some then
left right, left right
dance
One line, one line more

and so far away I lurk
So hollow this echoing of being.
I lay
a shell drained of warmth
In a deep, dim cavern

and it is it

What more could be said without I
ripping and shredding my skin to waste
Still may not stir
those angry animals beneath
Still I may twist and shrink
Naked and full and, oh, so, so lone

But the teacher speaks on
and I feel the weightlessness
of all the faces of which I am one
Pressing down and down

and write and write I might
Skin upon skin of an undying hum
But anyone can do that
Thousand men before me bled
What fiery pearl I, moulded from dust and
their dry, abandoned ash

but lone, but lone is lone
however it may sing
However we may—
In this little, little world
tossed, left right, left right

naivety slips
forbidden down
I wipe away
with sodden palms
I wipe the way
I slip in paint
wipe moody, spoiled,
wipe then a madness
little and brown
it is no one's fault
or no one's bad
it is rampant Less
stood up to life
with machine breaths
and human noise
sweet sky buckles
as it spreads its arms
rampart then, it is
like blindness
like stumble
forgive me
I know it is weak
when you are evil
I cannot help but break

Carnal is she
Leaping at me
Swift and free
Sleek as tea
Whispers thick
And then does lick
Ick ick ick ick
She sticks
The blade
Down in bed
And then she fades
As soul from dead
And fed am I
On nerve and song
And lie I long
Shivering along
To barren currents
Of our ripe night
And harvests she
The crop, and stops
To smile at me
And further drops
Me into fright

Bold is she
Carnival and cat
A mocking flame
To my dear wax
Tumbles my body
In her shrill hands
And lands in mercy
Of her mischief
Then melt I
And fly I falling
And follows she
To watch me come
Alive again
Again. Again she goes
And scares the skin
Tin, as tin
She laughs away
And if sin this be
Then sin we may
Till the sun should come
Alive again

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.

So, that third floor of the building
was forbidden,

and up we climbed three
quiet, mischievous rats,
As thudded and thudded
our frantic chests

Where echoes, as waves,
of every whisper plunged
into the unlit well—
Scurried away all the lizards
at the unbidden thunder
of our steps

There sat
the pretty, pretty sun
awaiting—

Smirking past a dust-licked glass
'So you made it'
yes, yes, yes
and look at our trembling veins,
Gazes alert as spot-lit fawns’

Fear is beautiful

and only now do we know
only now, only—
A thousand hours of conch shells uncurled
Only just—
And we’re never going back

Then, the teacher comes
and roars out a fury
As we stammer and serve her
with our sorry words

but a smile dares slip
and down into the gaping sea
we go—

Then flutter and run we
away from her tides
Thread with thread intertwines
and we weave laughs
out of the lively looms
of our throats

run and run
as up chuckles the buoyant sun

No wrath shall hold and pull us now
Not again to those grim, dim
places shall we go

we have witnessed the luring miracle
of a little fall.

Silly old papa with a head of stone
A heart of stone, as he wont say
A heart petty, poor and grotesque
Table unturned - noise and show
A jagged black stone - I pick you up

Debris and Zeus - I pick you up!
I throw you to the streets
There you kiss, you kiss - you foul sag
Of a naive wish, you bland-brown day
Out, please, to your beloved grey

You! Pitiful - huge - huge
Huge with arms of steel
Brazen love, burnt scent, naked sculpture
Chipped and art, you are the museum
Of yell and watch and monotony
The crease I will never paint
Gesture that will tear the paper
You disgust my pencil. You hold;
Crumbling; crumpled a poem
Cold, sold - sold. Sold, Papa! Sold!

The dust storm
Whipped the world red
Trees all freaked out, I and my brother
We climbed up the solar panels
On the roof
And laughed
In the face of the sky

The city swirled
With the drunken stars
And lights bled
In our flooded eyes
Laughing does that to you
We did not weep
For the sky did
And darkness
Was a horde of wasps let loose
It devoured our sweet,
Ripened day

I grabbed his wrist
And spun him around
Our feet kissing
The grumpy, old ground
We blended
Like ink in milk
Stirred round and round
And round ran the heavens

We laughed
Laughed our stomachs
To painful exhaustion
And the gusts hissed on
Rain sneaked down our clothes
Ran soft touches
All over

Do you ever settle down
On the edge of the world
And watch the beautiful
Oblivion chase itself?
Do you ever laugh
Even a dog moves on from its tail
After a while
Or whisper
“Will you not stop? Will you not stop
For I am here
I have climbed a thousand peaks
And slaughtered many a ravenous
Creatures
In the valleys of time
to get to you
Will you not stop?”

A gust of hues.

It says something
And you grasp it, you
Grasp it almost
Almost
But what is it
If not an oblivion?
Unfathomable

And a voice comes
From around, inside or
Maybe somewhere in between
Maybe
Maybe nowhere at all
It ruffles your hair
And pats your cheek
Have you forgotten your place
Little human?

Winds then shushed
The clouds away
From their beloved sun
And gold gleamed
Up, below, and in between
Every pearl that plummeted,
Blushing
I watched the sunset
Peep out the night
And I wondered
If rain was overrated

Have you forgotten you place
little human?

Because when the euphoria dies down
And cold begins to bite
You watch the raindrops
Beat the world to silence
And day breathes its
Last laughs

You wonder
“What now?” What now?
You wrap an arm around an arm
And shiver
What now?
Even a dog gets tired
Of whirling

What now?

Nothing,
The hues whisper
Now sit on the edge of oblivion
And we will do our magic

And maybe the world
Still chases its tail around
But you forget
For a breath or two.

Old friend, I have forgotten the ocean
Sailing restless on my fidgeting boat
Keen blue makes my meek blue weep
Sky is an atrocity, descending all night

The unsightly faces of men
Become my only comfort
As I lull myself to sleep
Counting down the stars
Crawling nearer, nearer

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—

You are an idol of stone
You do not move, you stand at the doorway and watch
You do not talk
You stand at the doorway and watch
When you thunder downstairs to your mistress
Your wife sits blue-eyed on the bed
That is old and ugly, its wood full
Of red insects that bite, but you
Will not let her sell it
For you think it is just fine

When you drive away with your mistress
There is laughter in the house
There is a board-game
Of fickle fate and try
That your wife and your children toss dices upon
And there is so much chatter and so much sound
All red things crawl back
Into the deep deep dens of the bed
That your wife got from her own house
And that you will not let her sell
For you think it is just fine

When you laugh, it is like storm
Sounding through the fingers of the city
And you make so much noise, it startles the sky
It makes the fat dead TV wince at its past
It makes the gruff old drawers never want to move again
And you are always here
Such loving god:
We cut the stone from which you came
Into pieces, pieces, we carved so many of you
Now you are in every doorway
And you do not move

When you return from your mistress
You are happy
You put the new TV on, loud and the news
Of the city flood the house
You are a news yourself
You cough like a steel glass falling in the silence of the night
When everything is sleeping, you cough like its bouncing
That goes on and on, and like its spinning stop
You cough and you chew on the furniture wood
And you make so much noise

She cannot sleep

Well, after, you are still; grey-eyed and corpse
And the insects come; and they do not bite stone

A soft, bruised apple your pretty absence—
I loathe— this bickering, bitter adolescence;
I miss myself unripened, myself sour
Where clung to anchor, I asked for more
Oh, more, and gave it cunning and cold: joys
That lovely ruin bore. Then your dragon eyes
And how I built built you out of lone
Now from me, to me my grief well known
Take you and on and on you go
Oh, cursed be your laughter: yellow and so
Sweet as stout it plunged — so quick a shine—
Into the sulking waters of mine. Oh, swear, was mine
The tremble, decay; yours the glittery dust.
Now parched, still patient pleads this lust

Return, O seamless, sodden salve, you must
You must—

Flowers fight flowers
To aridity
In my chest
Such is a penance
Must paid
For your distant benevolence

A liveliness so ecstatic
It slays and slays
All bits
Of melancholy peace
I’ve known
Lust you,

I lust you to war
Lust you, I lust you on
Nothing purer dare I claim
Lest the Sirens
Whirling
Within your gaze
Question the chastity
I have so well known

There is a desolation
Beneath this devouring tide
And you do not get me
You do not understand
I have always
Loved bleakness
Have always loved
A piece or two
Of you

And here
Bees fight bees
And the carnage
Weaves you a golden dirge
Soft as satin and softer still
Will you not hear—
Will you not?

I sink and sink
with the fair maidens
Who lured me to stillness
And not a note
Not a tune stirs its gentle wings

Your mute Muses
They know not a taste
Of hues
And I lure myself
Into you
Still

How awfully beautiful
Is our dance
How bleak—

Oh heavens, to have destroyed you
As a mad artist may his work
As a blacksmith may the sword
To have been called for then
To have waded in the tense desire
Of your bleak longing for grief
And beheld you naked, pathetic
Permanently deathless a creature
Tearing at its rivulets of life
To have been loved despite.
To have taken you into me
Tied you to the lone in me
And robbed you, clawing, over and over
Turned you to the flame you stole from me
Oh, to have been loved despite, despite

Mischievous little moon
You are beautiful
I wonder if you know
Though you’re often told
(You know
You can take that hood off
It ain’t cool
You look like a squished football
or an orange rotten from one side
No offence)
But really, you’re beautiful
It is strange
I have words, but none better
Yet beautiful is so much
Mustard flowers
And bluebirds
That girl down the street and her bright-pink smile
Mother’s laugh
Myself too,
Sometimes

But I do not mean that.
I cannot compare you to Arabian Jasmines
Or Sapphire stones
You’re beautiful
unlike all
I think everything’s like that
sigh

But there’s this moment
In the middle of a breath, in the middle of a day
Unbidden
It sprouts sturdily out
Like a Morning Glory seedling
In the midst of a Mint shrub

When it drizzles
And I lose my body for a while
My eyes fixed
At the knitted pattern of the chair
Mother places scraps of stale bread
For the crows to finish
And little brother, not so little now,
Rants about his Minecraft battles
The dragons he defeated
And forts he conquered
(through massacre, but let's not talk about that)
He complains about the sun
(It is not square, and, well, it is real)
Mother complains about his complain
And, vaguely,
I hear the traffic
Four storeys below
That of cars and bikes
Gossiping and giggling
An ambulance
wailing

I think
Someone might be in it
Wincing and pleading to go faster
Or maybe silent, a still god
I think
I still have my test to prepare
I think
Whatever
**** the test
I think
That darkened bird
And its undeniable existence
Is kind of offensive  
But it’s pretty too
Rich purple peeks through that night
Blue and gold
And silver as well, a little

Mother talks about my climbing rose
That’s taking over the balcony railings
And a kite soars by
With a hoarse hiss
I think
Did I sleep last night?
Was I awake?
Perhaps, it was a lingering in between
I think
My brother looks so much
Like that crow
I think
****, dude, he really does

I voice this epiphany to him
And I get a smack
He gets one back
‘Cause mama didn’t raise a sweet
Frail butterfly
But, dude can he hit
I hit him again, which is unjust and dangerous
one must not meddle with little brothers
But mama couldn't groom the idiocy out of
Her daughter
I think
You've tickled the snoring beast
Now flea, you idiot
I run, he runs
Mother squints up in the sun
(Look who came to see the show)
I run, he runs
I laugh when he stumbles
And falls

Cement rough over his innocent skin
Clouds dripping on

It is strange
Those moments
I lurk through loudness to the quiet of my flesh
Then sneak into the noisy life within
And yearn for peace
All about
I flutter with a merry dancing
In my bones
And something weeps, weeps
Weeps on

I think you’re beautiful like that
A divinity I cannot touch
Nor see
A hymn I dare not grasp or
Or perceive
But I need not.

How do I and where do I begin?
Every step is a shallow abyss.

Far right corner of the road flooded with people
There sits a muffled figure
so used to my eyes I barely saw her.
A drowsy woman holding on to a petite child
Her shawl covering her inexistent being
and the earth she rests on,
almost unknowingly
A boy sits next to his kins,
chews on his nails, eating them up
I do not blame him.
I imagine him staring at the crowded ice-cream shop
on the other side of the road
the aroma of cream and sugary flavour,
the smell of happiness calling out to him
circling around his being trying to turn him on
forcing him to cover his ears in his harsh embrace,
close his criminal eyes and force his tongue
into believing the fingertips are sweet.

How is it possible that a thousand people see you
and yet not?
How is it that the same hope awaits your fate
and yet not?

How do I and where do I continue?
Every step is a hungry despair.

On the inviting ice-cream shop,
I see a girl of my age walk around the land
carrying a couple of toys as she shows their feats trying
to draw some worthless attention
I see her walk for hours,
I see riches dare not buy the cursed creatures.
I hear play-boys hitting on her
for her dusty shimmering face.
I watch as she closes her eyes
as if remembering the vulnerability of her being,
and quickens her pace, fear flickering on her profile
She walks. Her hands timid over the things,
her eyes active in the crowd,
searching for children to arouse
I watch as she walks and offers,
walks and offers, walks and offers
only to be turned backs on.
Folks, they wrap their children into their refuges
as if she were a wolf ready to ravage them apart.

How is it possible that a thousand people see you
and yet not?
How is it that the same hope awaits your fate
and yet not?

How do I and where do I go?
Every turn is guarded by angst.

Where did the dog go? Oh, here he is.
His tongue sticks out of his mouth
like a dying man crawling towards a mirage
His eyes twinkle at every movement
like a pirate searching for ship in a stormy ocean
The women shopping for clothes, and
girls choosing their jewels
the guys gambling away their lives,
and winking at the youthful blooms
as they giggle with blush smiling down their necks.
The happiness holds no life for him.
He moves as his legs in front
drag the burdens behind
The scar on his back gleams
like the new-born moon
that people are celebrating tonight.
Every night I see him wander
but today he wanders with hope
in his placid eyes, and it breaks my heart
that soon he will wither away and we,
we will celebrate the break of dawn

How is it possible that a thousand people see you
and yet not?
How is it that the same hope awaits your fate
and yet not?

I could go on and on describing this dark
but it's getting harder to continue the walk,
and it's getting much tougher not to fall.
The pits are getting deeper,
as scars, they grow brutal
I fear the despair will raze my being.
So now I'll come to a hault.

And what good would it do,
if I went on with my words?
No one stops to listen anyway.

The woman will still be there
Poetry wont give her a home.
the child, still chewing his skin
poetry wont buy him some sweets.
The girl will go home with her toys
Poetry wont gift her some cash
The dog will curl up in a corner and die
Poetry wont bring him back to life

I went out to write of hope, believe me.
I do not hunt for death in the darkness of night
I went out to write of hope, I promise,
of the happiness and excitement of ponding hearts
for the Eid that this crescent had brought
But all I could see was death in darkness of night
And don't blame me for inviting despair

Dont you dare blame me for noticing the dark
around the moon and her dancing stars.
The crowd dances on the beat but the drum,
she screams and shouts in angst and pain.

The hopelessness of a lively day to come.

Fear is a fire that eats the soul
Muffles the brain in a cold body’s triumph
Toss the world from hand to hand
Say, praise the petty warrior heart

Why do I do this? This mumbling
How many Discord VCs to lurk through?
Silence becomes; nobody hears the girl talk
Yet she is good with word, think one once did say

Bold with brushstrokes I dream to make
Yet never the warrior I’d one day paint
As mice we scuttle, say, as a mouse I do
She’s so shy, is said, and I seethe - I stutter

Words are we, and the absence as well
Bumbling thunder that tricks a tongue
Fear is a fire that eats the soul
With its carnal hands, it is so so sweet

I yield to mumble, the scuttle of old
This is not the pretty stumble of youth
World bloomed a bud, bright-eyed and blue
Called to me, it calls me still

Called to me, they all do still
Curse the Icarus eyes of song
We couldn’t look through, we couldn’t do

Gold did lure, it glittered too
Stroked the wings - I couldn’t do
                                        Lord, I couldn’t do

Night's cold, mate.
I can feel it on the misty glass,
sense it in my shivering breaths
Please scoot closer, I feel so small
the sky outsides whispers her song
I swear the notes are breaking these walls
tell me you too hear them cracking
Tell me this roof is splitting asunder
for if not--

I swear I am, mate
I feel the tune zip open my chest,
sense it banging at my bare ribs
please hold tight, I feel so eternal
these cold winds are creeping in
I swear these blankets are empty clouds
tell me you too hear them stars roaring
tell me this quiet hasn't begun screaming
for if not--

something has, mate

something has to for I swear someone's playing my vessels,
tell me you hear my cry, not a flute weeping,
swear these trembling fingers do not play the piano;
tell me, mate, tell me you hear no sound,
tell me there are no trumpets gnawing at my bones
tell me the gusts don't hit like drums, tell me, tell me

what are you saying,
why do you sound like a dreamy harp,
hold me, here, stab this flesh, scream out, I need not this euphony,
tell me, mate, tell me you're screaming not playing a violin,
cover me, here, tear at this skin, don't sing me to sleep for I swear
these walls are falling, tell me you too can feel them around,
why do you dig around my lungs, why does my breathing
sound like bells, what are you doing pulling at my heart,

tell me, mate, tell me I am not caged in this sky,

tell me, tell me I am not one in the night, why am I burning,
where are my lungs, tell me you too hear this melody laughing
tell me I spit out shrieks not some dancing musical waves,
what are you doing, engraving me with blades, what are you doing
why are you ripping apart my heart, where did the winds
take all my breaths, tell me the window didn't shatter,
tell me I am not one in the shards, why won't these chains choke,
what is this hollow my chest has become,
***** me, wake me, here, rip open this skull, tell me there's no light, where is the moon, where did the dark go, where did the dark go  
what are all these suns for, tell me you hear me,
tell me you hear me, tell me you hear me scream,
tell me you hear no music, tell me you--


Night's cold, mate.
moon's still here, you need not run
don't go back under the bed,
I need you here

You must love me
Oh, no, but you must, you must!
I am the muse they request to sing
in your old, beloved books
I am the twinkling butterfly
Over a thousand darkened blooms
Life twirls around on my palm
Deathlessness sleeps
Love me, love me
Mustn’t you now?
I have whirled and withered
Since the morn
Of this endless mourn
I have heard all smothered wails

Must you sway
In your precarious little trance,
must you?
You sure do know
A thing or two of heaven
But a thing or two merely
Must you love me, oh must!
I could tell you a dozen more

Death surrenders his cloak
For my dresses
Must you see—
I am a snowy woman kissing
Her mulberry love
I lurk on the vivid edges
Of an infant’s dream

You must hear me,
You must now, you must!
I have pushed my way through
The froth
That settles on the surface of the stirring sky
And I fight on,
Hum, oh I hum
One upon another lullaby
Luring the day to sleep
Must you love me!
Must you not?

Bruised and scarred
I have a hundred tales of beauty
Unheard
Must you ask,
Oh, must you ask only!
You sure do know some secrets
Of godhood, but
Must you ask me about yourself
Ask, ask, mustn’t you ask!

Love me!
O you peace-less, fluttering moths
The sun smirks an immortality away
Must you love me
For a single night, must you!
I wait, I wait
I count your molten bodies
That dreamed of kissing
The mighty sun
Counting, recounting

I wait, I wait
Then curl away in my lone vacancy
I wait
Then bloom again
Uncountable deaths I have died
Reborn only for you
Must you,
Oh, must you love me
Mustn’t you?

I shine a full goddess tonight
See me, ask and ask
I have so much of living
To spare
Oh must you love me
Love me—

lightening runs down my being
hair waking up from a deep slumber
and my skin strangely alive
I shiver with a lovely rhythm
the way clouds do on cold, dry days

tongue moving mutely, my lips emit words
as empty as crumbled up papers themselves
a drizzle, cut, perhaps some windy sprinkle
cut, sunshine, cut, pour, cut, gusts, cut
dry, still, silent air; she whispers to me

I freeze to the sky, eyes stuck over a void
no verses, no words, not even a sigh
I melt to ground, as silent as the moon itself,
but moon needs no words to write poetry
I do, my silence isn't euphony, I don't emit hope
words don't bow themselves before me
I do before them, none of me matters

I'm just my words. I am an old parchment
that was too full to be filled with words.
I roam around with the wind, stepped on by birds.
gone on unwritten, unheard, unseen
lightening running down my body
I tremble, still as stone, empty as a corpse.

I wander around the house
Like a heavy ghost
My room.
Turn off the A.C. and open up the windows
Faizan’s room, little brother
Mother’s
My room
It is too barren in here
The kitchen
Open the fridge; I am not even hungry
Drink some water
Faizan’s room
— What up?
— Doom
— Cool. Carry on
He sets a zombie on fire
Hoping around the mountains
Like a wounded bird

Mother’s room
Bathroom for another shower
My room
I might just be passing through the walls
‘Cause man do I not recall
Heading to the kitchen again
Older brother’s room
— What up?
— Hmm?
Exposes a red ear from beneath the headphones
— What up?
— Shut up.
Touché.
Mother’s room
— Do you want my help studying?
— Nah, I’m sleepy

My room
Turn on the A.C.
shut the window
The evening sun pours in through the purple curtains
Washing the room in a faint blush
(not that anybody asked)
…
…
Cannot sleep
…
…
Faizan’s room
— Weren’t you dying? He asks
— Couldn’t
— Ah, sad.
Kitchen
Might just make coffee
Faizan’s room
— Hey! Not here!
— Won’t spill it, chill dude.
He sighs,
Roaming around a darkened cavern
A diamond sword in hand.
He puts on a song he knows I like.
It flutters around us
Like a swarm of frightened moths
I feel I might explode—
Mother’s room
Wait, it’s night already?
But, I just had—
Perfect.
Beautiful.

My room.
The books laugh
The walls laugh, the clock laughs
I feel I might be melting
A night stands dressed up
At the end of the aisle
And I, a bride to be butchered,
Butchered, butchered
Then wed again

Time to study
(not the books,
the ceiling)
Haha.
Tricked ya.
Here, that rhymed, ******
Is this a poem yet?

(Why the hell am I in kitchen again?)

Yellow in its fury, the fiery of tide
comes hissing down
A dome above us it roughly weaves
A tent, a shroud, then a restless tomb.
Seals, will say nothing,
and fish as unfathomable go,
This, I must say, before the sweet pyre
is lit:

Last dark, I sank in and clawed out
the gentle song of this sea.
Not a creature shall stir with voice,
as we, ghastly, love—

The town’s folks sleep on a heaviness
unknown to the night
Unknown to all, but your luring sway,
as tugged of strings;
the puppets, they lay—
Snoozed off to oblivion at the command of your hums.
Not a grain shall
mimic our melody,

Now with winds all harvested raw.

Yellow and grey, and blue
in its curious interruption, not this darkness,
nor that one, shall speak.

This pearl I say, that one then,
And a glitter-kissed sky we—

These marble walls, so soft their press
and smothering churn
Thirsty—so thirsty; a pink, dusky fire
it aches.
In I, her, through skin and flesh and vessel all;
Through lymph and blood, its quiet march.

Not a gnawing gust, no tossing tides
shall mimic
this black, black show—
This— Chords, with flicker,

with ash and plea,
with fight, with brutality,
So lovely, plucked.
—all is lulled to slumber.
All, with its sea and
yonder opened wide,

Bone to soot to pollen
to dust.
Settled, settled in us.

Red, then purple and green, the burn.
Then skin, then whites to a black, black show.
(Curtains drawn, and strings cut)
Its thirst quenched,

the sea,
leaves I, her
on its ashy bed.

Every night, I walk down to the lips of the my town
Quiet as the stark knife edge, simple as dust
I will get lost, once, tens, a thousand times
Counting meters and turns to the forbidden home
I will waste days and days to glimpse the blackness
Peep by the fence, disappear behind, watch the door
Touch the sweet blue dryness inhabiting the windows
I can stroll a hundred hours, all alone in detatchment
You do not know. You are never awake to see.
Every night, I pray. Everyday, I look for God's fair face
In wild men, in sullen men. In the keen red eyes of hatered
In my own beloved misery. God is in the ashes,
God leaves footprints in the graveyards
Watches the playgrounds from afar. God is in tyrant boredom
When trees shuffle, and all else leave

God is not here. Like a cannon ball, I toss the lowly soul around
I wash her face by the storm, I pull her along into malls
Lights take her astray, music suffocates her
In the night, every night, I am a shady wanderer
Wandering as a worm, looking for sweet
And no one no one no one is here

I am, I am.... please!
A death so strong it wavers the nerve
Wind, quick! A turn of the neck to stare down the world
We dance as wheat in showers of green
We weep between, between the breaths
Between the breaks of fluent feet
Between the feat that dares the sea
Come, deity, beloved, small, yield
To palm of clammy ache
And slip as darling unchanged at day
There is no mercy from stars that watch
Amidst the blackened smokes of song
No applause to soothe the bones
No stir, blink, warmth. God
Is a tremor in the skin, and there is no leave
There is no leave for the dance to rest

Move, move, move as wretched rats in mills
Move as mills, as the thousand legs in mills
As product, as carts, as wheels along
Death, a child’s glittery dream, wrought
To soothe the eye to sleep... come to lure
As a mistress in secret. A stale scent to
Startle the morning, and nothing more!
Nothing to weave the veins in sweet,
Nothing to free. Nothing, nothing, move
Move! Move lest the sun should
Spread the word. Move from shadow,
From gold and bleak, move! Move!
There is no death to spare us this!

The morning is mine
when people are asleep
Sun and I talk
Birds say their greetings
when passing by
I wash oils off my face
scrub the night off my teeth
I open the windows
—the war rages on

I boil milk and blend in
some coffee
she runs down my throat
burning and waking all
of my snoring folks
Sloshing, she plays in
my arid stomach
—the war rages on

I put on some music
Arabic flutes and gentle drums
and open my books
I read a passage,
then read again
—the war rages on

I reread the passage
What are they saying, I
write it down,
I rewrite, then cut
—the war rages on

—the war rages on
I could scream or tear
apart this book, break this
cup where an abyss now sleeps
jump off, I could.
oh, dear vultures, I could run
away, away, away, and
wither on the way. Oh wither!
but I hide under sheets
and wait for sleep to come

Mercifully, she does.
she always does and I
will wake up and gulp some coffee
and reopen the book
reread the passage, reread
rewrite, rewrite, cut
—and the war will rage on.

Hear hear! There's a buzzing!
No? There is!
Hear now! It's loud enough.
Do you do? You? No one?
Well, I do!
A strange magical battle—
Look! There's a hornet's nest!
No! Not the sun. The nest!
Do you see the queen?
Right here near my hand. Look!
Can't you see? No?
The noise? But it's all around now.
Look over that tree!
The tree! That old, dead tree, right there—
There, the golden sun hangs, reeking with honey.

Look! The sun is puking glitter!
Hear hear! The buzzing's piercing my skin.
Hear! All is wincing.
Oh, take them away! Oh do run!
Run from the hornets, what else!
No, they're right here!
Look! One bit me.
Another one. Here! Right here they are!
Run! They're here, I swear!
I am bubbling up, can't you see? All is bleeding.
Leave me. Just go! Believe me—
Oh do hear!
The buzzing, the needles, the stones!
The shrieking, the crumbling, my bones!
No, I haven't gone mad!
The stones! The stones. The buzzing—
—tell me I haven't gone mad.

Do you sense it?
The little men
are mixing up a stew again
They are chopping their children
And grinding all the toys
Breaking the women and
Breaking them on
They will peel colours off the swings
And shred them to debris

Do you sense the moons all hiding
Covering up their silver eyes
And the night is angry
It roars and stomps—
A drunken frenzy; it fights
Its own decayed, black being

Oh, Palestine
You and your fidgeting hands
Fingers fight fingers
And skins are ripped
fingers fight fingers still—
There goes the ballad you never sang
There goes the ballad
You sang all around
There go the plastic dolls
Chaste slingshots, fruits never shot down

Oh, Palestine
You and the lightning
Stumbling through the clouds
You, your tumbling birds—There goes the wind
Mourning a violence unmourned
There goes the silence
There goes the noise
There, all the paintings
Eulogies etched in whispers unfathomed
And there go the stones
Cold and blank

All plunging within the gaping mix
As the *** sits quiet
Upon a fire
Birthed from their own white bones
The little men
are cooking up a stew again
Sprinkled with gold, with ashen stars
It boils and burps
A viscous storm
Never to come
As the *** sits quiet all night long

Oh Palestine,
You, your lovers
Lovers and the rest—
When in the morning
The flames are tired, and bones
Bones no more
The stew will still be stirring
With winds raging on
And no one will be left
No one will be left

With winds raging on
No one will be left

Oh Palestine
Where did the little men go so wrong—

I don’t, don't speak human
when blue comes down to talk
in the clogged old crannies of the night
woman
with ornate skin
moves her arm
her wrist, her fingers
quick like the clicking of a tongue
quick glitter, gentle then gentler
and rippling, a water eye in blue

over hills and over muddles
see the crow fly

when time comes fluttering back to us
tell me again of the war
when mingles the sword with
flowering heart and the reeds
speak up, their
thin throats filled
with lore, and lure the scattered world here
here here
          here

tell me

tell me, on and on the
tingling of mud as it is
lifted, lifted, to man, to callous,
like sun-forged flesh and force,
to his child, and the parting
of two lips
parting! the lifting, the toiling of tendon in the
riot of soul

over the woods! over mountains
see the crow fly, feel her shadow
when throe laughs, tickles the muscle
and even past wakes up
and even the gaunt clutched spine
of a thin sallow voice
perks up keening

hear hear hear

the beating of the feat
the beating of the nerve
when chant them men, and sole
and leather, with rumble
the rumble of war
when slides sly down the sweat and dust
and galleries light up
with walls full of human
and museums cradle little stones
little bones and calls
tell me
tell me tell me
even a crow can sing sing
sing one awake

tell me, tell me tell tell tell
when ducks beat pebbles
a tribal thunder
and beetles scramble stumbling beneath leafs
tell tell, the warm-bellied lady
said birds become children

and flutes the grasshoppers they hear
in warm green sleeps
as out curl curling
the stout sun-seasoned caterpillars
shrill now! now not! now piercing needles
sewing brazen black black to brittle dreamings
tell me tell me tell
what the old man said, said
lyres rebel rebel and
strum, say, strum taut a riot unsettled
even as geese vanish grey
in grey
and ducks pat their way away
to springs of seas where no child sails

even then
the sky plucks her lightening sly
and claps claps claps the day,
the night, the day, down
to a kites sway
as a perfect moon-arc it cuts
and
we heard birth
brings along a dress
that tribe men
and tribe women flower
when they
spin and spin and circle clapping
cursing merriment up the sick old sky

who need fly

tell me tell me, valley-joy on a face of age,
oh human song and human sigh! tell tell
also of koel’s mimic cry

tell tell, tell then
and they pound their feet
together apart together apart and the ground remembers, the ground
remembers!
and then tell this too! we heard,
ducks lurk by listening
practicing
their
drums! and and
and some

some children almost hear

-

green green
like moss beneath Moon
and Moon is lit up, perhaps
half or more or less some little
as leafy litter tickles the street
and a gust
in riot
solitary opens
with a voice of Autumn and
bronze dust body
that in nails and toes
of alleys and houses
sits and sleeps
old lady knitting spiders
and rats
in antique blazers of black
as a car whispers by
swift like a hiss
or a city’s small sigh
that startles the silver-eyed lizards
and they scatter
as wheat breaths away
into into into the browny blue
and gold gold
like cold sun
that beats and licks all noise to fire

and rises, it rises fatly
with the lone gust and the white

The silence stabs, but not painfully
So; intruding, its sour and soft luminosity.
I felt a thousand things ooze out of me
Dream-dipped drops dripping so drowsily,
And each ticklish sweetness echoing; to sea
I sank— past lids, through lashes, all. With glee
Snaked under I under I furtive; faint and feathery.
To dark I fell, to naught, to white monstrosity
One, stream of plea, two, agony, and three
Well three— I filled, filled with scarcity.
When all the ripples quiet lay, I in melody.

dancing off to The Beetles’ tongue.
there is gloss on lips and all features rest
for nothing else
of decor could be found
in the sudden haze, the sudden haze
of that mad devour

we have stumbled on the edge of order
and now tumble we—
beneath, beneath, under
these treacherous waters with masquerade licked;
a calm— a calm shimmering
like them Sirens almost.
come, it cooed, and went and went we
to its feather-light lure

and jumped and swayed our arms about,
skipped and laughed then laughed
till stomachs winced

loathed
and we have loved on the lips
on the lips, but slipped
as smeared, pink hues;
oily and glittery in their innocence

there lurks chaos in its smothering, wet mouth
and we moths flutter
closer, still, still...

and for us ripped
the golden lake its skin
and us it held, held till took from us
all

we have lingered precarious and
surrendered crumbled,
and crawled out dying, dead, undying

still to those chapped, glossy
banks we go
and dance and dance and—

water down stone
stone
pebble pebble pebble
stone
splash! shatters the sun
quiet

twinkles then it around
in ringlets ringlets

and feet jump in
scare the fruity fish
you know, winds they move
like violins
and rain blooms
grey on concrete
moon on palm
run run run the children
peach-cheeked
and nest hair
through streets
where hawkers make apple pyramids
and orange pyramids
and some spray glitter on flowers

through turns
turns–– one falls! gets up
through streets and streets!
laugh and talk
then halt
exhausted
lips moving–– chests like sea-filled
and then
then
the water topples topples
down the stones
and stars and suns
peep by
and children grow out of their clothes
but through streets they run
run run
laugh laugh laugh
laugh
and rain becomes the puddle
loud and starry
and a frog startles

I sit on this leather seat
looking out a world
this pretty, pretty strange world—
houses laden with rubble and dust, yet breathe,
paints that creep away in nights, the loyal grey.
people—oh people! So bruised
People, so tired—
Freshly moulded, boldly wounded;
Hung up on chains and dried on flames;
fed to birds while the hearts still beat.

I sit on this leather seat
looking out a world
So huge, so huge—we’re out of breath
I could dissolve myself in her shallows
could open up this skin— split me whole
vessel by vessel—poem by poem
note by note
and bury it all beneath her pages,
Taped to her empty words—forever
over hills, in windy deserts,
under dusty, unheard, seas

I sit on this leather seat
as the car goes on—
Through days and years, it goes by
going nowhere, nowhere—nowhere
so used to bumps, it barely shudders
and the world passes by,
she waves her winds courteously at us
People pass by
And the sky is still—
as birds fly along the same route-less paths
And the car goes on
as I stare out the window
at the world so huge—so mine—so not

and I could dislodge myself
scatter around the sky—all his empty depths
his silent hues—oh the softness of those lips
as they collide into her cracked moors;
volcanic oceans—barely holding on against his
— her— serenity.
I could disband this self—wave by wave
—grain by grain—thought by thought

but I sit here on this leather seat
—as all the words crumple together
Folded and squashed, squeezed to wrinkles
Like intimate threads—inseparable.
Tucked somewhere in here—old, torn clothes.
Caged—all of it.
all of it, in here.
all of me, in this tiny self.
barely—barely in—barely so.
like when he licks her dried meadows to life,
as he touches all of her, yet none
and she shudders, and houses fall, and people run
she shudders—and she shudders—and shudders
and shudders still—quietly— out of breath.
shudders — and shudders on
— never explodes.

I stare out the window of this car
at a land that never moves, never stills.