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Gaye Nov 2016
There are days when I go Kaki's, at the corner of the field, leaning over newly imported plastic chairs, sipping tea, counting  vimanams and think of you. I have absolutely no idea where you live, but in my Culture Theory class, I sit and map your existence, believe me, I came down to a radius of 30kms- where my meaning of life is your 42. My friend told me I am a creepy stalker , of course, she absolutely had no idea about you, me or our story. I don't know, I really don't know why I keep thinking, keep missing, keep reading and keep hoping.

BTW Trump won.
Gaye Jun 2016
Mickey,

I will not get guns for Scout and Finch to shoot
the blue jays, I will not raise them with guns, ever.
I want to read them Eddie’s messages to his Mum
Before ‘he’ came and killed him, them, killed us.
They should learn what the world felt next morning,
Let them weep, sob and finally feel love, for our world.

This is where I cannot compare myself to people,
I weep as I write to you, my bones weak, skin tearing,
The 20-year-old girl did not understand but agreed
With your Mum when you said “even rapists don’t
Deserve death penalty”, it took me three years to
Realize and not agree with your Mum’s Spanish TV.

I didn’t sleep yesterday night, I watched a film with A,
At night, I could hear the boys screaming from
Tents of their Afghan allies, the scream, pain and
Moaning an elite clout wanted every night.
I threw up dinner, they called it their ‘culture’, I-
Couldn’t look at those boys dancing with bells on feet.

There’s nowhere I feel safe with Finch and Scout,
When will ‘he’ feel love and not think to “fire who?”
I fail every day unable to scream, being a coward, but
I feel good, sense hope when I see HUMAN BEINGS,
I feel exactly what Kern felt when he saw Valentine
Walk safe from the ferry, I feel home, I feel safe.

Maybe that's what people call peace
Maybe that's what people call bliss
I need sleep, I want to sleep peacefully.

Love,
Gaye
13th June 2016, 10:56 pm
365
Gaye Jul 2016
365
It wasn't an easy 365 days,
it wasn't easy to smell collars of a shirt and live without a trace,
it wasn't easy to not let an unkempt heart rule my head
and its absolutely ridiculous that I stand exactly where you left me.
I guess you are not coming,
I can keep calm and wait more,
but why should I?
Gaye Feb 2016
I see a rainbow, a petite spark
Out of colonist's burrow,
The judge stirred his ink
Winked a little; scintillation!
They made love, at the
Shaft’s end, bourgeois’ couch
And marble halls, unmasked
Art did not meet camera, my friend.
Gaye Oct 2015
I should shut up soon, zip up
My mouth and hack my pen
Maybe I can stay with orange
Ink and licit words spread
All over the place. You bet.
Get me some poison Iago!

Forest and its men; O-M-G-
‘Underdeveloped illiterate pigs’
"Fish! We need development
**** it all, one by one and make-
A main streamers committee"
Get me some poison Iago!

I should soon quit voting
If am ordered to ink my nail for
A caste, a religion or a loser
Maybe I should vote, but
There's a shoot at sight notice.Oops.
Get me some poison Iago!

DIG-IT-ALl? Total babe!
Let’s talk about empowerment
And a survey on farmer’s suicide
But no new-generation
“mushy mushy”, save our culture
Get me some poison Iago!

I should stop eating as well,
Cook books unavailable, animals
Went back to temples (****!)
I really have a bad taste for
Green-lush-healthy-vegetables
Get me some poison Iago!

“Get inside, get inside”
Set an alarm and get inside
“Cover up, cover up”
Never dream an opening up
“Rapists are rapping out there”
Get me some poison Iago!

We are DEMO-crazy! Hell yea!
Where is my salvation?
Killer idea sirji! Killer idea!
“***** tonight?”
“Hang up. Someone’s knocking”
Get me some poison Iago!
Gaye Sep 2015
In deep skies preaching storm clouds
Swinging between life and fate
I lost all the faith I captured from
My most nurtured brutal days
To my inherited nightmares.
The wrath of my stale sand
Cried for my world's flipped smile,
The turning tides wrapped a tempest
Inside the ballads of my December nights
And I finally digged my dreams inside.
I pulled myself over the floor
Before sinking down into the waves
But the concern remained over rejections
And the crimson heart waited
To defeat my drained destiny
But I crashed and failed again !
Gaye Sep 2015
He was the ‘revealer of light’
Oracles he read, forecasted future,
Time moved, rustic life stood still
"Look back and see, there is change."
There’s no trial left
The deity acquired the ****** body.
Predictions are vague, he cried in pain
And he danced to his unshakable faith.
The God revealed!
The divine and man in a union of its own,
Patrons wept and asked for blessings.
Serpent’s crown over God’s head-
Shone in the dark light, his golden breast
And pointed teeth, sharp as arrows-
Pierced the patrons, they collapsed in devotion.
The dead hero arose with Godliness
He is God, his blood is divine.
There is change, there is change!
The drums arose and it stroke bold,
Patrons cried in religious zeal
The God plunged himself into the bonfire
He reincarnated.
Born again to die again! Born again to die again!
There is no change! There is no change!
Gaye Jan 2016
Leave my flesh, blood and the lingering scent, leave it to your strongest desires, lecherous books and loose roads, they all have forgotten to run behind you, they've all become independent rascals.
love
Gaye May 2016
He will not fix it,
He is such a bleak assignment
He is bigoted as ****!
But I'm surprised
You're voting him to power,
And in English, that would be
Ignorance!

He will push you back 50 years
On opinions about modern living,
He will **** your families and
Ask you to never leave Churches.
Somebody come and look at this,
All puny mods are voting for
A Phoney Republic!

You might very well need
More oil
Stage 9/11 and get more
Private armies to Middle East?
Create more ISISs, Make
All Muslims look Evil,
Give them a free ride to
West and EU
And finally make them
Fat, Dumb and Addicted to Reality TV!

Well, just run off to Mexico,
There'll at least be a wall between you and Trump!
If my poem offends you, you should probably leave.I feel pity America!
Gaye Jul 2016
I was flying like a kite at the end of his motorcycle, I never felt it before even though I have travelled countless times with him for the past few years, I was drunk like the wind, dancing with his tripping silk wrapped around his slender long neck, the night I breathed him in, to everyone's disapproval. The night should have a comeback, but he's on his bucket list and I know both of us are not going back.
Gaye Sep 2015
I cannot understand
Am I dreaming beneath the living?
Tell me if it’s just a part of my forty winks
Coz I’m rusted by chance when fully awake.
Why are dreams so large and
You forget it in a momentary climb?
The departed stories are so dear
That they never come to pass in life
The impossible happenings with strings
And things I’ll never find are so ideal.
The scars are reasoned and seasoned
But it was perfect when I was asleep.
I was dead to the world, totally ignored
Leaving one earth for a different one
Was so brilliant when I was buried.
But I realize I was not just dreaming
I was stitching them into reality,
Let me catch all my dreams
That they might never happen again!
Gaye Dec 2015
Where had been the sky,
The superhero and ruby chip?
They lived here, ignored,
A while ago floating with
Ghosts of my mangroves and
Things I did not know
How to say- how to say.

I cannot gape anymore,
Let’s go back to Damascus,
Istanbul and verses you-
Did not know that spread
Wings beneath my skin
I have got stamps and ink,
Frozen food and deck of cards.

Sit with me and adapt
The ways how a mirror shake
Herself off the dirt and break
Her bones, his, endless ways.
There are plenty of things
They did not know how to-
Take, you and I, we dance.
Gaye Oct 2015
Grandma, sing a lullaby
The fine tune you made for me

I want all the fireflies, the
Glass bottle and light an entire night

Where are my milkweeds
Aeroplanes, milk and honey?

I stood with my umbrella
And the wind took it with her

For the tempest outside my land
And no news returned

There’s my Grandma, her voice
That ooze out of my walls

You’re the bride, the picture
The house and a forgotten lullaby

Grandma, sing a lullaby
The fine tune you made for me
Gaye Nov 2015
No one knew her birthday
But they dragged her like
The goat of their war,
She did not let flames eat her
But called the local radio to-
Recite poetry, its Rumi’s land.

Dari and her beauty eloped with
Uncle Sam's heartless lads,
The land no longer of brave men-
Shovels and rich coal mines;
Today they are editorials of NYT
And international helplines.

Where are the cowboys?
The mysterious eyes?
Why are the muslin trousers-
Red? And why is the pop culture
Hiding under rich black curtains?
Come out! Come out safely!

Do not let them shoot your
Child, do not cultivate terror-
Bonsais. Stop! Stop being poor,
Stop being needy, they’re
Killing you, little, every day,
Your own ****** traitors!

Give a final applaud to their-
Bombing! Get back your land,
Get back the air, water and
Your tomorrows. I’ll wait for
You to come outside the radio,
Its Rumi’s land.
"If you tremble with indignation at every injustice then you are a comrade of mine" -Ernesto Che Guevara
Gaye Apr 2016
I don’t want to go back to the city,
I’m learning to forget you
And the city we grew together
To be something that we are not anymore.

I don’t want to see our city
Eat alone or wander the crowd
I don’t belong there, neither you
We were strangers like we’re today.

I will never ever go back to the city
Where there are sediments of us
Wanting to be jolted to a story
To pinch our flesh every **** day.

I want to be the city, someday
I want to be a hopeless lover and
Monsoon scent, I want to be the city
You'll never forget, the city we lived.
Gaye Nov 2015
No revolution, emotional shipwreck, card games, magic, motorcycle, daisy chains, silk, marbles or your mountain nest and jasmine fields. Come with me.
Gaye Sep 2015
Why is that looking into the-
Wide and open city so upsetting?
I saw the bird,
She was looking amongst the buildings,
A space that was hers
Or maybe the space-
Her ancestors have told her,
The folklores and many songs-
Written on the very space.
She crossed mountains,
Seas and barren lands
To see the city lights and
The many dreams she had.
She is not homesick,
She doesn’t even have a memory
Of her home-land
It is a long lost dream
Which cannot be recollected.
She’s homeless.
Was she looking for a mirage
In between the tall buildings -
‘They’ said where dreams prosper?
It’s a furnace,
The colours of fire she could see,
The shadow painted colours-
Orange, red and grey and
Still it required meaning?

I’m looking for it too!
I am scared of forgetting,
Old age and Alzheimers
I’m a dreamer, a homeless hippie
But there is a root, a deep root
A scent, a strong scent and
A soul that is sometimes homesick.
I’m a coward, a bold faced, masked dancer
But there is no rhythm, no audience
It’s just silence, dull grey stillness!
These buildings scare me, where is it?
Where is my chariot?
I cannot follow the crowd
They have a home, a meaningful home
They like the cement, the black air
And bundles of printed paper.
They stamped me mad. Am i?
Maybe I am.
Hey bird, I’m not responsible-
For your destiny, look, look
Look at my hands, there is no blood
Look, look carefully, there is no stain
But I belong to the race, I belong to
The same age, the same world
That changed your fate!
I've no redemption from my sins!
I've no redemption from my sins!
Gaye Sep 2015
I never met the Mediterranean neither
His bride’s land nor their aquiline nose
I saw them as shifting images
Like a pair of oily eels.

They came with the waves tumbling-
Forward from few days journey
There was no wave of anger, only an
Insecure spring of a shell-less snail.

I cannot disremember the salinity,
The stretched little boy on its shores,
Floating pieces of lost hope
And the airless nights that followed.

Dear Mediterranean, there are
Millions out there, distant kin
I don’t want those dead on rectangular-
Cement slabs, bring them alive!
Gaye Jul 2016
Don't send me, I don't want to go
To bridge poetry at the loss of words

Don't send me, I don't want to go
I've walked miles, singing Gulzar and Gazals

Don't send me, I don't want to go
To sail in silence, cadaver to your Dal

Don't send me, I don't want to go
I might return as a fragile layer of dust

Don't send me, I don't want to go
I don't, oh beloved, don't don't send me
Gaye Dec 2016
When we were young, we went DYU in
Lipsticks and jumpsuits and gulped
Chamomile tea on table one, our hot spot.
Now that Eapen is here, I want to go
Back to those Bangalore days with my-
Ladies, diapers and a pair of baby socks.
Tim, time, time! Stop, stop, stop!
This is the moment, the moment from
Our yester imaginings, Eapen our baby drug
Let's get back to those hostel rooms,
Jumpsuits and lipsticks with 'the nucleus' on our shoulders.
Gaye Sep 2015
Will the Baul ever quit his search
Singing all through the-
Deserted land, ektara a trail of his
Existence walked him with no promises.
Will He ever listen to their bald cries?
To His realm they say beyond the blues,
Life awaits out of the tableau of massacres.
The world of assumptions tampered
By a philosopher’s fairy tale decides
Birth, death, rebirth, curse and richness?
The blind light is biting his body, heart & soul
He still needs it, his poppy tears.
The system needs it to tear him open,
His body, heart and soul in vain.
Music of the Baul has no destination
Still the voyage is essential.
Ektara has to walk with him, all through
The barren lands, villages and futility.
There’s no end to his search!
Gaye Sep 2015
I’m not a higher caste-class-Hindu-male,
I cannot be a mute spectator
with a censored mouth and
I don’t want to be a part of a
******* history
that plucked eyes, chopped limbs
and slashed throats.
I want to tell my tomorrows that
I believed in tolerance, patience
And human rights.
Now that makes me a rebel,
An anti-national, a threat!
That’s reason one- I’m disqualified.
Tell me the meaning of life, justice
and freedom my brother
We were the promises of Independence,
The revolution that taught the world-
Ahimsa.
I don’t like vegetables, orange-vegetables
my land exported
and we got back bananas from
the celebrated republics.
The meatless days left me hungry
I decided to fast, I got jailed
And I know someday these man-eaters
Would hang me.
I don’t speak Hindi, I have no money
I dared to educate and I’m a girl
Now that makes me disqualified.
I need a moral certificate, approval
and a stamp
Just because I have men friends,
I wore lipstick and jeans and I danced.
I’ve to pay a fine, apologize
and spill tears
Because I proclaimed myself a feminist,
A thinker, a dreamer.
Dear society, let me add some more,
I bunked all my moral education classes,
I’m an atheist and a post-modern
Daughter.
I’ve friends- **** hetero and bisexuals
And I eat beef, lamb and pork.
I’ve a tan skin, a flat nose, tiny *******
and a beer belly
I laugh loud, cry and yell at times
And I know there are people out there
Who wants to throw stones, cut my-
body parts and exhibit my remains in a museum,
They need to execute this handicapped
Because she asked too many questions.
Don’t offer me your chocolate-justice
to be denied the next appropriate minute
‘Right’ can never be a synonym to ‘legal’.
So that makes a wrong-carriage
or abortion.
I know I’m disqualified
Now it’s time for the execution,
Hang this heretic!
Gaye Jul 2017
*******, I have never seen those eyes
But you are my 42, meaning and universe
The dog, a room, few chilies and some strange-
Men! I need more, more of everything.
Gaye Nov 2015
With the house they are selling their childhood and adolescence, five funny brothers and grandmother's sweets, late night dramas and the unattractive maids they inherited, cigarettes they puffed secretly and lessons they learned with jackfruit pulp. Now the roots are being pulled and I wonder what'll be left. I wish people live there, generations come and play on its front yard and I hope my ancestors understand new generation urbanism and modernity.
They are selling the house.
Gaye Nov 2015
...and when you sleep and wake in a world so unfamiliar I sit cross-legged on the floors of my house, watch rain kiss the Arabian sea and west winds wave a goodbye..
Old chap.
Gaye Mar 2017
Serious days, break down and slide through me,
I have been thinking that I won't make it to the -
The day my letters finally reach your standing desk
But hey, I surprise myself these days, poems are home.
Gaye Nov 2015
I remember her as a little girl walking into a classroom with pigtails and a hand full of green glass bangles, today she is the bride and her smile breaks the reality of adulthood and powerlessness of human life to run back as children.
She is getting married.
Gaye Nov 2015
I don't see those guava trees today neither the little white teak flowers but I see them as images somewhere at the back of my head everytime I see my love. He makes me homesick even though he has no earthly connection to those images, I see them all through him, he makes me a hopeless romantic and a child I have long forgotten.
Gaye Feb 2017
I can't believe that every freakin day I wake up thinking of those circles and go back to bed late night getting somewhere lost inside those comic strips. It has always been there at the back of my head for the past few years, but when it started to bite my conscience, I began to solve the puzzle, little every day. These days I sit in the library, stare at my computer screen, deduct lanes, find faces, trace stores and calculate the kilometres that my mind travels in a minute. It makes me high somewhere and trust me, technology amuses me every time I crack one little clue and reaches one step ahead in solving my mystery. Yesterday night, I was watching NASA's live announcement on the discovery of seven earth sized planets and for a moment I thought what if my mystery fell right out of Tardis. Who knows.
Gaye Nov 2017
Perhaps, I have made peace with the truth that you finally gave up all your little zings and dug up a home, like everyone else we met in that city, boring and nowhere like those little pieces you drew on tissue papers.

All the flowers, honey and sleep that you spat on my face has finally returned to you, because I have made peace with you, because I have reached home too.
Gaye Jan 2017
When Trump was closing the big gates,
Nonhumans of a classroom debated over speech,
Nature's call and an assumed reaction.
Supervisor said its ok to not speak in class
Because non-speech is not death,
Cross version species conversation is possible.
The romantic Kompridis checked tennis scores
And nonhumans had a grand pool dinner.
Gaye Sep 2015
I went there again today,
The plants I taught my-
Third standard lessons,
Tiny rooms with choir mats
And a long verandah that looked
Almost like a dream
My mother wove,
They've all remained the same,
Without alterations.
I walked the backyard with my aunt,
The new lotus pond and
Her kitchen garden
The temple that overlooked
The huge mango tree
Has become affectionate remains
Of an off-track history.
Bartered land and
English medicines,
A new plastic tap,
A European closet
And few glass plates their-
Souvenirs.
I remember the days,
The sleepless summers
They collected mangoes under
Persian torch lights,
The occasional scooters
And auto-rickshaws
That scated the narrow orange road
And the bubbles I made
With kids next door
From gums of little plants.
I have outgrown those images
But nostalgia is a nice feeling.
Gaye Feb 2016
I happen to live in Central Indian-
Forests, I collect wood and honey
And have no idea about English woods
And Manchester clothes, I belong
To the soil, I’m anti national?

I live on concessions, subsidies
And support, And You call me-
‘Dark skinned untouchable’; today
I don’t have bells over my neck
I’m proud of me, I’m anti national?

I always spoke of empowerment,
Marx and Che run my blood and
I’m a utopian reality to you
But you cannot ignore my voice
I’m not outdated, I’m anti national?

I believe in ‘being human’ above all-
Traits, I live beyond geographies
And I cannot stand war and bloodshed
You brand me as an activist, I’m
Just humane, I’m anti national?

I do not belong to the 80% of our
Country’s population, but I’m as
Much a patriot as you, My God
Is same as yours, How am I an
Alien? I’m anti national?

I don’t believe in the power and safety
You claim with a nuclear reaction.
I see only explosions and devastation
I want my children to be safe, I love
The world, I’m anti national?

I don’t like vegetables, I eat meat-
Since birth. I will not force-feed you,
I respect your choice and I expect you
To be tolerant to what I cook-
At my home, I’m anti national?

I’m not Pakistani but I love them
As much I love an American or an
European. After all, we share
Our borders. I want to settle all
Disputes, I’m anti national?  

I married a man outside my tribe,
Love didn’t notice his 'official tribe',
Our children are a mixed tribe
And we celebrate life as it is,
We’re human-tribe, I’m anti national?

I stand with them with rainbow flags,
They deserve justice as much as you
And me. Give me one valid reason to
Call them unnatural? I want S377
To be scrapped, I’m anti national?

I celebrate my country’s diversity,
I don’t need your certificate to prove
My patriotism! This is India, I stand
With my constitution and its democracy
And I give a **** about what you think!
Jai Hind!
Gaye Jun 2018
In all my imaginings, a pastoral past always found a place for themselves. Quite annoying. But as leaves disappeared from my eyes with the distance my car travelled, I constantly found myself lost in the cities that I lived in. I would want my daughter to have a huge balcony full of green leaves, I want her to listen to crickets from the city.
Gaye Sep 2015
I stole the relic they did not sell and
Invented a future for them to pretend,
Their decorated intelligence perhaps
Made a habit of wandering with the-
Stories I created, I travelled with them.
I lived in stories, with the characters,
Their adolescence & lovers and their
Whimsical tales drowned my nerves,
I don’t know how pitiful it is to live
With lifeless fonts and their charisma
I did not click pictures of their realism,
I wanted them in all ages with more
Stories, imperfections & inadequacies,
They’ll all disappear or die someday
And I guess life wouldn’t be like stories.
Gaye Sep 2015
I sit and stink,
After cups of tea, conversations and melancholy
The sweat is salty, an armpit attached to sentences-
Ondaatje and the cat, Abramovic and tears,
The hollow room and my single window that ached
The smell and the grey torn shirt never got *****.

I sit and stink,
Desperate to walk, talk and get out of newspapers
Scratch rich names out of the walls and retreat
To untie the curly locks and let them breathe.
A phone thrown at one corner and emails unread
The world- a closed book with no pages.

I sit and stink,
Jeans pulled down to a wet floor
European closet and the yellow sparky lights,
Imagination erupted, there was no room to escape.
I pencilled graphs, penned letters and painted snakes
Self-portrait, Van gogh and a black and white me.

I sit and stink,
A friend, the jack and the brick house
Dosa with ghee served for the jarred tilapias,
They are all memories. Unremembered-
Like running races and the temple music system.
I wrote them down neatly, in a rectangle, they leaked.

I sit and stink,
An unfamiliar face in a place with no power
Glenfarclas, smoke and Ra Ra Rasputin
She danced. He watched. Her collarbones broke.
He dug his nail, dirt at its corner, an unshaven facade
It was grave, full of pain, his face and his eyes.

I sit and stink,
A ****** body inside the same grey shirt
Scratching names next to the European closet
With the old song from the temple music system.
The unfamiliar face evoked all human senses
The body is yet to take a wash.
Gaye Sep 2015
It’s all about remembering the calls of the blue water and stories when the golden globe sank inside happily to be born somewhere else with apologies for the rejected words and love and a reminder to nail the frail blank papers!

It’s all about carrying picture albums all the way round in the school bag and holding the panic of leaving the heart possessed things, to leave foot prints at the door steps with sonnets in heart and ink stains on the skirt with the word ‘forever’!

It’s all about the crisp wind easing the whine of heart and the effortless glad crimson scars of life, drinking coffee and lobster watching rain through the cracked window pane searching for the adventures of beauty!

It’s all about becoming a part of the unwanted yellow note book pages breathing the never spoken emotions, ******* the tiniest memories with echoes of time and dust and whispering to your silent soul about your lessening autobiography!

It’s all about being the ballerina when melodies played late night, to see things scattered all over the desk and lay by the window on the crest with memories pasted on walls filling stillness all around the corroding iron ramparts!

It’s all about searching for the dried out basil stems and binding them with a thread and wishing that someday they’ll fuse together to swim in sun lit mornings for the dragon flies to bind the kaput dreams together, to live life!

It’s all about waiting at the familiar doors with the falling petals of memory and still trying to figure out the moist waited face with a screaming brain, aching veins and wrinkling skin ;the fingers searching in the wet mosses for the familiar shadow!

It’s all about dying with a dream of the familiar imperfections with the stony silence of the skull and dreams of a twilight graveyard with darkness all around a red rose faultless among the dried damp flowers!
Gaye Sep 2015
We stood in front of my grandmother’s
Old almirah, facing each other
The peacock feather and empty bags  
Of the square room fell silent all over again,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

Then they all came, marched in, reflections,
Paraded in like martyrs of Brute’s History.
I knew them all, she knew them too
They came, touched us one by one,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

She looked confused just like me
Watching life pass by, centuries reuniting
After a very long season break, nations-
Travelled, explorers stood upstairs watching,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

Streets strapped the coffee cans and middle-
Aged hospitals swallowed wars. Married women
Bend over like animals and in months, unable
To breathe they gave birth to few number plates;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

The city vomited battles, human heads
And dreams of muted foul slaves. Men and-
Their violent tradition screeched for blue number-
Plates, lean number plates, handsome number plates;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

Unexploded bombs bounced happy homes,
My brothers, my kids, my mothers
Blew their windows and ran, ran away,
Ran afar without destination;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

They were all dark, their land was darkness
Or were we all blind?
Like a watchman we preserved darkness,
The vapours that filled their glasses did not speak;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

We are all reflections, ripples and mirrors
Of men-dead and living.
They all stood outside my almirah, million faces
Inside a mirror. She did recognize them;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

She did nothing, an unusable empathy rolled in,
The hypocrite did not even cry.
In quiet hours she smelt pain, blood and
History flowing from confronting corners;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

An insignificant obligation drowned her nerve,
They needed a home, candle flame, cotton and wool.
The land, their land has become unfamiliar
And they stood outside locked gates and laws;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.

They all smelt the same blood, the abused blood,
I tried to kiss them and they kissed me back with-
Their cold lips. I tried to touch them, they touched-
Me back with water in their eyes;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
Gaye Dec 2016
My thermometer showed water lilies,
While the I drank the sky in a perfect line
Now, choke me with that smile
And let me borrow small pieces of your time
Afterall it's a cashless transaction.
Gaye Aug 2016
Why do you not sleep and roam with me, at night?
Talk to city airplanes, migrant trucks, loose wind.
Silent breeze. Tea across the road. Furious ginger tea.

Fetch me some sea, Arabian stories and boredom
To the land, lost and barren next to an unromantic riverbed,
My love, this land is everywhere but for now, with me.

I hear no voice, no music to your intimate conversations,
Let me gather my bits and press it over you. How does-
It feel? How does it finally feel to be a listener?

Days like this, I do not crave a somewhere behind me
Now that you’ve come so far, I might swim with you
But I need a return. A return before the night.
Basan is beautiful.
Gaye Sep 2015
You are there, everywhere
I smiled, laughed, cried and jumped in glee
You were there, I didn't even grasp the hole.
When the moon hit the stars
I hurdled my balcony and saw the-
Chain of lights, those and movement and I
Sensed you about, I spoke to you,
Your husky voice and hands perfectly mine.
How many times did I pass your thoughts?
Do you know you evoke memories in the-
Strangest junctions of my bursting imaginations?
I know the place, somewhere around the corner
Unoccupied by me, I willfully ignored your future
And now I think I should clasp if forever as mine!
I walked slowly so that I could walk with you
I caught glimpses of you and you smiled.
In those longest nights I thought of salvation
You pierced my eyes and held me with meaning.
I thought I’ll seize you next life in the banks of Sarayu
But dis-remembering you this life is so impossible.
Do you remember the days you made no sense to people-
Around us and then you looked my way and sighed.
There are million little things I want to tell you
You were an illusion that happened to me, a magic!
Today I know this me, consciously and unconsciously
Envisaging you.
There’ll be one day this poem reaches you
And when you read I can see you, beyond the walls you are
I can feel you, the peculiar scent and the breeze you carried
Let us walk together to the world we spoke to paint life
Where we can be happy with each other!
Gaye Dec 2015
Once upon a time, somewhere
When the seagulls speeded
With a bike to a night that
Popped new tyres and did
Not wipe the rain, storm and
Long blue letters that spoke,
I remember you, I remember you

Chillies that swam across the earth
To a milky way where seasons
Changed, candles blew over
Secret nights and lodges Mum
Did not know, emotionlessness fails,
Don’t fly away because
I remember you, I remember you

There’s a standing table and
Papers all around, the ghost
That tiptoed into a bedroom
Where an insomniac fooled
With magic pen and blue eyes
I see you smiling and you know
I remember you, I remember you

Get on the chair and climb
Up to my swing, I’ll take you
To my city and show little jingles.
I caught the sun inside my-
Palm, your little town and
A comic store, look at this!
I remember you, I remember you

I should start making sushies,
Swim across a little ocean
To find a Mickey world of
Endless topics and FIFO workers
You're probably goanna **** me
For the good things I did not write
But you do remember me, don't you?
Oh, Mickey, you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind, Hey Mickey! Hey Mickey!  haha
For my Cobber Mickey ( I pronounced it right) :)
Gaye Jul 2016
I stand there, every day, nose to the cold iron grills,
Eyes to the sky, dark and cloudy, desperate to rain,
Feet kissing the earth, mad roots of hibiscus plants,
Clasping my hands to catch some wind and put-
It all inside my bag, time has come to gather my things
And leave. Live the moment with me, grow with me.
Gaye Oct 2016
I knew they will come
In-search
Of yesterdays.
Today they came, jumping
the fence, somewhere
from the river bed,
where they lived.
While I sat inside
An air-conditioned cube
Sketching their fingers-
Like mine
They invaded a
Concrete jungle.
Gaye Dec 2016
They have chopped down that tree
And the bees rush to my balcony,
Dad has cut down those pink roses,
But there are mosquitoes from Aleppo
Flying around my bedroom fan.

I sat on our study table with fairy lights
While my roommate put on her running shoes,
Mosquitoes waltzed around her sugarless tea,
Drank my blood below the knee and flew-
Away to Aleppo, far away to those dead roses.
Gaye May 2018
As I walk around the hood where my mother used to walk,
Climb the bus she used to travel and stink late evenings
Like brinjal in coconut oil inside uncovered pots for boiling
I feel like my mother reaching her daughter as phone calls
I feel so far away yet so close, I feel like my mother as I walk the road.
Gaye Feb 2016
My shoe bit my skin
He pulled me up
We walked the snow
Singing; foot on foot.

The home out of sight
He hardly felt his lungs
But we wanted to be home
And read My Brother Jack.

He plucked a cloud
Whispered a wish
Drew a diabolic smile,
"Some other day"
Gar firdaus, ruhe zamin ast , Haminastu, haminastu
Meri jaan rooh dil se ba-basht, Haminastu, haminastu

I've used lines from this poem to create another poem which will not be published in Hello Poetry.
Gaye Sep 2015
From fetid ashes and sinned sleepy logs
I desire to enslave you to my lucky red seeds
And imprison you from my forgotten birth
To another universe forsaken from this earthly tomb.
Hide our unspoken lies with a furrowed vine,
Goodbyes cannot slur the listless loops
For I have the screeching pleasure of hope
Between every breath I took to meet your eyes
And the soothing unexpectations of the new world.
I never felt scared to defeat my homeless tears
But I gently feared the faceless stranger,
My heart, every insane edge of it yours
Just as sharp as the brilliant lonesome star
There is no profound mystery in these eyes
Other than the magic of my little red seeds.
Behind the frozen mirror there you are,
I’ve lost the piece of heart I  burried with my luck
The gap in between the recaptured echoes
From my melted strength to frozen smile
I can tell you, you’re my lucky red seeds!
Gaye Mar 2016
A long time ago,
He was my son
Residue of an infamous
House, a feeble little boy.
But today he reminds
Me a potent revolution,
He reminds me God and
He, the loyal opposition,
He reminds me hope and
Rage that pass the veins
Of my country, he, my son.

A long time ago,
He was my son
Today he isn’t just my son
He’s truth, he’s light, he’s
Hope and future, he’s India.
Stop witch-hunt, Stop media trial!
Gaye Feb 2016
And to the seas, he intoxicated by brain with his black matt pencils and evenly crafted italic words that sleepwalked into my reality. I let my heart pour verses far from a detention camp, expelled out of a Bobby Darin song. The moment was for music and we did not sing, but together we sat like a last labyrinth. Perhaps he wasn't my tribe.
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