I am an umbrella, a rain jacket,
For the Cinderella, a stored away packet,
Till the day the skies sputter rain.
I am a tool box, a first aid kit lain
In a dark, webs-infested dusty corner,
Touching no light; seeing no cleaner.
The kitchen accident and toys’ breakdown
Are such welcome picnics to the town.
Could have been a willow, nor am I a pillow
To cry on in times of immense pains in kilo
And to hug out of a heart exploding joy.
But I am a bomb-shelter, a floating life buoy,
A tower of refuge in times of need;
A furrow-deserted land planted no seed,
Awaiting to be useful again in season,
Not Jesus, but bearing a crystal reason
To be also a rock in that weary land.
I am a handkerchief in a man’s hand;
Ironically stuffed useless in the back pocket,
To blow away flu mucus off the nosy socket,
Or wipe the intermittently rare solitary tears
That graces the dry eyes from heartbreak fears.
I am not a flowerbed; I am a mango tree;
Having no admirers save the monkeys, free
To shelter, mate, play and make all merry,
Spring has come with flowers and I draw very
Much attention; the promise of fruits abundance,
Needed, loved, and embraced in a scarce annual chance.
I am an audience for the sad breaking news;
The princess’s Eulogizer in dilemma to possible views,
I am a lawnmower in her abandoned backyard,
A joker of little importance in her game play card.
I am a muzzled ox treading the corn;
A mockery of treasure, glittering scorn,
In her darkest times, the cherished glow-worm;
An apologetic shelter in the times of storm.

In another life,
perhaps it was
you and I—
there, we laughed
a little more,
held on
a little longer.

But here,
we’re fragments,
familiar faces,
strangers in the heart.

We spoke of other lives,
but, I wonder—
do you see
we’re bound to this one,
with only one chance
to learn our way through?

I had some news today.
The kind of news that sits on the surface
Skimming like oil on water.
Then, when least expected,
A match is dropped
And the oil burns.

I watched the fire
Dumbfounded
Knowing all I could do
Was to let it burn out.

There is nothing but ashes now.
The oil is gone.
The water is gone.
All that is left is a black, toxic sludge.
I stare
Knowing I need to face it.
Knowing I need to sift through
The ashes
And sludge
And fear
And horror
To find what's underneath.

Will anything be left?
Or will I be scorched
Condemned.

It's been a while, hasn't it?

I sometimes wonder
If you remember me at all,
Beneath your stressful days
And endless nights.

Do you remember me?

I have hidden here,
Waiting
Just for you.

Because I am you.

You are not the girl I used to know,
Not the one you used to be.
But that's okay,
I have changed too.

Have we both grown by leaps and bounds?

I wish you all the best,
But please
I beg of you.

Do not forsake me.

Invariably,
You prefer to come
To me in the dark.
"You're more my temperature then,"
You once said.
I'm not much of a thermometer,
But I am the eurythmy
To each syllable you give
In such settled shadow.
A play of murmurs and fingertips,
You once named this.
Always I see a wreath in your hair,
In colors of Persia,
Textures of night,
And the soft blended lines
Of you I know
Infallibly.

A serpent will light,
The ancient skies.
And taint the white and blue stars.

His eyes of majesty,
He cometh to bring War.
Upon the line of humanity.

As his scales glow,
In the ebonic haze.
He will guide or doom.
All who play.

Seek the truth.
Follow thy heart.
Even you.
Can be saved from the dark.

he promised he'd take her out on the town at a quarter past three
and by a quarter of three she was dead in the living room
with her father's linens draped around her ankles
and below her skin, a purple fountain flowing

he promised her father he'd mend the holes in the linen
which had stained dark after her ascension
after her stomach acid bore craters into the floor polish
after her tongue fell from her lips to kiss the lace

and then men with suitcases took her body away at a quarter past three
they came without breaking or collapsing in the living room
they shrouded her in clinical-white sheets
and walked out the door bearing stoic expressions

leaving nothing but the world behind them