That love which once made me feel comely like a petal.
Is now the same love , bruising me with its thorns.

on this rumbling
              stretch of tundra
                  no trees reach up
                     to soothe the sky
                     there is a pulling down
                  of wind tunnel vortex
               like conifers in reverse
          an icy howl
in the bonechill
               of time
Translucent holes,
         perfectly round, are dug
                in glacial archeology
                  and in the sea below
               gelid creatures lurk,
           half-frozen
         in the history of my
                                        soul
Only moss and lichens
grow on the rock,
somehow softening the
rugged textures
of the wild landscapes
that seethe
          just beneath my skin
and there, just
shy of the surface
is a quickening
a subtle pulse of veins
that pumps life
between the gales of
my heart's steppes
flushing out
           the pain
somewhere
deep
      within the private lotus
of my being
folioles unfurl
leafy shapes around
my organs
wrapping them like gifts
          as they undulate in whorls
opening my petals
in renewed consciousness
and deliberation
as a new kind of  
           stamen
                rises
    dusty pollen
powdery
budding ripeness
       bursting up
       and out
   of my deepest
       centered
whirlpool pistil
nectar dripping
in viscous webs,
to be caught upon
the tongue of
a new dawning
My silky outer
wings of vegetation,
slender stalks of
          filaments and anther
have been turned
into hot steel
They protect
    the tender vulnerable
                   when burned
as poison words held up to my
watchful eyes,
                   are properly discerned
I give myself over
to this new power,
my back arched to fully embrace
what is to come,
a universe calling thunder,
the old patterns undone
I am ready
to reveal my all
as the goddess deep within
comes to release my gold
suffusing light through skin
conjured from me
a relentless strength,
ever-growing,
                now tenfold
rising way past
soft-lit stratospheres
and orbiting
               to
                 bold

Afterall , I guess,
It wasn't all that bad.
Maybe nothing is all that bad.
I danced at the cliff with you for a long time ,
The fall felt like end of life - quite painful but everybody saw that coming.
And there were days for sure , when the dances appeared like a havoc , heated with chaos all over it.
But we danced through.
They told me to move on and forget him. Is that what moving on means ?
Maybe nothing is all that bad.
I hope our brains came up with recycle bins.
Escapism isn't a word , if it is I don't see where it exists.
I carry pieces of people with me as I share the same breath with them .
And to move on from him took me long enough , but I remember the firsts and the lasts and will always do.
Because he took a part of me too ,
A part that is safe with him.
We shared our bodies together ,
We drew each other on the canvases of love ,
I dived into you , you were there like a safeguard, full of air.
And the laughs and cries are always real , no one can be that fake.
So maybe when you share the same  corridor as mine and would pass besides me I won't pause to gather the mutual atoms amidst us anymore .
I would recognize the smell as something familiar , and will walk away.
Maybe it's time to let go

soft, languid cloud,
reflects on the still lake;
- made for each other!

Isn't  lonely another kind of high?
Of how each high has a low of its own.
As if they are the two rivers destined to meet, except there is no ocean after that.
It's just the high and the low, following each other, back and forth, like long lost lovers.
So just like people use drugs,
I guess I use my lonely,
To get a clear head,they say.
On nights like these, I dance with him, him being my lonely.
He creates so much space for me, drools with me, I wonder if I could breathe this time, and yes I do, in that moment there is no one between me and my fresh breathes.
No regrets, no bad memories, no hatred.
I am as pure as a new born,
As light as dandelion seeds,
As happy as humanly possible.
I guess this is called being high.
My mum once told me- ' love everyone but love yourself first'.
So as I pen down these words, packed beneath my sheets, I wonder shouldn't we be high all the time?
Shouldn't we be in love with ourselves all the time?

At the end of the day , it's just you curled within you , within you ,
with your thoughts floating ,
even with all this gravity.

You are a woman ,
With muscles that
stretch and curl ,
With skin ,
Which glows.

I cant find the right thing to say.
Oh what could be left?

Is it
This or is it that?

No that cant be right.
I never even met you
But with our permission they took you away.

All that is left
Is
Untill we meet again
I'll keep looking for right thing to say.