The bakula and the madhumalti
Sway in the warm wind
Watching children play
In stained shirts
With mud-filled nails
Bare feet and beady drops of laughter
Unmindful of the heat
While a dog playfully rolls over
Trying to catch the sunlight
That falls through the trees

A white-eye flies low,
resting on the firangipani tree
Butterflies dance around the hibiscus
And bees swarm
Hedges have blossomed with flowers

And the mynah calls from outside—
To awaken the forgotten child in an older heart
And tell her that summer reigns

Sometimes there are nights where it feels like my soul is writhing beneath my skin.

Rattling the cage made of bones, banging against flesh, clawing its way out to get to you.

An all consuming condition,
liquid fire roiling through my veins.

My desire for you
Decimating me to ash from flame.

You are my tangerine,
Brimming bitter-sour
Across the wretched, dusty room.

And you brought me
An orange touch of sun
Glitter glowing on my skin.

To wake wide in the morning,
Curtain dances with fresh air
Into my smoker's lungs.

Even to my deathbed remains
The scene of you that will
Leave me between the walls

Of longing and regret.
And to my morning sunlight,
I will never become better.

I say to you, my tangerine,
You are my very will to live,
And to die, if I cannot save you.

You speak
in linen threads,
crease the page
with careful weight.

I write
like a wire frays—
all snap
and static.

You linger.
I lunge.
You plant quiet seeds.
I strike the flint
and call it bloom.

We are not
the same instrument.
Your hush
doesn’t dull my clang.
My heat
doesn’t melt your frame.

There is no prize
for loudness.
No shame
in restraint.

But still,
we each mistook the other
for the reason to stop.

As if difference
were subtraction.
As if one voice
could ever
void another.

Let’s not play
at vanishing.
Let’s speak
in split tongues—
you in dusk,
me in flame—
and let the echo
be richer
for it.

I want a love that lifts, not weighs,
that lights my soul, not dims my days.
A love that walks, that dares, that tries,
not one that waits with downcast eyes.

I want to feel a burning spark,
not just a whisper in the dark,
a steady hand, a voice so clear,
a man who knows, who draws me near.

I want a presence bold and true,
a heart that beats with mine in view.
No chasing shadows, no silent plea,
but footsteps strong that walk with me.

I want a fire, fierce yet slow,
not flames that fade or cease to glow.
A love that lasts, that won’t demand
the life I hold in open hand.

I want desire, not just a thrill,
but something deep that grows at will.
A passion free, yet firm in space,
not fleeting highs, but strong embrace.

A man whose strength is warm, not cold,
whose love is sure, whose hands will hold.
Who stands beside me, not behind,
with fearless heart and steadfast mind.

I want to move, unchained, unbound,
no weight to pull me to the ground.
No debts to pay, no roles to fill,
no love that drains my heart’s own will.

I want a life where joy runs free,
where voices dance in harmony.
Where love is given, strong and pure,
not earned, not fought for, but secure.

And so I stand, my heart made new,
no love half-lived, no path undue.
No less than this, no dreams denied,
I trust the path, let life decide.