My mom is at the edge of tears
Every time the situation is mentioned
I have to be strong
Because she can’t crumble
I have to be strong
Because It’s my turn
I want to be strong
Because it’s my turn
I need to be strong
Because she’s everyone’s rock
I will be strong
Because I am her rock.

It’s a Sunday Morning where I am,
Lying warmly in bed.
It’s time to get my coffee
and catch a brief glimpse—
Through my small virtual window

I get to see,
A lot of different Saturdays
Happy faces in familiar supercuts,
Montages of their laughter,
No trace of sorrow or loss.

Everything is better in spring.
And the hearts I miss—
They seem happier in their spring.

Grateful I got this vibrant collage;
And more grateful still,
Summer’s sprinting towards me,
among the sun and joy, I’ll be.

Counting the long,
And lonely weeks
Until I’ll get to be
(Smiling)
on the other side of the screen.

Evening air and dry text replies
It is a cold winter day,
in the midst of July.

Clear and loud silence,
surrounding her steps.
The sudden reflex to deflect.

A random call. A sudden ‘yes’.
Opening door, a familiar face.
Same old, same old.. exhausting exchange.

Dancing hands,  soulless gaze.
Curious hands, hypnotising embrace.
Rushing hands, the usual regret.

Lust overdoses, her soul feels sore.
Another heart rash. Repeat. Regret. Repeat.
emotional hangover,  

             unread morning-after text.

Hoovering gatherings,
mind miles away,
I have the longing,
weakening curse.  

It’s in my veins, makes my blood flow.

Pleasantries, nods,
Laughter becomes background noise.
Such a waste of present.
And still I can’t stop:

What if it was better before?

Self sabotaging makes a home
in my bones

Why I keep ruining it all?

Why am I trapped in this loop?

What is the lesson I need and refuse to be taught?

Just glimpses of what it used to be
Second-hand memories,
faded reflections
of the golden years.
It’s a different tomorrow.
I feel scammed and hollow.
This is not what was promised.
I am a grownup now—
Translation of
     Years hoarding sorrow—

My brain keeps rotting
But I just don’t care.
the longer I scroll
The more chances I get
Of catching a glimpse
Of your beautiful face

There’s potential
hidden in plain sight
Can’t you see it igniting?
—soul’s fire? The spark?
A brief glance
of my future plans..
Cozy and picturesque
I reckon they seem
  so lovely..
—In your eyes.
Surrender, will you?
It’s for the better
Tension is tempting
But resisting.. is crazy!

I saw strength—
Arms that once held me,
Protected me
Turned into fragility:

The weakened shadow
Of the bravest man.—

I saw and I stood
Powerless,
Tears holding,
fears hounding.

I stood powerless,
wanting to give
some of my years
To the one heart
that gave me
Everything.

As I stood there,
cleaning my closet,
In the middle of a bunch of lovely trinkets—
I realised, I had baggage.
A lot of it. It wasn’t just stuff.

It wasn’t just an old sweater,
—It was the smell of him.
And perhaps the lovely necklace
that reminded me of school—
Or the cutest folded letter I forgot
Someone gave me, years ago..

How could I let go?

But it was moving day.

Boxes weren’t that large to fit everything.

I had to choose.

Which ones would stay..


               And which….  

                          
                              I had to let go.

You are a ghost
But, oh, how I fancy you to scare me
Trapped in the past,
No other words casts.
If I have to be haunted,
Let it be you,
Let it be now.

Heart is no closet
They say—
But in mine
Each compartment,
is perfectly organised.
I neatly fold
Your sighs—
Some still
tangled in my hair.
Your fervid stares,
Vacuum-sealed
In a box on the left shelf,
Next to the neck kisses,
faded birthday wishes,
and hangers —full of
teenage lust—
pressed, rarely worn.

I strip myself.

Bones, soul and flesh.

I got on the scale. Check.

I’m way past my ideal weight— again.

I guess no amount of exercise

Or calorie-deficit diet would do

Because I didn’t account for

how many calories memories use.

Well, since I’m in no heart-diet,

I can afford to have a few—

So go on,

Add some extra kilograms to the soul.

A tote bag filled with poetry books and a head full of dreams
of you

I want to live,

Not just in my scripted mind scenes,

I actually want to live.

call it improv, taking a chance,

Whatever—

I want to be here.

Could you help me?

Get me off my head,

Ground me, pull me near

Bring one of those moments

That sweeps me off my feet

Don’t let me think about it.

Don’t let me ruin it.

Just let me be in it.

No, I am not ready.

But I am real.

And I am here.

My mother just told me
I’m constantly ‘a slave’ of my own words.
And I have to agree with her.
I can’t seem to ‘own my silences’—
as she so smartly puts it.
I know, I know.
I should ponder on
such valuable insight— yup.
Yet to me…
that was just short for:
 ‘You should shut up’

We could never be.

You had a malice in you,
I couldn’t recognise in me.

We could never be.

The roots of your envy,
Started to grow stagnant,
In the depths of my being.

We could never be.

I had to understand.
I couldn’t change such fate.
I had to let go of my faith.

We could never be.

The endearing love,
The Christmas parties,
The summers to come.

I missed that call.
And I knew
It was for the better.
You weren’t up
To anything good.
I knew
answering
wouldn’t lead me
to anything good.
And I wish It was
That thought—
the
Impeding,
rational force
The reason
for not
picking up,
But sweetheart,
honestly?
It was 3 am,
I was not that
mentally strong;
I just wasn’t
Awake.

There is another timeline,
where we are home,
—after a lovely Sunday birthday dinner
of friends

We are thinking of hosting one next.
We agree everyone will love the dessert.
We complain about tomorrow—
Usual Monday’s sorrow
We do our nightly routine.
I ask you if you want some water,
for your bedside.

—Not in this cruel one, no.
Yet in some other, —kinder— it is.

“Bodies are bodies and bodies will touch”,

— Inviting and warm, a set, themed as a house—

Same role to play, a different guest star,

Bodies are bodies and bodies will touch,

— Cheers of the crowd. It’s a wrap, credits roll. —

And I still remember every Christmas.
how I was hopeful, longing,
For what life had to offer.
I dreamed of love—
And how I would flourish in it.

You get second-hand
updates
Of the way their hair looks
Piecing together glimpses
Of a parallel life
You hope next time
Some mutual friend shares their face
On a random Sunday
On that photos app
they look happier.

Why should I know

Why the sky is blue ?

Why can’t I just enjoy the sunny day?

Have I left it too open, my window
For you to see the inside?
—A room, full of thoughts,
Crafted by my spiralling mind;
A bed, full of love,
Overflowing,
from an oversharing heart

Would you go inside?
Would you ran far?

Tbh I left the curtain half drawn

I write, I think, I write,
I agonise with the idea of my thoughts being heard,
I write again,
I let go.

I hovered above us
Trying to capture the whole scene
Legs trying not to shiver
While you’re planting kisses,
exploring soft, uncharted skin.
Out-of-body experience,
Floating right there,
I envied myself for a second,
But your anchor-like hands
Managed to drag me down there
Eyes meet again
Making me face them
My nonsensical thoughts—
My fear, my desire to stay—
The closeness of my thighs
To your lips.