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Feb 2018 · 1.5k
upon the dying of a love
Jaanam Jaswani Feb 2018
she lays limp upon the sea
foam mattress
gasping for air amongst the swarm
of tubes entangling around her body

i am across from her
a handful of popcorn held
together by a rubber band

is it within my own selfish desire
to keep my love afloat?
or shall i submerge
her gently into the ocean
of infinite nothingness

i open a poetry book
to softly narrate
her last words to her.

do not go gentle into that
good night.
old age should burn
and rave at close of day.

and as she slips away

rage. rage against the dying
of the light.

she tremors.
Dec 2016 · 912
Jaanam Jaswani Dec 2016
hey, ma. it's been a while.
i don't know if you remember
the sound of my chirpy voice
it still comes up, every now and again;
when i'm baked beyond my brains
when i had just cracked the rankest pun
when i'm tangled in a boy's arms, lost -
lost. just like you ma.

i wonder where your mind takes you
when the ringing in your ears doesn't seem to go.
when you dissociate into the otherworld, and
the lashes of your
third eye sweep me away from your vision.

i thought the power of the universe was
supposed to be
yet i have lost you to the vortex of your gods -
the same ones that leave
only the wind
to rock me to sleep.

i am pockmarked with your bad habits.
i lose touch with reality
myself, looking for the warmth of your

i guess space is too large
for me to find your meditative corner.
or perhaps
i'm just looking in the wrong spaces.

space is nice because you have
no weight on your shoulders.
i miss the feeling of having
no weight on my shoulders.

when i grow up, ma
i want to be just like you.
Nov 2016 · 1.4k
Jaanam Jaswani Nov 2016
i must be some sort of permanently exhausted pigeon;
claws clinging to the telephone wire
drearily blinking my way through
the morning meeting of the aerial acrobatic society.

i am a seagull swarmed
amongst the chirpy conjecture
of these early birds;
and my soul caws an honesty,
a wail, a howl, the truth.

i am a tainted swan
grittily paddling myself through the marsh
we call this world,
a lone observer of the acrobats,
the stickiness of my feet keeping me

and you are a swallow;
redbull wings migrate you to warmer climates.
you hear the seagulls
but listen to the pigeons.
you notice the swan
but her murky shallows are too icy
for your liking.

and you are a chicken;
blind beyond your own free-range vicinity.
you catch the pigeons as jet planes,
and the seagull's whisper is alien.
you don't know miss swan.
Oct 2016 · 623
Self Portrait as Jalan Kuta
Jaanam Jaswani Oct 2016
I am plastered with minimarts and motorcycles -
a street so overwhelming to the senses,
but imprinted on the backs of the hands of
Mr. Yamamoto, Craig Miller, Agus Gunawan, and Sergei Ivanov.
What were they running away from again?
A tattered - sinfully boring - machine-repetitive life?
The thing about me is; even though you trash me
with cigarette butts and remnants of your sour past,
I am only a taste of tradition -
a façade before the secrets of the Gods unveil -
and you can bet that two October bombs won't dull my lambent.
In any case, you must purge the storm of serpents
before you sleep, and step into
the silence of monks.
But remember, the distance between your soul and mine will never change. Ever.
CRWR200 // 10:31 am for an 11am class
Oct 2016 · 446
MANSION, aSylUm, abode
Jaanam Jaswani Oct 2016
When I first fled my hometown,
I was told there was a separation:
a continental drift that dragged me by the wrists
and it was as if i was a ballerina that twirled
away too swift, so deep in desperation.
It was my fault, I say.
Home looked like marble tiles and candelabras on mahogany, so grazed with grandeur
solemn servants and chauffeurs
a prison echoing empty space
prim and proper, neat and tidy, dental dexterity
and a library of unsealed books i don’t read.
When I first fled my hometown,
I was told there was a separation,
but i had dreams too big to fit my pockets,
and living at home was essentially sedation.
It was all my fault, I say.

When my home shrunk
into 228 square feet-
stretched out 8821 miles away,
I was ready for reparations:
Ready to cocoon myself inside
for 28 hours, to be locked up in my little tower.
I’m free now, I say.
Home looked like my only dish,
unwashed for three whole days
sheets one solid colour
white walls
and an entire shelf of unsealed books i don’t read.
I rise to the setting of the sun;
water boiling in a kettle, and
i make instant noodles because there’s never
a place more silent and shielding
than home.
I am free now, I say.

When I bought a place of my own,
Home was just the right temperature
but too many cluttered corners.
my mind exhales
A pair of incessantly open arms await me,
and i get shamed for the books i lunge around
but don’t really read
there is no spit in my face
but there are kicks at my back
i am learning
that all the freedom in the world doesn't keep you
from the prison you hold in your own mind
i am learning
what a home feels like
for the very first time

i open my eyes to sunshine and orange juice
and the morning breath of a lover so oblivious to misery
our souls sing in flawless harmony

i am finally home
*and my mind exhales again
Oct 2016 · 773
Jaanam Jaswani Oct 2016
you are my alarm clock,
the vertical curve on the corner of my lip,

but you are not the urgent tap against my skin,
not the creases between my brows.

you are a tabloid magazine,
a stifling bank of encounters,
but not the ringing repetition
of electronic dance music.

you are a pair of socks with stains on them,
the warmth of the sun licking my back,

but you can never be a filthy fingernail,
and you will never be the bottom of a single serve of whiskey.
for langham-
you are the subject of a significant amount of my poetry.
Jaanam Jaswani Oct 2016
i wonder how
these love poems fade,
slither like snakes
from my mumbly mouth
and into your soft ears.

you are ten thousand miles away.
and i wake up to your midnight,
but there is no smoother sound
than your wholesome
hearty voice
"what's for breakfast?"

there is no time.
for when you are tired -
sweat dripping from your small forehead -
it is time
for the wind to pull me out the door.

so rest, little dove
close your eyes.
you know so little of
how deeply mine heart cries.
to my far-flung fluffer nugget.
Oct 2016 · 792
things i pretend i like
Jaanam Jaswani Oct 2016
black liquorice.
a man walking me with his hand on the small of my back.
chilli-flavoured chocolate.
being called "exotic".
my long beautiful hair (it's a trap!).
eggs in the morning.
making myself look "pretty".
foie gras.
bleu cheese.
Oct 2016 · 1.4k
Jaanam Jaswani Oct 2016
i am an apricot,
dried and vacuum-packed amongst chunks of cashew nuts and *******.

i am a cigarette,
wrinkled and cracked with ashes so rank and how the wind whispers my bones away.

i am a stick of magnesium
extingushed halfway -

and i will never burn again
for you have swallowed my spark.
13.10.16; whilst sipping on kopi luwak and learning about metaphors
Sep 2016 · 588
my name is my name
Jaanam Jaswani Sep 2016
my name is my mother's strength

my name is an extension of my dad's best friend

my name is a sanskrit darling

my name is a literal gift from god

my name is the key dangling around my neck*

my name is a hair tie

my name is a broken input chord

my name is a ***** pack tied around an old man's beer belly

my name is my name

my name is my name
co-written with a classmate
Aug 2016 · 1.0k
the way you know love
Jaanam Jaswani Aug 2016
you know her clandestinely -
your hands seize her cracks and crinkles
as if she was yours to form, yours to grip

you dust her with your powdered purity;
it is the same ivory colour you wear across your back.
your hands caress her the way she desires

she flows
she inhales
she rises

and she's yours to keep warm.
i was talking about dough
May 2016 · 3.0k
pâte sucreé
Jaanam Jaswani May 2016
dear . . . sweetie,

the projections of your essence is the type
to cook up a future of you;
of the home you call your heart,
or how you let it spill across the metal table,
just to knead it back together to construct wholesome smiles.

yours is the form of communication i've never known,
a presence that haunts me -
as the scent of your perfume lingers at the back of my tongue
as i taste a sweet fruit,
or how your stories speak to me
as my eyes trickle such mundane appliances around me.

you have taken not my heart, nor my soul.
you have extracted from me fragments of my time;
where i find myself caught in the air, mystically
hearing the songs that were stuck in my head when i first met you.

you are the soundtrack to my little death.
you are always right in the corner of my mind, just as i want to see you:
half-baked, smirking, and vulnerable.
02:55 AM // originally entitled 'a love letter to a pastry chef'
pâte sucreé (French): sweet pie crust
Feb 2016 · 325
strip // 3.2.16
Jaanam Jaswani Feb 2016
i am a coloured picture
printed in black and white

you've trimmed my edges
i am just as round as all of you

they look at us and they see
a sea of like minds, like faces, like appearances

do we like it

i want to be a wild heart swinging
in the oblivious rhythm of movement

i am not a tool to negate your discomfort
i am not here for you to caress my conformity
Jan 2016 · 647
chi // crosshatch 3.11.15
Jaanam Jaswani Jan 2016
ever since i could form a thought-
i knew of this phenomenon called god.
at least that's the name it was given.
but i could never think of god as a person,
a figure to look up to and
are ultimately afraid of.

god was never my best friend,
never something i devoted my life to
nor someone i gave anything up for.

god was the force that willed the plants to grow
upwards from the ground.

god was the recklessness that pushed me to forget my reasoning
and follow my gut.

god is how you can make sense of the past,
how your heartbeat and inhales and exhales
synchronise with the ocean
how you know what it means to feel electric.

god is what made my wrists stop bleeding at the right moment.
it made my father cry when he saw the flaw in his production.
god is what refused my angelhood
and allowed me to breathe
and live.

i still had time to grow.

so i prayed.
i surrendered to the magic of the universe.
i gave it my undying loyalty.
originally entitled 'pantheism'
Jan 2016 · 390
burn, baby.
Jaanam Jaswani Jan 2016
you may have the energy but i am the platform
i am the stage you trickle your toes upon
the strength you call for when your fiery-coloured life needs

breathe me into your wildfire
and when you are lucid
remember to take me with you to shield your roar

i want to be the only world to taste your inferno
exhaust me with your combustion, it's okay
even if my skin gets burned, even if i return to ashes

i will see you rise.
i will take your blaze as a warmth.
for your spark, i will forever be
a love story from me to me #lonerboner
Jan 2016 · 851
nostalgia for nothingness
Jaanam Jaswani Jan 2016
the ache for home lives in all of us,
the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.

here lies an unexplored current-
in its motion is a stillness;
in its havoc is a calmness.
it is nothing, it will always be bursting with its nothingness.

a child comes; stomps on the shallow waters,
feeling the striking cold water against his skin;
the fiery sun searing his back.
what do i feel, what do i feel?

emptiness goes unrecognised,
and the balance is created from within.
splish, splash
tune me out as i touch you, and take a part of you with me

the child rolls in the sand-
pressing the damp handfuls onto his body.
he tricks himself into believing that he belongs somewhere-
that he belongs here-
clearing up his mind-
as he tries to become one with the ocean-
as each handful of sand
teaches him that his home is inside him.

the ache for home lives in all of us,
the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.
3:46 AM
Nov 2015 · 678
Jaanam Jaswani Nov 2015
when you are a balloon that is overinflated
and you're breathing but your lungs feel dissatisfied
your body refusing to move but your mind
running at a speed you can't cope with
the taste on your lips;
like char from a piece of burnt meat
your mind screaming
at the same volume it whispers in

. . .
i don't even know
Jaanam Jaswani Nov 2015
i will give myself to you inch by inch.
i will make you bored of that same inch.
i will make you crave another.
i will touch the same objects that end up haunting you.
i will make you prefer the sound of silence.
i will give you enough space to fabricate a future for us.
but not too much so that i can see you just one more time
leaving you so very confused with your bits and pieces of shattered ambitions

and then you won't see me again.
you'll forget about the pain i left in your chest - slowly, and with effort

until you see me again, happy.
or am i?
Jaanam Jaswani Aug 2015
your absence is a lingering sensation -
a persistent reminder that i will be waiting
for you to come back home.
where have you gone, ma?

every time i'm hungry,
i will wait in the kitchen for you.
i don't know how to cook, ma.
i always thought you'd be around to show me how.

and even though my room is *****,
i will clean it up for you.
***** and span, just the way you like it.
i will brush my fingers over my table to see
if i've left any dust
the same dust you left, ma

and even though you faded away
i found it impossible not to grip you tighter towards me;
and you slipped, ma.
when will you come home?
i'm too empathetic to live with such sadness in the world. forgive me.
Jaanam Jaswani Jun 2015
as i recall the joyful tune
of your whiny voice:
complaining, complaining
i hear my heart whimper
it quivers, it quivers
it brings me eye to eye with the mirror
as i inspect my memories;
the same scars you call my mistakes
the same extensions you cut off

i've got more:
more blunders, more experiences
more love, more pains
dear god, you know nothing

i will reclaim my youth
and refuse to surrender to your dissatisfied jokes
how can you possibly know what it means to be whole,
when your purpose is to pick up the slices;
the shreds that i can sparingly call
my happiness?

so whine,
loop your futile tips and tricks,
attempt to fix me.
do it all over again.

**i am perfect the way i am
Jaanam Jaswani Apr 2015
Exploring hands encounter no defence;
Recollecting endeavours drives her to a dry pain
Throbbing, throbbing
Hamlet's hamartia discards her to *the lowest of the dead

His vanity requires no response;
Her life on the line and he's got nothing to lose.
  So much more the eye can see
Caressing, caressing

Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass;
  Leave me, carbuncle:
Words she has never been able to utter . . .
Loudly, she thinks it
It doesn't translate
Shivering, quivering

Brittle monster bestows one final patronising kiss
  I must exercise some form of self control

Hardly aware of her departed lover,
She lays in a yellow blanket;
Phosphenes in the emerging light of day.
Honestly, half this poem is T S Eliot's "The Fire Sermon"
Apr 2015 · 763
salutations, my sun.
Jaanam Jaswani Apr 2015
i know, that when you step out:
the sun will shine brightly on you,
fire will sweat to ashes as it meets you,
and flowers will melt to a pulp to respect you.

never, never know what it is to fall.
tread lightly, sweet soul;
for it's a trap, and the sand falls the tighter you grip it.

**this world belongs to you.
she has no idea, this one. she holds so much power within her.
i don't think i've seen light any brighter.
Mar 2015 · 2.2k
stargazing at noon
Jaanam Jaswani Mar 2015
here i emerge, resilient as ever.
i am ethereal. i will spawn my soul.

i will love you here, now.
you will see me not as flesh and bones,
but as a series of frequencies;
blue, giant, intense, fluctuating,
red, a dwarf, calm, stable.
aloha - most clearly with my eyes shut.
for today i am a star. today i'm with the star.
i am a story, a map, a collection of human activity.

aloha - "I heard that in the Hawaiian language, ha means breath, and when you say Aloha to someone, you’re really saying, “I’m breathing so that you can inhale my spirit, and when you exhale, I’m inhaling your spirit.” It’s true recognition of another person’s soul and entity." -shailene woodley
Mar 2015 · 5.7k
snapchat stories
Jaanam Jaswani Mar 2015
As the light and shadows of overthinking roll over,
And the yellow raspberries start to doubt their realities,
I'll be here - owning nameless cats and refusing to buy furniture;
Lusting for the life I thought I had, green-eyed and sadistic.

Let's take a selfie. TRIPLE CHIN!

As you swipe for filters,
And draw a ***** on your friend's face,
I'll be here - fighting the urge to be useless;
Tapping and holding for fake friends.

Selfies. We've been afflicted with this terrible, god-awful disease.

And as you post a shaky video of your boyfriend driving?
And laugh at that joke you know you didn't find funny
I will be here - throwing my circles of seconds away.

**Three, two, one.
It gets worse as you scroll down. Soz m8.
Feb 2015 · 2.7k
children of divorce
Jaanam Jaswani Feb 2015
Two sides, four faces.
A god of some type, enraged.
Three eyes open, five hearts broken.

How the man who taught me morals
Went astray . . .
and I can't help him.
He won't let me teach him
The very same things
That he taught me

So I breathe through the filthy air!
Reminds me of a home;
One that is now liquified.
How bitter it is to swallow fire . . .

I trail through the tracks;
A horse amidst a mess of baggage.
To trot on
Into the fine truths of this world,
This one we call our abode.
Jaanam Jaswani Feb 2015
i still slap my soul,
and drown myself in allergy.
it's autoimmune, me against myself
and i don't know who's winning.
Feb 2015 · 1.6k
Jaanam Jaswani Feb 2015
Terbatas; terkunci; sendirian.
Mataku menyerap gambar-gambar di dalam lingkunganku,
Dan sekali-kali saya menemukan tanganku mencoba bergenggam
Masa depan yang punya saya;
Mungkin hanya di pikiranku.

Saya adalah seekor kucing kecil di pingir jalan;
Diabaikan, kotor, jelek.
Bordered; locked; alone.
My eyes absorb images in my circumscribe,
And at times I find my hands trying to grasp
The future that I own;
Maybe just in my mind.

I'm a small cat at the side of the road;
Ignored, *****, ugly.
Feb 2015 · 340
i can't figure out how
Jaanam Jaswani Feb 2015
to delete this **** poem

i don't wanna see it anymore. pls send help. ;_;
Feb 2015 · 1.6k
wavelength (λ)
Jaanam Jaswani Feb 2015
She's wheat-skinned and coarse-haired;
In a fair and lovely world. This woman embodied
Perfection; without ever journeying on a quest to seek it.

All the other girls understood themselves,
Each and every bit of them. She simply
Forgot; to look in the mirror, to be aware of her singular quirks, to be daunted by the schools of swordfish.

In the tribes of North Africa, communities banged drums and danced to please the Gods.
"Allah, Allah!" they'd temporarily yell to foot-stampers who seemed to invoke the spirits,
Those who took breaths of transparent inspiration and truly,
And truly, lived in that jiffy.

The entirety of her life was an Allah moment,
For she never ceased to be lit from below, and lit;
From within. Her monochromatic soul shined a spectrum,
And she was perfect, because she didn't need to be.
bits taken from Elizabeth Gilbert's TED talk: "Your Elusive Creative Genius"
Feb 2015 · 426
why does my heart cry?
Jaanam Jaswani Feb 2015
I am the strings of your guitar
Torture my heart

With your almosts and false promises
Show me intensity

Let me have you once
One more time so that I never want you again

Leave me with a bang
You are my lobster
Feb 2015 · 495
awaken the divine in you
Jaanam Jaswani Feb 2015
This is me.
The purest form of myself, in front of you today.
I'm a timid, analytical creature, sitting at the corner, just observing.
I am terrified to be standing here right now.
But this is also me, triumphing my fears and doing things that knock me off my socks.
"Wow, she must not always be her true self," you may think. Is it true, though?
I am not trying to put words into your mouth, or trying to make you think that I'm full of myself.
I want to share.
The idea of one's true self does not exist.
My essence lies in the fact that I really don't know who I am right now, or who I'll be in the future.
What if I knew who I was?
I would probably stick to being this timid little girl - hindering myself of all the possibilities that could shapen my personality.
My point is that timid me is me.
Confident me is also me.
Profane, rebellious me is also me.
Concealed, or raw; I am me.
I am the encompassment of all my personalities.
I may be a ***** with you, and I may be too liberal with you - but I will, still, always be myself - no matter who I'm trying to look like, sound like, or smell like.
This, is me.
Jan 2015 · 777
putri raja
Jaanam Jaswani Jan 2015
I blame myself for distasteful stupidity;
This inability to conceptualise my sentiment.
I'm magnetic to your waffled fingers, and you're blind
To palpability.

Your purity pours into me like a purgation I've never known;
A thousand sins, each recognised, loved.
How many words have we swapped?

I pine, boy, and ponder upon the postulates you follow
To place a seed into my soul.
Must I really bury my affections for you?

*Saya ingin berdiri sebelah kamu, sebagai putri raja kamu.
Jaanam Jaswani Jan 2015
I've always enjoyed thinking about the reasoning of our existence
Man was made in God's image
Then came woman to comfort man
Which u did by the way. Thank you
If eve never ate the Apple, man would have been immortal
So most men blame women for not making us live forever

But she did anyway
It made God decide a place in the heavens for us
So in a way, even the first woman knew exactly what she was doing
She did an exceptional job
props to adam for deciding that he's human enough to ask for help.
Dec 2014 · 394
volcanic filtration
Jaanam Jaswani Dec 2014
What is me
What is this place I'm living in
I've begun to doubt the reality of the world
It's an illusion I've developed
During the days I've spent in straight limbo

I'm afraid
What if i wake up and mourn a lost dream
I can't go back to the white
The pain, the solitude
How can I remain in this beautiful illusion?
Dec 2014 · 896
necessary information
Dec 2014 · 1.0k
benzene and formaldehyde
Jaanam Jaswani Dec 2014
A door in the mind blows open -
It floods with grey matter
And hot stares.

Ashes of darkness
Coupled with
Tears of growth

This is incomparable.
Roller-coaster rides
And unrecognisable mirrors;

We've steeped into a portal of surrealism:
With sins and judgement calls that question
The very essence of our hearts.

I really do not want to grow up.

I'm a pair of pigtails who can't
Climb up a step.
Push me, push me, but I can't reach.

When I feel my faith restored
In the overlap
Of green scenes and dental dexterity -
I can only think of one line to combust me:

*"He's just being nice."
Bits taken from 'The Planners' by Boey Kim Cheng and 'Where I Come From' by Elizabeth Brewster.
Jaanam Jaswani Dec 2014
You see the light at the end of the tunnel
But we keep pulling it away
You will have to live though your fears
Every single day
Dec 2014 · 948
Jaanam Jaswani Dec 2014
I never go to weddings
I'd usually end up using my magic girl power
Chasing the boy
Who asked me to catch him
And here's the catch;
"If you can."

I never go to weddings
I'd usually end up sulking away
Ignoring my frenemies
As I scorned at grown men
Leaning against the bar
Obviously wondering why,
I am not having any fun.

I never go to weddings
I'd usually end up sneaking out
With the guy I've been exchanging stares at
We'd talk all night

I looked forward to weddings, though,
I never go to weddings.

My habits didn't change
Once we snuck out to the nearby pool
Took off all our clothes
And I was photographed, stark naked,
Amidst the chlorinated stupidity

I never go to weddings
They're too uptight
I held up a glass of champagne and yelled,
"And ***** you!" to the man with a blue portrait
Of me in his wallet
As he kissed his bride for the third time

I never go to weddings
I'd usually end up being a bridesmaid
Wearing a ridiculous outfit
Smiling through the pain of my own singularity
And realising that no one really celebrates the couple for them
We are selfish

I never go to weddings . . .
Dec 2014 · 953
the wild youth
Jaanam Jaswani Dec 2014
And we will never know what it's like to crave the essence of youth back in a vial;
Because youth was never something we understood anyway

Each premeditated; careful move -
Each calculated.

Fake laughter .
We're too self conscious.
There are too many of us.

And sometimes I long for a past that isn't even mine:
I miss the things I've never had.

I'm wasting away my days -
Waiting for my life to begin.
Hoping; that each freckle-strapped face
Would show me the way

Give me serenity.
Nov 2014 · 609
a convergent of two walls
Jaanam Jaswani Nov 2014
No math
No match
No match

Says the girl who lost her ruler;
Anybody can take advantage of me

I'm left at the counter point blank;
Staring at people taking over their worlds;
Faces against each other;
Venn diagramming each other:

I've heard this live
I want to escape, to leave everything in a pinch of salt

**I'm going to faint
I have no recollection writing this.
Sep 2014 · 1.2k
hyperion to a satyr
Jaanam Jaswani Sep 2014
Round and round, it wouldn't even matter
Go catch monkey's bars, like the beast you are yourself
Tragedy is that you will never be able to look at light
With your frail eyes and flaccid heart

I purge, I clease
Away with the torment of calling myself a fool
Your fool-
Don't you remember what shakles are?
There's a vacuum in your mind-
Is this not true?

Swim in the ale that consumes your youth;
You won't know tomorrow, anyway.
Sep 2014 · 1.2k
absurd roots
Jaanam Jaswani Sep 2014
i could spend my life in utter awkwardness
watching my brothers smoke and my sisters cry
aunties smiling and prolonging straightforwardness
my ***** cousins won’t ever say hi

i could spend my life sitting at the corner writing poems
about these drap people who refuse to stay in their homes
the kids would play hide and seek
the mannequins with heads up until it’s too awkward to not speak

skinny waists, blackened eyes, and porcelain faces
daru desi banging loud; turning us deaf
high heels; no flats no laces
horrible is the food beautifully prepared by the chef
(who, by the way, thinks we're unbelievably uncivilised)

i see them drenched in forgettum juice
they’re deep in drunken oblivion, you see
it’s incredible - when they say ‘let loose’
’cause their eyes pry when you let yourself free

the ladies enjoy their liberation;
those poor oppressed dearies
no more doting on their husbands in juxtaposed veneration
they give a grave attempt to personify their reveries

the men enjoy pelvic thrusting
they’re sly crooks who love lusting

i guess i’ll be alright;
for a mere few minutes, if i’m out of sight
Jaanam Jaswani Sep 2014
Doesn't it seem so pointless
How the moon sheaths the sun, and says;
Learn to hold your tears back, darling.

And how the sun, so carefully, replies
Love, I shall shatter at your dancing will
For as long as it takes to dust off this cacophony

A beat, and they separate

The sun utters ever so slightly:
Remember me while you get dizzy
Or when you feel my light for you.

**'Tis as it was, ere the wolves came.
Jul 2014 · 900
Am I even a person?
Jaanam Jaswani Jul 2014
Like a perfectly squared puzzle piece -
Life is the bane of my existence.

I don't know, diary,
I've been touched by morbidity.

I am not getting this 'life' thing right,
My grips are tight and things slip

Anger comes from places unheard of,
Slightest hells are the shells of explosions

Am I even a person?
When I don't own enough to feel my very presence

Am I even a person?
When whatever emerges from me is obsolete

I am the sole cashew hiding in a bar of chocolate;
The behavioural tick that picks on unsteady nerves

And so the question remains;
Slices my veins as it takes the reins of my sleep

Am I even:
A person?
A spoken word poem of some sort.
May 2014 · 1.4k
a cento
Jaanam Jaswani May 2014
Row words through the riverous air -
The poison in your papers

Pituitary glands in the sun -
Solar sweat

The ripping in your repetition;
The cracking in your cranium.
May 2014 · 2.3k
Jaanam Jaswani May 2014
Undo your rues
They're worth a turnover
Enlighten her spirits and stop drinking your *****
Make your attitude flip over

You've done some damage
Own up to it
You can cause a blockage
And turn my feelings to ****

Say you're sorry and everything will be alright
Lofty mountings can form if you put up less of a fight.

Hug your yin and kiss her forehead
She's worth your love
Machismo shall stop and she shall be fed
Free her from this misery as you would a dove

Don't tell me I don't understand
Your voice has shook this land
I'm old enough to know
To her forgiveness is all I want you to show
Apr 2014 · 507
on a loop
Jaanam Jaswani Apr 2014
the cursive clay-graphite goes on
   as my heart melts across the sheet of paper.
      never ceasing, history repeats - and is forgone
         as our bonds seem to turn into vapour.

how many words do i have to write,
so i can exhaust the eraser?
*i'm not a water-slide
accept this as an invitation to step outside the dark ruins of my mind. you know who you are.
Apr 2014 · 3.0k
Oceanly Nomadic
Jaanam Jaswani Apr 2014
We share our deficiencies:
A haven of sorrow and fury

Friendly - they say hello
In mischief and spite.
Warm or cool under your feet
They swerve near nonchalant districts
And foamy lips

Destructive - they leave without saying goodbye
A routine they developed
Over the series of washed up regrets
And maroon sediments

Attached - they stick like superglue
To the pang they forgot to tell you about
They leave and take a part with them
And inevitably imprint themselves onto you

We share our deficiencies:
A haven of sorrow and fury
To Mari - the brave one.
Jaanam Jaswani Apr 2014
The words of a person speak out
More than they do
Not their faces
Nor the minutely noticeable habits -
They don't realise they do

Chocolate. One that's amplified,
That crawls up your spine
As you tilt your neck to the side

Coffee. One that wakes you
To the harshest of realities

It's my fantasy.
I like surfing.
I dare you to flirt with her.

Stop speaking,
I'm giving up on myself

I'll run with flops on my hands
Reminding myself of
Why I started this in the first place
Jaanam Jaswani Mar 2014
he got them in a box, over Christmas
and he wore them everyday that week
the pyjamas, they were blue and white
oh how cozy he was each night

at age eight, the world was his oyster
and he dreamed of hanging bridges
the pyjamas, they made him fly
oh how, how he soared so very high

he tucked them away, as the flowers grew
and away they were kept year by year

the boy still closed his eyes, though
he was led into a world, by himself
the pyjamas, they were catching dust
this world, a place oozing with lust

he glanced at them, as the flowers wilted
and glanced at they were, year by year

it started a crack in the boy's voice
Peter Pan was now fictional
the pyjamas, were still there for him
but he, took each day with more grim

he opened the box in his closet, as the flowers grew again

it was a metamorphosis
you could even tell by the hair on his face
the pyjamas, they no longer fit
and now he, had a reputation of grit

he tucked them away, as the flowers grew
and away they were kept year by year

his son received something similar, over Christmas
the little boy hoped for a video game
the pyjamas, still blue and white
held less significance at night*

it was time to throw his pyjamas away
he burnt his child-like innocence, as
his memories - slowly - became dull, and grey
written for TJ.
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