on days as beautiful as this, i look up at the sky and bask in your presence.

even in setting darkness, there is an underlying sense of comfort.

they say home is where the heart is,
the thing is, when your heart stopped beating, mine didn’t— and I haven’t felt home since.

but the sunset feels familiar, i can’t help but want to say thank you for coming to visit —

thank you pa
these sunsets remind me
of your light
these sunsets remind me that
you are my refuge
these sunsets remind me that
I am safe.

I always thought I would remember my father during birthdays and graduations. Grief, however always catches me by surprise.

I remember touching his cold, hard face. I remember kissing his dead cheeks. I remember the smell of the chemicals used to preserve my father— that’s what death smells like in my head now.

The thing about losing someone is you’re torn between wanting to forget your pain and wanting to hold on to all the memories you have left, however bitter it is.

There is no one switch that allows you to forget. Despite everything, death comes with numerous variations of “life goes on” — for comfort. I personally do not understand how to seek solace in that.

Isn’t that the saddest part? The fact that life goes on?

Kanna: the tamil equivalent of the words baby/ sayang/ honey/ bunny/ sugarplum/ puffy yummy yum.

There is nothing sweeter than calling a loved one Kanna— the god of love, another name for Krishna.

Krishna's love encompasses the entire spectrum of this beautiful feeling – love for his foster mother Yashoda, for his brother Balaram, love for gopis and for Radha.

Imagine meeting someone so wholesome you want to call them Kanna.

Kartinee Mageswaran

I was your dream,
But you shouldn’t have fallen asleep.

I don’t flash ****
for
social security benefits.

But I call my baddie daddy,
because his heart is like paddy;
Big, wide &
worthy of a Grammy.

I like my wine fine,
Man resigned,
A bit over twenty-nine,
So it all feels like borderline cloud-nine.
Lucky for me,
Love & grey hair came intertwined.

Rub your rock, hard,
on my skin
As you would to start a fire.

Skin on skin,
Roughly,
Again and again.

Use that spark
& warm your stone cold heart.

@EasedBlueSivan

How do I tell you
that you are not a dying sunshine,
but you are the sunset?

How do I tell you
that the sunset paints not only the skies,
but also smiles on my face?

How do I tell the sunset
that she is the freedom of the night -

And because of her,
you see stars,
The shiniest one, Mommy;
The one blinking at you, Daddy.

This thunder
reminds me of the old times
when I would climb into your bed in fear.

I sleep alone now,
for the same thunder  
is now the lullaby
you sing for me
from heaven.

Like the sunset
On a rainy day

You are missing

How is it
that one person can be both
the sunset that never came
and
the sun that set too soon?

My father was a man of a few words. You could always see him around, but he rarely spoke. There are days he would just say 10 words to me & some other days none. Now that he is gone, his silence stays. And it’s deafening.

Your toothbrush next to mine, your shoes on the rack, your favourite mug & your pyjamas that I now can’t go to sleep without. Everything makes me feel like you’re here with me.

You know how the sunlight gives the pond beautiful algae, but the same algae leaves fishes breathless? Likewise, I feel so suffocated by your presence.

Every single thing only serves to remind me of your absence. I realise then, that I’m alone in this place. I am without a father. I’m crippled and incomplete and I’m alone and I’m without you.

You're gone,
but I am still comforted
by your warmth.

You're gone,
but I am still safe;
for you have taught me,
how to find refuge
                                 in myself.

Your death,
is almost a dream,
feels just like old times.

In this dream,
I am your baby.
I count to ten;
Smiling with pride that I learned to count,
You go into hiding.

But in this game of
hide-and-seek,
you never come out of the dark.

And I can’t wake up.
I keep counting-
& I realise,
the day I stop counting,
is the day I go into hiding.

I will see you then.

This is to tell my mother
that her husband has died,
but he is not gone;

For I am here
and I am the last
breathing, bleeding &
living fragment of my father.
If he has left anything behind,
it is himself,
& that- is me.

My heart,
I protected
with stones and bricks.

You
brought the hammer,    
broke my walls;
Ah, the joys of feeling again.

And then you left.

Found concrete in your tool shed
& now
I am building a wall again;
                                               this time stronger!

I sit in here, safe.
Then I realize,
you weren't in my walls;
                           you lived under my skin
                           in my veins &
                           I am you,
                           for I am your daughter.

And as long as I live,
I can't run away --
For even my blood
                                 is yours.

Losing you felt like losing
                                   all my limbs.

It was all Greek to me
I did not know how to use my legs -
continue walking this entire life,
with the knowledge that you
will never again—
not ever, ever—
tell me that you will pick me up
                                    when I fall.

You are the anchor;
That holds me in place.
You are also the anchor
That pulls me down.

They say
there is sunshine
after a dark cloud passes.

You’re gone and I’m still
                                         here
You are my sunshine
and it’s getting dark because
                              I’m still
                                         here

And I close my eyes,
Because in complete darkness
I see light
                I see you.

I no longer long for home
For I have come
To the bitter realisation
that you make our house-

a home.

Home is feeling.

I can only feel homesick,
Run my fingers through -
The walls you painted,
Walk through -
The garden you planted,
And find the last pieces of you-
From the scent of your unwashed shirts.

I feel homesick-
                         For you.

For you are where my heart is.

Smoking,
so attractive.

Exactly like death.

They all -
correlate cigarettes and death
like it's a bad thing

When it really just
chokes for a while,

But the aftermath of both,
is beautiful.

I could have to run up
25 flights of stairs .

And I still
Would only
Be

Catching feelings .

There are not enough languages
in this world
to describe

her beauty-
entirely

All good things take time.

If you see him and your heart-
doesn't flutter

your tummy-
doesn't feel like there are butterflies in it

hang on;
give the caterpillars time-
for time will tell you
what really matters.

Where is this road taking me ?
Is the end of my journey..

your home ?

Beards

Life is a bakery ;
And men are the cakes in that bakery.

In that same bakery,
beards are frosting.

You know what cakes without icing are called in the
bakery of life?

Boring.

The left eye does not need
the right eye-
to be able to see.
One eye can distinguish as much
as two.

Dust that falls
in the left eye, however,
also makes the right eye
tear.

Soulmates,
similarly,
do not mean codependency.
it means existing
as one.