a man scratches the
remains in the pan
the metal spoon and
its touch makes the
pan beg for mercy and
the man for more

"may men move mansions
in the magic of their mistresses"
a song plays in the background

a canvas waits for him to stop and
start smudging

a woman across
the street in her balcony
leaves the last two
drags of her cigarette
and fills the water in
the ashtray to extinguish
the smolder
incensed,
goes back into the walls

there's no one to
caress the moon tonight
and the cats gonna weep till
the sun wakes up the dogs

then the man washes the pan
and as soon as the pan dries up completely,
hunger stealths in again
like a sad mouse to a broken trap

the woman got goosebumps
and she closes her window
thinking that it was because
of the winter breeze outside

Bloodstains
on copper sheets
Sewed with blue
bandaged thread
Toned down with milk
Ninety-nine percent
of the world is empty
by the occurrence of it

Twenty-five people
are suffering and
the pendulum still smiles

The teacher knows
what makes its young men angry
He is afraid of the checklist

There is a high opening
in the suddenness of it all
It creeps from my sunrise window
And smells like fish and lily

Sometimes
the features of the beggar
make me doubt the evening sun

Sometimes
I think if everything
would be fine without water

And sometimes
if water would be fine
without everything

These men,
these men demand their rights
Shouting,
wanting to land
on the rings of Saturn

Light,
cosmos,
me, and water
are lighter than the
thinnest sheets of condoms
thrown from balconies of ravaged cities

We are doomed
to become the thief of the present
We are friends
of the tiffin boxes packed for tomorrow
We are neat

Nonexistent

I rest my head against the last bottle of squash I had in my house

watching the patches of worn-out paint on the ceiling

thinking about the number of times it had been repaired in 21 years

have seen almost every color of sewing thread in all these years, we have come far

there was a time when we didn't have options

"either A or B"

my mother would ask me every time we were at the super market

A was tomato ketchup

B was green chili sauce

it was hard to choose between things

when you don't know what you love less

but I loved my mother more

I didn't want to be there with my father

so I have to choose

without any escape

mama was beautiful

but she was never hungry

and today when I brought both of the sauces

she didn't want to taste any of it

"what brings you home so late?"

she asks this almost every day now

and I realized it was never about A or B for her

and options were the case for a naive mind

there is a long way to go until I can think of myself as a little wise whenever answering her

My money is
burnt over the edges
Like a tender togetherness
on the soil of boredom

I like having
conversations about
the last solar eclipse
and broken jet planes
Fighter planes
not repaired properly

I like to
know more of
what happened yesterday

I regret waiting
for the tomorrow

But
it will eventually come

Come like a
summersault over
a franchise of well established
educational institutions

And break like a
fragrance under a bloodthirst.

I know of you
And you just know a
part of me
But how will you convince
of not knowing what I still don't know about me?