I used to hold dinner parties
Crammed inside my dorm room
And later in our small flat.
Food was served on cardboard plates
And wine in plastic mugs
With plenty of laughs for dessert

I have glasses now
Fragile and polished
And stacks of porcelain plates
All stowed away
Behind glass doors in our cupboard
Where we can admire them

The unorthodox are the true prophets
for their ways are those of the future,
so in the now, most kings get their head cut off.

But as death is the greatest prophet,
for it never fails to come true,
their martyrdom proves their ways truer than the footsteps of their fathers,
so in the face of adversities;
never be afraid to be a lonely Jesus on the Cross.

I remember the morning Tuesday was invented—
how gleeful we sang across the streets—
forgetting that the day after tomorrow would be Thor’s day
and that one we didn’t own, too.

I remember the bathroom stalls, the sins of Leviticus
we survived
comforting our confusion with the indulgence that God too
love man, kind.

Let the purgatory full of half good men sing about their sins
with pride and laugh at the moons and stars for being without limbs
and tongues to protest their innocence and Idontgiveadamnisms;

For I remember being fed the tenets of heterosexual history in elementary school
yet wondering why queer gods are the ones named after the planets.

No, no, no,
that's not how it happened at all.
Precocious children
have never been afforded that much influence
and Emperors, then as now
are largely unafflicted by shame.

And it's a good thing too
- why, if the story had gone
the way Anderson had it,
neither I nor any of the men of the town
would have our jobs
at the Magic Cloth factory

You do realise
that the trade in Magic Cloth
supports all the world's major economies now,
don't you?

Nor would the aristocracy
look half so stylish,
sashaying hither and thon
in the glorious altogether,
applauded by the taste-makers
and notably contemptuous
of child-like observation.

I have this fear                                                                                
                                                 Of Spiders
                                                 Of webs
                                                 Of entanglement.                                            
In threads of
Commitment                                                                            
to an everyday lack of
                                                Excitement,                                    
                                                Enchantment,                                                        
                                                Involvement
Of Spiders.                                              
Unpredictable Lurking
near their diamond spun circles

Of melifluous
entrapment

I would not want to escape
Consumption
Being wrapped                                                            
in silky smooth lies
Promoting *******                                        
of my self respect

The addiction
causing venom to spread
Already pumping                                                                                
Adrenaline
Endorphine rush

I have this fear of losing
myself
In this

I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.

As the month of February draws to a close,
I look back on how dismal a month it's been for me.
Now, February is typically my least favorite month of the year,
Meteorologically speaking,
But personal problems almost always find a way
To add insult to injury during this
Stunted funked up month.

The perpetual cloud cover matches
My mind,
As the pleasant and unpleasant coil,
Intertwined.
The inquisitive, favorable nature I bear
Seems to pack up and vanish as if into thin air.

Let's recap.
Let's not.


Well then.

Uncomfortably on one shoe,
this Cinderella of Bangalore,
stood  in front of "Infinity mall"
(No prince could miss a girl here)
peering in to every funky car,
from the wee hours.
With the other shoe in hand
for easy identification, (how smart!)
her lovelorn prince, fell asleep
at the precise time
when his taxi passed her.