I'm not someone
You'll write a poem about.
For I'm nothing like
The cashmere sweaters
You've clung to all your life.

My warmth to you
Is like the cold winter sun.
Too distant to make you feel
Anything for too long.

I might catch your eye
But your soul would easily skip mine.

And I'm not someone
You will rescue.
Rather, I'm the wreck
You will leave behind.

So when my heart breaks
Watching you look at me
In the rear view,

I will tell myself:

That maybe, this is the fate
Of a wildflower and a Vase.

I LIKE TO SAY YOUR NAME

I like to say
your name

when you're
not here

turn you
into sound

conjure you out of
thin air

so that you appear
before me

dressed in sound
only

memory sketching in
the rest of you

as if sound
was just an outline

and love
colours you in

adding the voice last
so I can hear you say.

"Hello you..!"
and there you are

as present
as present

can be.

I like to say
your name

when you're
not there.

you don't exist when
my eyes are open
you don't exist when
my blood's not poisoned
when my soul's at peace
when my gut is full
and when I'm in company

So you exist most of the time
dear muse

but that handle was made for his hand
hand - handle
handle - hand

the fingers would close
around it to never let go
It had to have flesh around it
at all times
But the blade...
the blade was still naked. He couldn't let
the blade naked
It wasn't fair

"So that's why you stabbed your
mommy then?" the psychiatrist asked him.

"Yes," he said.

"The knife is more important
to you than mommy?"

"The knife listens. Mommy doesn't."

The dark hours she spent,
Staring at the family photograph,
Smiling at the familiar faces,
Craving for the good old laughs.

“I’m there in the middle”,
Whispered a marred heart,
Those faces were so captivating,
The picture was a fine art.

Her lonely gaze deepened,
As the reality emerged strong,
The child in her was fooled,
But she couldn’t hold long.

Her mother’s love had scarred her,
The tender touch was savage,
Her father was a REAL man,
but his daughter was born damaged.

Her body was a masterpiece,
Engraved with words of gold,
But those carved by her family,
Ran deeper through her soul.

Finally, one blessed night,
She fell numb under the moonlight,
Carelessly dreaming of love,
Leaving the collapsed body behind.

Just then a thought pierced my mind,
Will they ever try to find?
The child from the photograph,
Who went missing one night?