"Go Slow", I told my life in January
"I want to take this journey at your pace"
"I want to build those bridges again"
"I want to complete you as I would always want"

"Hello!” I heard a call from the near far.  
Was it really a response from the healing heart of February?!
"I hold the right to set your pace"
"I hold the right to bless you sleeps"
“I hold the right to curse you sleeplessness"
“I decide the right for you in everything"

Until the obscene April summer turned up,
It was not life; but the Cyclone’s desire to fell everything en route.
I learned; there might be things to cherish
But would not want to own again

Rains in Kerala carry the rhythms of life
I once again made those paper boats
At my pace, as the 10 year old,
And as July demanded
Life grew deeper within, in that rhythm of rains
Nursing the one who nursed me for long
I learned, there are only cycles in life,
There is only movement in life

The flight took off, despite the pedantic reasons thrown over the tarmac
In that morgue of frozen mummies, I felt the futility of expectations
My Wings of fantasies halted, on top of the panoramic Great Wall
In the arc lights of award night, I enjoyed the pleasure of losing
Walking alone the Washington streets, I found the walks of life...

November comes concealing a lot; it conceive sorrows
It grows a detached attachment within and around you
November reinforces the relativity in everything
Life, love, respect, trust and confidence

I like the reds in December, it's flamboyance
I like the irony of "hope" brought in by this very end!
There are only cycles in life, no gains or losses
There is only movement in life, some forward
And some stuck in the maze and not knowing which way.

This poem is for
You
You who spoke in words that
sprouted flowers of hope

And I picked each one

Like a disrespectful little girl
walking through the gardens of her
various neighbors on the way
home from school

And I inhaled that scent perfumes
only dream of producing

You didn’t stop
So neither did I

And then you did.

This poem is for
You
You who I thought would never be
a poem

But you are now
For even flowers of hope
wilt

This poem is for
You
You who taught me more than 13
years of public schooling
You who was no different
You who left

I hate you
I do.
I hate that you convinced me to
listen
Convinced me to
grow
I hate that I have to avoid my
voicemail box
And that you can’t respond
I hate you






I don’t.

there's a moment in the car where I realize that I enjoy proximity
the proximity of me to the body next to mine
just body with blood and heat and pumping
just the pumping of the music through the speakers
with the driver screaming,
and all of us in the back seat nodding and saying
yes, yes, yes (rest) yes.
I enjoy the proximity of my thoughts to yours
how do you know?
I enjoy the proximity of emotion in action
as your hand taps the closest surface and your head wags from back to forth I feel the YES YES BEAT BEAT that you feel
I feel the closeness, feel the solidarity
there's both, you know? you know.
I promise I won't care.
We're singing and I'm thinking about the sound of my own voice and thinking that,
you must like it.
You must like how it's not quite on tune but it's got lots of soul.
You must like how it's not quite that scene in the movie but it's quite inherently human.
I, too, consider myself the point of everything.
Not because I'm great, or anything like that remotely, but because I'm
here.
If I see this, does it pertain to me? Just because I see it does it mean it makes a sound?
Let the music feel you, don't feel it to much. It will tell you what to do with your right hand while your left grabs the wheel, and don't worry, it'll make you sweat and salivate.

It's
dangerous to be on anything that isn't a precipice.
**** your flat-footed surety!
Sometimes the
solidarity
you stand on
is far too smoothed over by
heat and applause
for you to try to
walk it without a razor-sharp railway
under you.
Like,
that scene in Donnie Darko where
the rainbow bubbles know
which step you'll take
to
the fridge, the couch, the TV.
I'm talking about irony!
How
it's the only way to not slip.
Someday you'll
realize
how the great Dog above
didn't always mean for us
to be so
literal.