From the dust of my memories I put you together,
I am trying to glean you from the sands of time that have separated us.
There is no poetry in me, nothing hidden or secret that I can say, just that
Though we had long known each other, we now simply
Know
Of
Each
Other
And this, to me, will always be the finest tragedy,
The coup de main of time

I watch you though the layers of lies that are Facebook
Instagram
I see your words dry up and sometimes flow
A stream few others love; the sweet cadence of the
Silent rhythms I have long loved
Your tribute to the bea(s)ts inside your heart

You always reminded me of silver,
The tarnished kind,
Sitting quietly in Colaba market
Waiting to be touched, loved, occasionally dropped,
But always retaining in yourself
The sleek splendor reserved for someone
Proud in the knowledge that
When the moonlight shines on her,
She would know how to shine right back.

Beloved,
You are married now,
And no words dance between us
I have listened to you on nights
With barbequed meats simmering
Moths fluttering
And laughter tinkling
The wind caressing your stray hair as if it knew
That you belonged to it all this while.

I will burn into the back of my otherwise undisturbed skull
The pictures of you in white,

I laugh.

Seeing your delight
In a dress
We never thought you’d slip yourself into
So evasive were you,
But nothing stopped you when your mind was made,
Falling in love with a man who could listen like the ocean

From the dust of my memories, I draw you out
Through the sands of time I see you,
Living in a world where
The stars dance for your joy alone.

Someday, somewhere beyond this life,
We will meet each other in the spaces
Between two others’ lonely fingers.

Strolling along the footpaths in my mind
Kicking away unwanted leaves
Never knowing what I might find
or indeed what my journey achieves.

I know hopes and dreams are buried somewhere
in a file I clearly wanted to relive
Most of my dreams are on a wing and a prayer
and some of my hopes are wanting to forgive.

I come across memories from a short while ago
I sit on the bank and on my face there is a smile
Across the stream shines a golden glow
I plan to sit and dream just for a while.

I feel a chill and there is a twinkle from a distant star
I have lost track of time; dusk has arrived too soon
Visions of my youth has nudged me from afar
and I hear gentle whispers from the silvery moon.

The timeless evening
with stars drooping down to see
you and your dignified strangeness
Life was blind, life was kind

You burnt my time, made it disappear
Recall how you looked, what silvery words you used
Enigmatic, glowing soul

A downtown
queen,
She finds solace in being
seen.
The loneliest of
birds,
she doesn't like it when
these feelings are
stird.
Would it have helped
if I had more
beauty?
Four foot something,
but I don't like myself
with dark hair.
Would it have helped
to have been a little more,
or a whole lot more,
trusting?
I'm sorry,
I know it's a continues
recycling of things that
didn't, doesn't, and
never will matter.
But memories, ideas
and impossible dreams
like to come back as waves
in the form of
dark blue scatter.

one, two, three shots
a cold basement, a cold count
the sound of laughter and half-hearted attempts at conversation
i feel myself loosen up and even get a bit
friendly
confident
i have my lover at my side and it feels like everything makes sense like
everything is supposed to be this way
this is how people like me have fun
i love how the alcohol warms and coats my throat
until
i feel my mother

(can I call her that?)

her hair, a flame of tangled curls and the smell of
men
drunk off of her and her magic
radiating inside of me
my colloquial tone begins to fall away as she
climbs
up
up
up
and i try and try
but i can’t hold her down
she is suffocating me with her illness and she whispers to me in a drunken tone
she tells me that this is the way to live

see all the people laughing, my dear?
they aren’t sad
hearing their cries boom off of their bedroom walls
trying to pretend the beating of their heart is a death drum
shuddering and shaking violently to the beat of the song at their early funeral
no,
they are loving each other and talking
in their own tongue

this is the way to find me, your mother.
to feel my liquid embrace.
warm and
sharp

so drink, my dear.
drink until you pour your insides into some stranger's toilet in the early hours of the morning.
you won’t worry about the fact that you just got sick,
and your mind has the possibility to get sick like mine did,
that every step of life could easily take a violent turn that you won't be able to stop
you will be happy that your stomach is empty and you are finally
finally
hollowed out

the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, my dear, and the past repeats itself and
i have handed you mine

so drink up.