The bacteria within my clogged nasal passage fight to see the light
My sandpaper throat takes up arms to be heard over the deafening din
Come into the light, she says; embrace what you are, how you look...
Who you seem to be;
But I can't, I don't want to, I shan't.

I turn around, take a step away
Two steps now, my black socks getting dirtier every second,
Every minuscule moment of this pathetically dull existence
Words, spinning within my metaphorical brain
Hurtling around: subsonic, then super
Uncatchable first, incomprehensible now
Raw, wild, honey & dates
Thaw, mild, funny fates.
Intertwined, intersecting
Neutral, calm, unaffecting.

Lo, and behold
The minty phosphorescence of a happy soul
The harsh contrast of a cerulean one, serene and calm
Bells in the distance, tolling
Strolling along a cherry blossom-lined pathway to nowhere.

Light cutting shapes through the dusty fawn net
Reflecting off the velveteen cushion, scarlet
Dancing now, on the sequined gold but torn
gold, but torn
Torn table cloth, snagged by the claw of a domesticated feline.

Tail wagging, agitatedly
Fast now, then slower
Claws exit the sheath
The fire within causing the ringing of multiple high pitched alarms
No smoke to do the detecting
Old bloke, what are you protecting?

Of that old but weary
Old
Weary
Leatherette case, rexine perhaps?
Yes, rexine. You are the rexine of the universe
cheap, spoilt and ugly
peeling off
looking in the mirror at myself
yes, she says, I am rexine.

But no, I am the dancing celestial light of 3 AM,
I am the beginning of a cat's purr.
I am the lost dusty books of an auctioned abbey
I am the last drop of water.

The sky on a bad day,
Clouds gathering
Soap lathering, (Made in France (c))
It says.

I am the 2% navy-dark-ink-pale blue of an underappreciated sunset
Viewed from a filthy beach.
I am the cracked glass in the cupboard that someone has forgot to dispose of

I am the unregistered number plate
the first dry petal of a once fresh marigold
Offered out of sheer boredom, playfulness

I am the sticky key of an old 1989 keyboard
I am the grease stain on your favorite shirt.

I am the betraying exposed underwire of your favorite bra
I am the lost button.

The maybe, the perhaps, the never
The maybe the perhaps, the ever

The gestation period of a tiger, she says
Is 113 days.//

You came to me inside my head
The walls were painted cherry red
Which word was it, that I had said
That to my hatred, blindly led?

You sat there, admiring the waves
The ocean blue, and then the caves
Best friends, you said, lies left at raves
A silent raven, part of Aves.

My heart was finely spun with starch
Into my soul, your head did march
Your silky blonde hair, slightly parched
For feel of my digits, bent and arched.

I kept at your name like a prayer
My tongue tracing the syllables
As if tasting wine for the first time,
Clear and sharp;
And yet possessing the familiarity
Of dadima's rosary.

I’ve been crying
In the most beautiful places
Pregnant teardrops
Straight out my cold
Wicked heart.

If I could even begin
To explain to you
How my sleeping soul
Awakens at the deep threes
Of winter frosted mornings
Before the stirring
Of the spotted cuckoos
And the formation
Of sweet pre-mountain dew
And yells well worn
Verses of prayer
Into the warm abyss
The w a r m
A b y s s
I’d feel exactly twenty point
Six three nine percent better.

time-zone induced depth difference
           shifting weather patterns of the heart
                       unstopping rain in the wrong latitude
scent of a different wet earth
       thunder of a lonely soul
               lightning of lidded eyes
                      eyes, with 29 different names for tears
      heart-dew, soul-precipitation

cumulonimbus draws near the fluorescent tubes of existence
whispers of a war

You were sunshine
In your truest form
Or so I thought.

Oh what I wouldn’t try to do
For but a drop
Of Bangalore rain

The steamy wet mud incense
Soaks through the all-too-blinded
New money two-storey houses

But, oh, what’s that
A 2% glimmer of something
A je ne sais quoi?

A 2% vegetable-market-mixed-with-chai
A 2% late night kabab stall
A 2% unsightly shopping mall basement

A 2.5% biryani from my mother’s hands
A 2.5% cat resting on a soft four poster bed
(Dark wood, of course)
A 2.5% afternoon nap lull

An 86.5% sound of a heart weeping,
Far far away,
For home.

Flesh of pallor
         Night of rose
                 Sunshine scented breeze.

Your honey-dew disposition was in want of truth
The curve of your bare shoulder, serrated.
The shadowed offering lying in the lamplit corner
Turquoise flavoured were the high pitch screams.

Insidious undertones of posies, fresh
Velveteen cushions were exuding century-stale fluff.

I looked at your phosphorescent eyes
But never once looked in them
For if I did, I would have seen the last bars of Fur Elise.

Dimmed, diminished, daunting
The broken blue edged china vase stared at me, unflinching.
I looked back and then I heard
A thousand magpies, unending.

So, I turned my face and took a step
but my stride was unfaithful to my desire
You called me back, and so I left
My plasma was on f i r e.

You seem to always inhabit
The dustiest corners of my consciousness
How blessed
I am

Those warm eyes:
They follow me as I walk out the room
Into the cold

I don't feel the temperature drop.

Your eyes were vacant, hollow
Sallow - the colour of your putrid heart
Art is only art when someone doesn't get it.

To be quite candid, I never did get you
Your lying fumes made my alveoli suffer
You tried to buffer your mistakes

But in vain...

The scar on your left ear
Caused by the fear of being overshadowed
Widowed by the loss of your sister
But hey, mister, don't you dare look me in the eye.

Because I am the second primary on a falcon's right wing
I am the initial temperature drop of winter
No hunter can possess the desire to possess my desire.

My lilac fur of disdain scalds the corneas of my opposition
My partially sheathed claws sharpened on the skulls of my deficiencies
Lie waiting, famished
Polished by your lies , greed & misery
Fissures of my hidden deception
In a glass tumbler
Tempting green apple and cinnamon.

So now, stuck on top of a pine tree
You begin your cautious decent
To the seemingly clear coast below
Roasted almonds and marshmallows
And I
Hiding the shadows themselves
Will extend my scaly grasp
Onto your left tibia.

No, it isn't cardiac arrhythmia
My muscles are purring in anticipation
Of the hunt, the chase, the ****.
Sure, I've had my fill
But I've hardly had any fun yet.

I've only drawn but a drop of blood
Nobody yet expects a flood
So build your ark, and count to three
What I make,is going to be history.

I'll flick my tail, and arch my back
Strength maybe, but it's not skill I lack
It's restraint.

Once I hear that fateful snap
A hapless creature you shall be
Not just now
For all of eternity.

Yes, Sana'a is the capital of Yemen
But I shall capitalize on your sorrow
You'll have so much, won't need to borrow
Harrowed yet?

So brush your crooked fingers through your greasy hair
And tell your sympathetic nervous system
That sympathy is about the last thing
You'll get from me.

World war 3?
Please
I'm on world war 3000

Garden trellises wrap themselves through the openings
Of my fenestrated illogical thoughts.
The shadowed and shadowy pasts of my past misery
Creeping slowly back up my throat to be lost

Promises were made, she says
Oh foolish student of mine!
Will you never begin to
Comprehend
The scarlet drops of your principles
So brutally hack-sawed
Just the beginning
Of your downward spiral.

Take up arms against your consciousness
Fight to be seen
Fight to be heard
Fight to show yourself that you actually do
Deserve
Contentment
Maybe…?

Innocence?
You wouldn't know what it meant if you were drowning in it.

"What is friendship worth to you?"
"Everything", she lied

I should have known better than to let my walls weaken, crumble and gradually merge into the dust of my existence.

The last time I saw you
I was so sure
That my feelings for you
Had flown away
Like birds in migration

Little did I realise
That migratory birds


Always

Come

Back

the sticky tendrils of sadness
wind their way into my bone marrow
and make themselves at home
every conscious second
sears my will to live
burns my unalive flesh
leaving a charred mass of dust
in its wake
my eyes are near-empty
the tear glands exhausted
my misanthropy polished on my heartbreak
how pathetic people are
we surround ourselves in the hope that it'll be okay
but my exhausted soul wishes to say:
it isn't worth the effort
it isn't worth the fleeting joy
all I want is my peace
my forever peace
my unending peace
the lack of consciousness.

"It's back again", she says,
"the monster in my head."

He was tiny at first, quite a cute little thing;
Hours of entertainment, an emotional swing.
An experience of a sort
One of a kind
But before I knew it,
I was losing my mind.

He grew little by little
Week by week
Grew some feathers and some claws,
Even some talons, and a beak.
He put my hands on my skull, and spun me around
But it hit me when I realised
This wasn't a merry go round.

This
Was
Life

Quite real, quite profound
I tried to leave
But he chased me like a hound.

It had become the norm, to reside in my bed
Quiet and alone
Inside of my head.

I didnt need a soul
I was ever so flighty
My social isolation
Expanded un-mildly.

And now here I lie awake
But hardly even conscious
That this little pet of mine
Is a little obnoxious.

But I'll put my shoes on
And try hard to function
After all, its just another day
In my Sana-verse mansion.

I wish to hear your voice divine
and feel your blazing skin
and maybe steal a kiss or two
before I weep for sin.

the distance has my heart aloof
I know not what to do
so I'll wrap myself tight in this bed
and dream of missing you.

Your gentle smile lights up my world
like sana-flowers in bloom
I wish to simply hold your hand
And take you to the moon.

Your sweet voice through my handheld phone
Sends shivers down my spine
If only we could run away
And make our lives divine.

the screen empty lids behind my fatigued seeing eyes
sore from the blue fluorescence, trying to fill a void
desire to push myself to be functionally aware about my mortal coil
my sweet grief-stricken circumstance that is life
movement is opioid for the limp limbs of existence, trying oh so hard
here I lay
empty as an cracked eggshell
thrown in a filthy metal drum
where is my purposefulness
my proper shot at this path
the lead heavy laden head of my spiral
ties me down to the faux softness
begging for some warmth

Self embracing, literally
The shattered skeleton of my intended joys
Wounded, no, un-alive
Clutching onto wastrels of hope
Drowning
Falling
Sinking
Down to the depths of my reality
Praying to wake up to blind filtered polluted sunshine
And impatient ***** of vehicle drivers.

Crows cawing
The sounds of construction.

Firmness beneath my body
My sight blocked by the smoky illusion of bed curtains.
What truly is home?
The physical manifestations of boredom and repetition
Familiar scents of musk, old paper and furniture
Alive furniture, living furniture
With a story; multiple histories to tell

Stuck here instead
Pale skin, dead eyes, cold souls
40 different kinds of bread, wasted
Harsh fluorescent lighting
People pretending to be happy with new haircuts and won ipads

A polaroid of a daisy
Whimsical, right?
Hardly. Overused, misinterpreted, cliched
Cliched realities mixed together in a Chinese take away box

Gold earrings and strappy heels
Mask true insecurity

I lay awake briefly
Dreaming of car-empty roads and solid buildings
Full families and the idea
The idea of being able to share
SHARE
Food, space, air
Thoughts.

Where can I
                     begin
To explain
                     to you
How
Every breath is fire in my lungs
Every thought of you blinds my senses
Like lightning in a storm.

hurricanes of tears
have sought refuge in this
cold, dead, empty vessel
that I call my heart

I have found
That my most recent
Words of prayer
Constitute
The most basic
The most raw
The most desperate
Pleases and
I cannots

I cannot
I cannot
Please
I can't
I can't, Oh God,
Help me.

I can't...
Feel alive anymore.
My substance has evaporated
Leaving behind a love-empty shell
My waking hours are so consumed
By fires of what-ifs and whys
My sanity burning away
Thick black fumes of tears
Choking my already dying desire to see tomorrow
To live any moment of this
Pathetically tragic existence

"Why do we even feel?"
I find myself crying into
The much-too-sick-of-me
Green woven prayer mat
Why do we feel
Why do I feel?
When all my emotions are inherently
Corrupt
Why do I feel if I'm not entitled to these emotions?

The wrath and anger
The injustice of it all sears into my skin
Burning flesh
Before it softens into grief
A shred of understanding
Grief, pain, sorrow
Hugging the bones of my ribcage
Trying or attempting
And failing so miserably
To contain the consuming pain

White hot flashes of pain
Washing over me like volcanic waves
Dissociating my un-alive personality
Going about the motions of my daily life
With unconscious duty towards
The important elements

There's no path leading back
I've taken it apart
One spoonful of earth at a time
Its gone
Sometimes, I see a glimmer
And I'm bestowed with false hope
Sweet hope
That maybe, perhaps
Just maybe
Mayhaps
Things will be okay


But they wont, not tonight
Not for a long time
Not forever
Never

She shrugged her tired shoulders
"I'm gone", she smiled sadly.

I am gone.

Back in the same space
Without the warmth of you
Like a summer's day
Without the heat of the everlasting sun

But my mind fails to grasp
At the straws of truth
That have fallen out of the metaphysical trough

Facts facts facts
Your warmth? Wasn't permanent
Your cold winds affected me more!

You took me in
Made me feel at ease
Put away my blanket and sat me down
Front of a crackling fire place
Then before my first sip of tea
Turned me out
Into the howling storm

And I howled with it.

We share a delicious secret.
She gazes down upon me;
Me in my empty room. My empty room
Bursting at the seams with misunderstood solitude
Her lips upturn on their right side: a smirk
A gradual whisper of a smile, a full blown laugh.
The sea won’t sleep tonight.

The flooded sun
Weeps silently
To the moon

Cries muffled by a cheap polyester stuffed pillow.

Days lost
Memories missed
Pictures seen
Videos re-watched, till obscene.

Just when you think that the nights won't hurt
and the eyes wont tear
That familiar feeling rushes back in
With the force of a brick avalanche.
I love you. I still do. I never stopped.

My love
You broke me into little shards
And I did what shards do
I cut
I cut you off
But in the process
I cut myself off.

The pain never stopped
It got more unbearable
These nights never end well
The crack of dawn brings misery
I can never cry into my pillow during sunlight hours.

The searing pain of missing you
Is tattooed into the crevices of my soul
It aches and aches
Burns and burns
My heart shatters again

My jaan
We were ours.
Your temperature, my fingertips
My skin, your lips.

2 AM has become familiar territory
For my breath to sigh upon
How long do lonely nights last?
From here, I say
To here
The length of my threadbare heartstrings

There are things you'll never know
Things I'll never tell you.

Conflict, avoided
Wound, inflicted

And now I'm bleeding on these white marble floors


Blood of loyalty
The colour of trust

And in the 1am sounds of solitude, I seek redemption. I seek solace in the dusty covers of my books. I seek peace in the fresh linen of my bed, tear stained every morning.
My pillows hate me. They cant dry themselves any longer. They cant be savaged.
My mirror hates me, because every glance bears hatred towards the face I see. The broken face of a broken girl.
The alone face of a lonely girl.
The cracks slowly start to form, like plaster being broken down by moisture. They widen into gullies through which rivers of my tears flow and flow.
By shower hates me for all the pain it washes away and all the pain it cant wash away.
My phone hates me for all the ****** prose my fingers fumble to type.
I hate me.

I need you, he says.
I do too. Or do I?
After the assaults upon my independence, my integrity.
My right to live a fulfilling life.
After all of it, it's me.
Just me.
Alone in a bedroom at 1am finding myself in words and phrases.
Words, phrases and the lack of appropriate punctuation.
Much like my life.
I was always miserable at judging the right location for a full stop.

I can sing and sing
And shout till my voice turns hoarse
But you wont hear it.

I can breathe and sigh
Until the moon turns scarlet
But my veins will never stop chanting your name

Every bone that aches within me
Whispers memories of your warmth
And tonight
The wind has frozen my soul

Single drop of poison
Slight pressure on the wrong nerve
A wrong word, an unintended glance.

A shove off a tall building
Taste of gun metal against the gustatory palate
Broken promises, scattered like dead petals.

A fever of 99
A cold of 10 sniffles per minute
Throat, a heated battle field.

Violent cataclysms of the confused mind
Storms raging in my humerus
The salt of your lies leaving my eyes.

Sleep is a funny thing, isn't it?
It embraces my body and holds it tight
But my soul suffers insomnia
Wildly dancing with my demon thoughts
In reckless abandon
Come to bed, you poor tired thing
Rest your aches
And together we will lie

My prayers have you
And then they have the heartbroken cries of a heartbroken woman
Asking for the pain to stop.

Asking for an answer. Asking for relief.
But it's mostly me saying
Ya Allah, I cant
Help me.
I cant
I cant
I cannot
I just cant.

It had become such where if I merely looked at your face, I could smell the deep mystical sea breeze scent of your perfume mixed with your warmth. I could feel the texture of your skin, and your temperature was my own. Your microexpressions, all stored in my heart. Every gesture, the movement of every muscle imprinted on my lidded eyes, through which my heavy tears seemed to seek escape.
I cannot even look at you anymore, without a storm in my heart and a tsunami of pain washing me onto the shore again and again, pounding me into sand.

It's funny, you know
That I used to like snow
But now I cower
From the icy winds

I have enough frost within my soul

Your LIES are like warm melted butter,
Exiting gracefully from your perfect lips
Smooth golden liquid, bad for my heart.

You weave stories with finely spun fibers of half truths,
Intricately and expertly arranged in mandalas of deception.

Unaffected by the goings on of your immediate externalities;
Living in your conjured up paradise
Where you reign as ******* king and ****** queen
Plucking petals off your submissive sunflowers