I'd rather write a million poems
Than appease to what's unjust;
I'd rather die a million times,
Than in you to put my trust.

And if in the end I really must,
I reckon there's spells to cast;
And for those I'll be ****** for,
But at least I stayed,
True to my core.

I used to think that
there were these little bones in my heart, and
when they got broken, the doctors would put
a bright pink cast on my heart.

But it doesn't work like that.

You can't put a cast on your heart, and even if you could,
there isn't a cast big enough to hold every single piece
my heart has broken into.
There isn't a glue strong enough to put it back
together, and keep you from breaking
it, yet again.

I had an elderly lady look on me and say "one day you're going to be a little heart-breaker to a bunch of boys."
And I'm sure I was before now.

So next time you adorn yourself with such a label as,
"Heart-breaker," perhaps you should imagine
what it would be like when someone breaks your heart.

The most exquisite truth of all is this:
I may be broken.
I am not
d e s t r o y e d.

I watched as she was cast out of a bolt from the blue.
A smile on her lips so beautifully askew.
As her feet touched the earth she danced into the light.
Like a drifter in the shadows dashing through the night.
Her eyes can make you smile hips will make you shake.
She is dawn's wishful goddess brought to earth for heaven's sake.
Naked as Godiva through my mind she cut like pain.
Tearing into the warm summer night bold with brazen fangs.
Caught and cast a sail like a ship upon the sea.
She swam in the moonlight sweetly.  while the night did eagerly recede.
Her beauty warms the sunshine filtered through the leaves of trees.
That shade her eyes that have seen infinite eternity.

though he looked calm
he was worried all the way
as his sons carried him on their broad shoulders.

the dead brahmin, finally smiled
as he was laid
on the funeral pyre
made of finest sandalwood 
from the forest around.

that was his last wish to his sons,
you must use chandan and nothing else.
don’t give me to some low-cast corkwood
even before sum of my deeds is calculated,
i know, on the pyre, it will burn me, to the hell.

A
victims
line of sight

be
cast thru
its predators eye

Yesterday I was black,

Today I am frightened,

Tomorrow I’d be lost.


I thought we were all humans,

A creation from God,

I didn’t know I would be treated differently

like a fraud.


Am I a ghost,

Why does everyone run?

I’m not a criminal

No, I’m human.

So, why do you point a gun?


Religion, class, cast

Black, brown or white

I thought these mindsets were in the past,

I thought everyone were finally all right,


But I guess I was wrong.


So I run, keep running

from this little world,

But I don’t know where to go,

How starved you must have been,

that my heart became a meal for your ego.