How green is our city? Is it bleak and bare?
Do open spaces exist; or are only buildings erected there?
And what is that stench? Is it the pollution in the air?  
And what if it is, do we in fact stop to care?

I once read that Bombay was called 'The city of Gold' -
And that there were gardens and open spaces manifold.
But I see no gardens nor strips of wastelands,
For flowers to grow so the city can look grand.
But instead the place is crowded with smoke.
How easy it is to turn the laws into a joke!

It is elsewhere; when global warming is the news,
It can't shock us enough, to stop us from the items we use .
There's a hole in the sky ... Is that of any consequence?
It's too far away for it to make any sense.

There should have been open spaces or trees lining up the roads,
But what we mostly see, is concrete or shanties in hoards!
I hear that it's the politicians' whim (?)
Myopic visions that are making our future dim.

But aren't we all in some way to blame?
For what has begotten this city to shame?
Can't anything be done to correct the flaws?
To discipline the people not to manipulate the laws?
Or do we have to wait for a court decree?
To allow us to co-exist peacefully?
To breathe fresh air and for better earth care?

Our city is decaying by the day   -
What can be done to prevent this dismay?
Surely if each one of us realizes his due
There won't be such an environment issue.
The air will be clean, the earth, more green
The benefits of these is for us to reap
It's easy if we maintain its regular upkeep!

I've seen my empty self
Inside.
My outer layer cracks as I hold so much in
I began to let go...
It's been a while since I poured myself out
Being more open and honest
Loving more abundantly!
I let the muck inside seep out of my cracks
I feel broken.
At peace.
I feel so lovely.
I can no longer hold in the real me.

Forgive me if my pain has touched you in ways my hands never have
You’ve got wounds I should have kissed gently and fire beneath your skin

Instead I bought you flowers you’re allergic to and wrote poems about your tears

Some days I tend to over-romanticise your bleeding lips that you never stop biting
Other days I can’t stand the way your lips curve when you laugh and the freckles on your hands

I’m a mess but believe me when I say my hands are clean
I’m just trying to love you
Even if it’s the wrong way

I'm going to have a hard time cleaning up this mess
sorting out the bedsheets and pulling the mattress topper back into place,
throwing out the takeaway we were too drunk to eat

the febreeze won't hide the sweat and rotten food, not very well

my little den of hedonism feels empty without my love to share it with
without his arms around me, without his cologne,

I feel unclean in the morning-after mess

Your words are cheesy
        Like an unclean *******

Every syllable you tug on
        Is like cheese.

You need to clean up
            Your stiffness
And write cleanly...

Do not complain,
Stop being vain.
You gave me love as a start,
I gave you my heart.
You gave me a *****,
I gave you a baby.
You gave me a car,
I became your kids' chauffeur.
You bought me  gems and beautiful clothes,
I became your hostess,
To entertain your business associates.
You earned and brought in money, instead
I became your maid,
I shopped,
I cooked,
I laundered,
I ironed,
I cleaned,
I tutored.
I made our house into a home,
But at the end of the day, home you come,
Strut and storm,
"All day what were you doing?"
Just because dinner is a bit late,
Or the food  is not up to your taste.
I too,had a tough day,
So cut your crap and stop your bray.

11 months
that's all I could do
I tried for so long
I tried just for you

11 months clean
but today we start over
tomorrow is day one
I'm just growing older

11 months
but tonight my thighs sting
I took to them with a blade
as sharp as my ring

11 months
I kept searching for a reason not to
tonight I fought hard
but my blood was long overdue