I could ruin the best places for you
because once I'm gone
and you go back to all the places you took me
all the places we dreamt of going
all the places you said we'd go
you can't help but feel me there

I could ruin the best music for you
because once you don't hear me singing the words along with you
the sound will feel empty
the song will grow old
and my voice would echo in your head
you can't help but hear me

you'll never forget about me
and when you bring the next girl around she'll see me
reflecting in your sad eyes
when she hears our songs
when you take her to our places
and oh, like the taste of blood in the mouth,
you can't get rid of me until the bleeding stops



© L.F.

If places were words, I would read them all day long and then some more at night. I would write them down beside one another to capture the best combinations.

If people were symphonies, I would listen to the music in them every morning. I would keep the best notes and cherish them for life.

If languages were colors, I would wear them with pride, all reds and yellows. I would paint my city in all shades.

Her thoughts, gathered on the in-breath, are misplaced on the out-.

As her memories float free of their moorings, ninety summers fill the late-afternoon room with a kaleidoscope of people and places: a young girl in a home-made dress plays tag with her brother in a Provençal orchard; a dark-haired teenager waits at a station fiddling with the yellow star pinned to her cardigan; a Milanese tailor embroiders freshwater pearls onto a snow white wedding bodice; and - over by the window - a dashing young cavalry officer, with eyes which reflect my own, stands in the shade of a blue jacaranda.

‘J'ai oublié,’ she whispers as I nuzzle her cheek goodbye.

You may have forgotten, Bubbe, but I have not the stories you have told me.

Days, places, and history I'll never forget
Times, paces, and the closest I can ever get
No matter how many faces I see everyday
Yours is the one I want to bury in my chest

It was June and not summer,
Splashy, muddy, slimy,
wind-kissing roads of Chennai in sight,
I hear, "Jennifer, Jennifer."
Aloysius' wife answers in.
Break - in the movie, I sip my coffee.
Water was rising in the southernmost state of India,
Destruction or development,
Recovery or renovation,
Right words struggled to meet right arms,
Jennifer and Aloysius buffered in the background,
House I was not in was sinking.
I stopped watching snowflakes in the Americas,
Wished for a sun-feast in Kerala,
I lapsed to places sitting at the window pane,
Netflix didn't help the cultural fix.
here, thoughts succumbed, coffee mug dried up.
While uninvited ants,
swept my coffee off the sugarcoat...

There's place for so much beauty when you cut off the rotten roots.

You look at me like I was everything
You follow me like i was a King

You treated me like I was your Queen
You smiled at me like I'm the only one you seen

You see me like I was your Prince
Save you in so many evil whence

You see me like i was your Princess
That can save you on so many curses

So I give you so many kisses
build an empire with those sadness

Let us make a promises
build walls with those pieces

I put you inside my chest
And love you for all the rest