ओ मेरे मितवा,
मुझसे रूठो ना रे तुम।
मुझे प्यार हुआ है तुमसे,
तुझमें हो गए हैं गुम।

ख़ुदा से माँगी है एक दुआ –
मेरा प्यार तुम तक पहुँचा देना।
मिल गए तुम इस ज़िंदगी में,
तो फिर और क्या है पाना?

फ़ासले हमारे बीच के
चुभ रहे हैं अब मुझे,
बेसब्र हो गई हूँ अब
मिलने के लिए मैं तुझे।

इज़हार न कर पाई मैं
तुमसे अपने प्यार का,
बयान न कर सकी मैं
दिल से की मोहब्बत का।

इस प्यार की चुनौती में,
ऐ ख़ुदा, तुम मेरा साथ देना।
रूठा है वो मुझसे –
उसे कैसे भी है मनाना।

prayed for love,
prayed for life,
prayed for hope—

searched for,
longed for
something more

than just
a reason to believe,
a reason to
be less alone.

i prayed for days
to take
the pain away,

but the pain
was mine
to bear.

and the cross—
my testament,
a vow

to never let
fear interfere.

but one prayer
remains unanswered:

will i
make it
out okay?

surely,
because i hope—

it doesn’t always
have to stay
this way.

A man called Micah:

Oh Lord, please
Please Lord
Save me from
This place
There is nothing but
Pain and mis-

Satan:

-oh, Micah
Sweat foolish Micah
He cannot hear you anymore
Micah, that’s the tricky thing
About this place
He doesn’t visit
There are no angels
No light cast
He doesn’t care

Micah, he doesn’t know you!

Micah:

But-
He said he’d-
He’d always-

Satan:

-He’s always what…?
He’d always be there
He’d always save you
He’d always-
love you

Micah, not anymore
You had your chance
But now, Micah
You’re here
With me

He will not come
Not for you

Maria
tells me
to come to Madrid

Sit in the pews
de la Real de la Almudena
with shadows
and ghosts

Maria,
lighting candles—
Extinguished souls:
done begging,
just burning through the skin.
Aching
in the bone.

Maria,
Santa Maria—
can’t save
you
or me
or us

I'm just trying my best
To hold it together...
But—

Maria—
persecute the saints,
    I'll be in the Moulin Rouge—
free the sinners

Maria
tells me
to come to Madrid

Santa Maria—

Maria...

We pray in the garden,
For peace to take the ache away.
We pray in the garden,
For the light of God,
To guide us to better days.
We pray in the garden,
Guardian sanctum of our hope.

another wasted battlefield.
ground smoking,
haze-choked.
bright afternoon zenith
crowning the only victor—
war.

sunlight skates
across the maze of bodies,
dried blood,
dreams ripped open like unsent letters.
it glints from the angle of death
and dances a shuffle
to music from a silent plane.

what am I to you
now that the wind
carries this stench?

a promise wrapped in vengeance.
a rotten kiss
pressed to your lips
passed down the bloodline.

the crowd roars with laughter.
ghosts foot the bill.

the water table rises
to meet the candle flame—
a younger sibling
finally getting their growth spurt.

I am weightless in the flooding,
drowning in fire,
burning in the afterglow
of a thousand dying engines
cooling to the rhythm
of hell-soaked hearts
spent on passion.

I am you
in the longest shadow
of the face you hide.

I am the violence of survival
strutting its stuff,
proud as the blood-soaked mane
of a lion.

I am the beast
that preys.

ahh,  men.