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My sister has curly hair
From day one
She has cut and burned it at every chance

Her hair is dark and thick
Like our fathers
I wish I had his hair instead

I wish the follicles on my head
Wernt thin and brittle
And quick to fall

Would that make me a man?

My sister has a flat chest,
My ******* have been called the best
My family and friends alike

She calls her own chest, childlike
If we traded, and my breath was unstressed
If they fell from my body

Would that make me a man?

What an unjust God
Who would give us bodies
That did not fit our souls

What cruel diety
Would leave us feeling
So cramped
Monisha Jun 2021
Pitter patter raindrops gently sprinkle my windows,
Thunder rumbles again.

Sky’s are dark, darker, glooming happily,
The day meanders, hiding and seeking,
and the sky  starts  pouring its heart out .

Pale silver threads, navigating  their way down  against a backdrop of green-black trees.

It is June.
And my day of revival, birth and reckoning.
Only a day away from the solstice.

Here in leafy, caressing, sleepy Goa,
the dusk will soon begin its  slow, steady, inevitable drawing in.

In my secluded, fragrant, verdant labyrinth,
I sip coffee,
I notice the lone squirrel scurrying away to find shelter,
and listen to birds chirping, bees buzzing, the gurgle of water,
and to an insistent song in my head that just doesn’t stop playing but too spellbound  to put pen to  paper right now.

And now, as I go for a drive on this quiet, directionless, mellow afternoon,
I cannot remember the word I want to write,
I think I have no words.

The thunder is closer now.

It sounds like drumbeats , the rearranging  of celestial furniture, like our transit to this beautiful abode we call home now.
Unexpectedly a bird is singing in the midst of it all unabashedly.

I think about the past.
Not in any structured way. Just people who have come and gone, who linger, who stay and who have left their indelible fragrance around me.

For a few moments, my mind wanders down the past and I sigh at my own predictability.

The thunder is passing. Grumbling and groaning in the distant now.
Each leaf looks freshly washed, scrubbed sparkling clean and shades of green hold my gaze.
The paddy fields look abundant  and satiated.
The single bird has become a small chorus, a full roaring celebration on.

I stare at my page. I have still written nothing.

But, sweetness,
I just experienced divinity,
I feel blessed and just absorb the present.

I am the road and the paddy field,
I am the bird, the squirrel and the bee,
I am the thunder, and the rain,
I am the song and  the quiet,
In the abundance ,
I am me, what I want to be❤️
Birthday inspiration
Now that I feel elated, I can be who I am.
Now that I have taken all the heat, I can rise up leaving back,
All the residue that I had collected.

Now that I am pure enough,
I can be whatever I want enough
I can coalesce and be a drop
And rain over acres of prop.

Such is life with cycles to learn,
Descent in rounds from heaven in this earth.
Are you perfect? So much not,
But you always need to make your plot.
prop. - Property, fields, lands etc.
Thomas W Case Jul 2020
torrential down pour
life giving water for plants
sad at the window
After the rain, the heat breaks and dissipates,
and the air sits lightly on my skin.
There is space for us to breathe.

For some time, our nostrils wistfully recall the
pavement's sweltering heat as fat droplets
hurled themselves to destruction.
Paige White Jun 2020
“Hey there! Ain’t got no bad dog, do you?”
“Oh no. Just a chicken.”

His nonchalant shuffle forward
suddenly shifted to backpedaling swiftly on our sudden puddles without delay
His throat kind of froze
As he garbled “A ROOSTER?!?“ in great alarm.
“Yeah, but he’s out back, probably still hiding from the storm.”
I hope he has a blessed beyond all measure rest of the day. He sure gave me a chuckle from his obvious prior experience with a mean rooster. He’d have probably had the same reaction if I’d said oh, just my pet Rottweiler lol 😂
Glenn Currier May 2020
Light rain falls into my day
darkened skies hang low
inside dry suffused dismay
and a small nagging unease
reminds me a clear sunny day
is a gift in the murky malaise
to make this persistent haunt
until again light reigns.
Sometimes I can't resist a play on words. ;-)
A Nov 2019
Want to invest my time
But it seems like a waste
People melt like cough drops
Gone, but I still got the taste
the black rose Dec 2018
a certain chill across my skin,
it gives me goosebumps.
to look outside & see the skys all dark & gray.
to all the better days ahead of me,
with sadness as my remedy
it pays a homage to the storms
that passed my way.
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