I cherish this river
this river of war and peace
bursting through the lungs of existance
this sweet endurance displayed
and hidden in the bloods of blood
oh, Hathor, tell me how to be
the mother the mistress the child
the root the thorn and the flower
in the fist of this God
giving what needs to be given
tempting the laws of the land
I try to stand tall and deal
ships sail back and forth
between heart and uncertainty
endless waves to defeat
every moment of each day
through piles of ashes and gushes of wind
I breath in the unknown and exhale tenderness
I cling to air and buckets of hope
when love storms into my panic room
to stir all my senses
and show me the way

Forlorn puppies hunt through the trash in search of food
Incessant honking pounds my eardrums
Putrid hints of smoke and diesel followed by the overwhelming stench of rotting trash scorches my nostrils
Uncontrollable spice followed by sour lassi irritate my tastebuds
Dirt rests in the barrier between my feet and the floor

Bejeweled saris radiate from neon lights
Quiet mantras echo off the walls of the yoga studio
Aroma of fresh baked dosa weaves up and down streets
The wetness of one pomegranate kernel refreshes my mouth
Slippery canary yellow kheer oozes out of my fingertips

I want to leave but also to stay

Red
Red is Mondays, swirling in a poisoned cloud
Like the aether
Ready to grab my hand
And throw me into the middle of the week
Before I know
What it is exactly that I have touched
And before I am ready as well

Red is apples
Macintosh melancholy
And candle wax galas
Red is an explosion
Of dark magic
Red and black, the perfect duo
Twisting and weaving in their dance
All low notes
And timpani rumbles
And middle C
And like the dueling harmonies
Red is too loud
Too bright
And at the same time
Always present
Always safe

Red is blood
In the same way my emotions are of pearl
Luminescent and shifting

If you see them
Something’s wrong

It's the smells,
The woody, earthy laden lift in the air.
A scent guilded in memories of twigs breaking under feet,
As I walk to the One Stop with my dad,
Wet, amber leaves stuck to his holey shoes,
The air is damp and unfaded, but lightly coated in the smoke from his roll up.

The smell,
More floral now,
Warm, heavy rain drip dropping onto vast leaves in Mexico,
The floor drier and peppery compared to it's English cousin,
My eyes locked onto the stars through pointed dancing clouds,
As if the sky has been dipped in glitter and laid out to dry in the jungle.

And now its moss,
Moss and pine and your hair.
It's both of us gazing through the foliage to catch the eye of a bird,
Our fingers brushing and clinging,
I can feel my mouth lift,
As you pull me towards your nose,
And whisper 'I love us.',
We walk,
Warm in one another's stories,
With wet socks,
And pink cheeks,
We inhabit the trees.

We spend the weekends together,
and send "good nights" during the week.

Lonelier than ever,
yet loved more than over a year —
You're the only one that knows.

If I have to catch myself at least once a day
to not
let those three little words spill,
I know I've made a mess.
I can't feel like this!
But feelings don't listen, dear.

In just six months I know we'll be apart:
"It's better this way", I tell myself.
But why does it hurt?
Why am I scared?

A strange limbo
I cannot explain
No, not even to myself —
Then how could I confide in friends?

I cling on to the hope
that we'll find our way back
because I think, I feel,
I hope again:
All senses that I had lost the last years.

But at the same time
I remind myself,
of how I did feel.

Maybe over time
we are just meant to
crumble to less than friends
and then lovers again,
and again.