Coconut, coconut, coconut,
Crack!
Stained white on the inside,
Brown on the out.

Hit it on its head,
Slash it apart.
Nourish it with spices,
Of a Southern past.

Fuzzy to touch,
Lined in coir.
The remaining path
In defining who we are.

Droplets of the Ganges,
Drowned in the Thames.
A conflicted soul,
In search of a cleanse.

Coconut, coconut, coconut,
Crack!
That one's spoiled!
So send him back.

I still think of the burning black eyes of thee, Shreeta;
the most beautiful desi girl thin as a sun ray;
smart as my vintage Encyclopedia Britannica;
sweet as heavenly honey, never stinging me;
bee rubbing thin hairy arms together into my memory;
Shreeta the only devi descended in sandals
holding a single candle lighting every star in the wide,
wide sky; whose sharp-cheeks & caramel features
art an epiphany & the definition of every order of love
from blissful Nirvana to the realm of demons
where thou's bare feet truck through snowy mountains
where the albino Yeti falls in love w/ thee;
so perfect as the earth itself personified;
sit to **** in ur condo's luxury super-toilet;
there is always & only thee, Streeta &
my love will always be overflowing upon thee & I will
drink ur crystal clear ***** like sweet, sacred strawberry
scented ambrosia

if you were to rise
against the lashes
your spine bears
witness to.i know you
could burn the cities -
echoing enslaved
cries of your mother. or,
the cities tainted in
red, with the blood
of your father.

but, you don't.

for you know what it's like to lose
what you love.




(such is your love for a city that turned into rubble everything you
ever loved)