Here's the thing--
I don't like to lie.
So, if you asked me where I am from,
I'd have to assess you and your prejudices before announcing in a single breath --

"I am a Malayali from Bombay raised in Saudi Arabia."

My identity comes in as a triple threat.
And people treat me like an escaped convict
"Oh, how many burqas do you own?"
"Four, and they're still not enough to save me from your ridiculous questions."

I don't like to lie.
So, I'll tell you I've had a terrible day
and the best thing that happened to me today was lunch.

I will voluntarily admit that my feet hurt in those shoes
And I'd rather be at home.
But, my pen refused to stop writing.

I choose not to wrap my truths in acceptability
Because my identity does not need to be graded
(not like I deserve less than an A+)
I decided to let my bottom sit on a throne in my own mind
Rather than at the feet of self-proclaimed lords of the universe
I'll fix my sights on what's here today.

I'm a queen of my own will;
Of shoes that fit
and jeans that never will.

I am also confused and I write to confuse some more.
Maybe I'll just wrap myself in words
And hand myself over to you and say --
"Congrats! It's a story."

Tonight all my heroes lay dying , musicians of great fame and notoriety , songbirds removed from the spotlight on Friday nights , radiant Sun's and reluctant poets , troubled minds hid behind happy faces .
The only streetlight in town where all the " bugs " of society gather around to hear their shared pain committed to song , get high on something without breaking the law ..Watch their private dance moves performed in public , hear a guitar ,  infectious drum beat or piano solo . Their disease made known on a public address system , a two hour reprieve from the everyday machine ..

the taste of gunpowder on his tongue as the night tangled around us like sheets: & so we hung, from the stars, as diamonds. His touch was new & like nothing i had known. (it made me feel alive again.) He is fragile flower petals, the burning soul of a constellation.

we will wait for snow, he says, & i know somewhere inside. For i remember the winter night; some three hundred days ago. i wore mittens - hand stitched blue- everyday that frozen month.
They said he wasn't there. he had gone home, 'for the holidays.' & so i left. tiny steps down the sidewalk, frosted like a brilliant glowing cake.

Alone that night i drove the long way there- that cemetery where you sleep now. (He misses you so much.) And you waited, said hello, & i wanted to cry. A blanket of snow, we talked of stories and i know. You miss him too. We were together, then. That candy cane night.

oh how i love to drink and to cry.
i have a weakness
it’s called
my heart
but there is always time
for classical music.

and so night falls
i have missed appointments
i have a mortgage waiting for payment
i have toothpaste and i have
so much i am now thankful for.

i fall weak to my vices again tonight
but tonight
it’s different
at last, at last.
there is a balance.

a new year hovers on the horizon.
i have well wishes to give,
i have people who think of me
and maybe smile
when i am not there.
it could be worse.

There's no way out
It's too late, now that I've found you
Caught beneath a falling cloud
I'm drenched in love when I'm around you

Don't make a sound
Or let the noisiness compound you
Wading through the drawing crowd
Dressed for those who might surround you

Bring me back to somber days
When you were there to light my way
Like a mid noon cabaret
You give my world a needed change
Now that all the dues are paid
I'm not afraid
To sing your serenade

Icy breath snatches my tongue
Holding on to thoughts about you
Await the rays of morning sun
That melt away the nights without you

Take me back to yesterday
When you were there to light my way
Tomorrow's only years away
With time to blend the shades of gray
And still I see
The way you look at me
When I sing your serenade