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Juhi Feb 20
bending and snapping
in water, like a sprout
of a tree
i am unused to this
having grown too early
i am being pulled from the roots
by the current, and ******
into the gaping maw
of the ocean
my bark erodes away
and whittles down to my core
i turn into fish food
and separate into microscopic pieces,
until i can't feel anything anymore
Juhi Nov 2021
loosen my mind
working fluid changed
oiled and stinging new

nettles growing up my spine
need a weeding; yank them out
from their roots
and give them a new home
in my fingertips

stretch out the tendons
like elastic, by plucking at
them as if
tuning a guitar
make the world's worst song
and start again
as the poet born yesterday
Juhi Jul 2021
stuck, bent over and
stooped; ankles creaking
elbows whistling, body
cracking, begging to
unwind. laid out to dry

like strips of meat, in the
unforgiving sun. made into
pieces of pottery
blazed in an oven
and glazed once dry

each limb twitching
pottery pieces shaking
stuck, bent over and
Juhi Jun 2021
until the night stops bleeding
gutted, spilling stars, gauche display
it should be ashamed of itself
laid bare
in front of the entire universe

until it stops speaking nonsense
to little travellers
after the sun has disappeared;
until it grows wiser, knows not
to open its arms so wide, as if
encompassing the whole earth

it should keep silent.
it should not betray its secrets
to every being that
traipses under the
treacherous sun.
Juhi Dec 2020
i am in a sea
under the riverbank
sat in the riverbed

hands in each estuary,
my hair flows through
the banks of the Seine
and my tears travel through
the Ganges
washed up on the shore
with all the other weathered rocks

i turn glass bottles into pebbles
and smooth over my worries
letting the river current cradle
my sorrows gently; letting
the waves bring me up to
the surface
and when i float
i become the entire ocean.
Juhi Nov 2020
i don't see faces in popcorn ceilings anymore
nightmares galore
chest drawn tight, eyes looking forward

i don't sleep anymore
submitting to nothing but
still yielding; silencing
a part of me
and still weeping

i am not sure who i am anymore
two people in bodybags
stuffed into a living corpse
under darkness i stand
and under light,
i remorse
Juhi Oct 2020
there's this sense i think i lost
although i have never quite acquired it
i often think about
well, odd things
consisting of book dust
from utter boredom
head in hands - but as
a child, small hands
and awry thoughts
leading me away
like a balloon on a string

there's something i think i need
overhead lighting
constant sun
endless reading
and some type of joy
that doesn't run out
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