why does it touch you deeper
when i say what i write
is based on a true story?

here and now i use no capitalized word
here and now it's him i remember
for it's him who said:
"small letters are more humble"
you know, this is based on a true story;
i met him but not really
my longhands reached him
far, far away from here
surpassed lands and seas
o, how large is my country --
his equals plus one to my gmt
here foods are sweet and there are spicy
he hated and still hates the food here;
it reminds him of the tyrant
who'd only cared about
the west but not that west
and made the east poor and slaved --
he was one of those who
yelled reformation when i was
only nearly two

i am seventeen and so was he --
when i was born.
i love how thirteen connects
our birthdates;
mine is twelve and his fourteen
and i said to him thirteen was my
favorite number
and purple was my favorite color
for his was blue but
i thought of him as red --
red not of the lust but
red of the color of tomatoes --
his mother was a tomato seller
and since i had known that,
tomatoes began to taste sweeter
sweeter than ever

when i said i liked purple
i didn't know it was the color of
the rain,
his first love ever --
when he was just a kid
he wanted to marry her
but then he learnt at school
the rain is not a girl at all
not even alive
he couldn't marry her but
he still loves the rain
so i do too

you know,
i once was an anti-coffee
i used to drink only and only tea but
he loves coffee
so i do too
i once sent him
my favorite coffee along with
a ta-ta-for-now letter
and he replied to me electronically
with a stabbing sad emoticon
:(
it still stabs
but then he said
the coffee was good
and i smiled
but he didn't know it

do you know
what's better
than a cup of coffee in the morning?
"it's two cups of coffee"
he'd say something like that
so this morning i decided to
have a super sweet tea,
sugar so much it
almost tasted like soda --
every gulp was
painful
to my soul.
i almost found the
god in me if i had drank the second cup but
i made coffee instead
no sugar like i always had
not because i like bitterness
it's because every drop of coffee is him
and he is sweet enough already --
but i broke the rule of two
this morning i had
three cups of coffee
three cups of him
and it wrenched me --
la douleur exquise
-- the heart wrenching pain
of wanting someone you can't have

i don't even have a single autograph
of him
i hoped that he would write me letters
with that pretty handwriting of his
but at the same time
i was afraid that he wouldn't
so i sent him bunch
without an address to reply to --
you know, this is based on a true story;
he is a writer
but he doesn't really like
to be called a writer
because a writer will be jealous
of another great writer so
he calls himself a reader instead
and he embraces his thirst of great books
he is a librarian
he lives around the books
he lives for and from the books
he has three cats
and seems like he will
have more cats and more
like his mother,
his mother loves cats too
it's prophet muhammad's favorite pet
or so he said
on the radio

he is a poet
a broadcaster on a local radio
every friday and saturday
and at the end of the broadcast
he will read poems
sent by emails
even you can send your poem
but not all poems can be read
there are so many, you know
here we really love writing poetry
but few like reading it
like me
i read his poems
not because i loved reading poetry
it was because
it's his, it's him

but now
he has done what he should do
he has completed his role
he has made me believe in poetry
he saved me from the disbelief of poetry
he taught me that poetry
could heal
he said that writing poetry
is hugging
and reading it
is returning the
hug
he would read a lot of poems
when he is sick
and now
that's what i do too

he was the one who kept
my feet on the ground
every time i felt down
i sang silently a7x's m.i.a.
lend me your courage to stand up and fight
so he lent me his courage
so i could stand up and fight
and every time this life
felt so wrong, lacked meaning
i remembered his name
and a promise i promised
to him
on my own mind
"don't die before we meet"
yeah, i wouldn't die
i would never die

there was no other way for us
than being yinyang
and that's why i decided to
hate what he loves
he loves coffee
but i couldn't hate it
he loves poetry
but i couldn't hate it
he loves rain
but i couldn't hate it
he loves sylvia plath
but i couldn't hate sylvia
i can't ever hate sylvia
i can't stay away from his sylvia
i love her
and she loves me back
sylvia is my earth
and that's how i realize
he and i can't ever be --

you know, this is based on a true story;
because i say so.

The Mudlark

1869
The little boy was hungry.
London was not a benevolent place
for the children of the unwashed masses.
The great Queen Victoria was in permanent mourning.
Grief encapsulated her heart at the loss of her soulmate
Her consort her husband and father of her nine children.
Her beloved Albert.

Hunger and cold were striking the young boy
He was an orphan he knew he was seven
but was not sure of any birthdates.
They had found him wrapped in an old coat
On the orphanage steps.
At seven he ran away from the cruelty of the place.
And foraged in the muddy shores of the Thames river.
Finding bric a brac  a medal a coin a piece of jewelry.
In the thick mud that ****** his bare feet deep into it.

He was having a bad day nothing to sell there would be no food
Or a bed he would sleep in the park under the bushes
Until the policeman found him.he would run away
So that he could not be sent to the workhouse.
They made small boys go inside the chimneys
Of great houses to clean off the soot.

Then a sliver of light from an amost hidden moon
It glinted in the mud he rushed over and picked it up.
It was a beautiful cameo broach gold encrusted ivory
A lovely woman was depicted in it.

In his young life he had never seen anything as lovely.
He showed it to the man who buys the findings of the mudlarks
As the boys were known.
He said it is the likeness of queen Victoria
She is the mother of all the British Empire.
He said is she my mother too?
She is everybody’s mother young lad.
He refused to sell the cameo broach.
No it is of my mother he said.

A week later at Buckingham palace.
A great event was held.
He found a wide gap in the railings.
To allow his thin frail body through.
In the bushes he could hear the throng of celebration.
Creeping around he found a courtyard.
A great lady was sat alone on a bench.
She was weeping.
He moved to her she was older but unmistakably
it was the lady on the broach.

She was alarmed as she saw the young said.
Go away I shall call the guards you ruffian.
But I wish you no harm ma'am he said softly.
I found your broach and I want to return it to you.
In the tiny hand he offered the item to her.
She picked it up from him.

This was given to me by my dear Albert.
I lost it overboard in the river Thames fifteen years ago.

I found it in the mud mother.
Mother she asked quizzically.
I was told you are the mother of all the children in your empire.
And I do not have a mother I am an orphan.
The old lady felt tears flowing in her eyes.
Yes I am your mother dear.
The guards saw him and grabbed him
You will get a beating for this young lad
A good beating.
The lady stood up no one shall lay a hand on this boy.
He has brought me a signal my beloved Albert.
It is time for me to return To my duties
And look after the millions of children in my empire.
And true to her word
she discarded her deep depression and widows weaves.
To take her empire to its mst  glorious days.

The young boy was given a job in the palace
And educated to become a fine gentleman
A lawyer who advocated for the poor and lost
In London’s streets.

I've let the world know that I love you (though my soul has loved you longer than my bones have known you) for 366 days now. I don't know how many days make up the centuries to come, but whichever the number is will be the number they put in the record books. "The Man Who Was Loved the Most and the Longest" the photograph will be of you, smiling aged in a worn out chair, wrinkled eyes and grayed hairs. And i'll be there, leaning into your side with a smile wider than any famous canal, prouder than any other historical landmark. Stronger than any ship that's sailed earth's raging waters.
Yeah, we'll own the record books and the text books and the bibles to come. Each page will have our names written somewhere, microscopic in the ink of every line and every marking will be with our love laced. There won't be a pixel without a hex code that doesn't decipher in beyond cryptic ways to our lattitudes/longitudes, names or even our own birthdates or anniversary dates. No one will know it, but we're gonna rule the world someday. Now be it so that the world we rule will not the same as the world the Other's know, it will be the world just the same. Though what we'll conquer will exist in only invisible dimensional planes (such as our brains), it's still ours to take.

Coming to think of it
I've come across many perfect souls
The souls where everything fell in place so well with mine
The coincidental matching clothes
The not-so coincidental birthdates
But as i grew older,
I realized more and more
For the soul I'm looking for
Is a not too perfect one
He's the one with a broken heart that fits mine
He's the one who's flaws that loves mine
And in the end
Him who I will love
Loves me for who I am
And I guess that's what makes me love him

We, after years,
run into each other in the deli
you with your children,
I with none,
exchanging pleasantries
and introductions
and effusive promises to keep in touch.
You tell me about your burgeoning family,
but I do not hear you --
your voice is a static of statistics:
ages, birthdates, soccer victories, grade point averages...

As you talk
all I can think about
is the pale blush of your *******
and the little row of sweet kisses
I left between them
so long ago.

I wonder what would happen if I die
Of course, my family would weep at my final goodbye
But would you reminisce our memories and just cry?

I think I would be lost like a candle during the noon
Like a little star between miriads of twinkling stars and moon
And just like a drop of water in the huge ocean

Just like a grown up man forgets his childish smile
And like the birthdates of our loved ones after some years while
I would be forgotten from your momories just like that

But there is a ray of hope that you would miss me
Like the desert misses the rain
Like a lost traveller misses his home
Like a child during his sleepless nights misses his beloved mom

But hey, one thing is sure that
I would miss you even in this life
And I would miss you if there is life beyond my demise

Sent some flowers the other day
to a friend who’d lost life’s loves,
kith and kin, too often
over the years.
Loves & Lives Lost,
too many fears realised…

Birthdates after death,
death-dates after life
they concertina together
to cause concerning days, weeks,
months. And, commiserations come in
in a flurry sometimes and amplify the hurt.

As time rolls on it's strange
how anniversaries come in bunches!
Just for the moment it seems that all
the good things are in the past…

But let’s look forward to warmth,
comfort and re-assurance from
memories of friends, family,
partners and loved ones - at last.

So many times I looked up at a Rockwell painting on the wall
Mom, dad, two kids
And a dog
Then I looked down at you
Our family
All I could see were the flaws -
Too much color here
Not enough there
Scratches everywhere
In my obsession with perfection
I overlooked the painting's character
The beauty that was
Uniquely yours

I see it differently now that I've taken a
Step back
In it's outlandish color
I see your bizarre way of expressing love
The names of your children
Your grandchildren -
Even you dog
Along with all their birthdates
Tattooed proudly down your leg -
And you never forgot
For my 23rd you gave me a Poke dot teddy bear
A deck of cards
And a poem
"Roses are red, violets are blue, nobody loves you
As much as mom and I do"

In so many ways you had the heart of a child
In my obsession with perfection
I missed it
I did not understand how special you were
But in this light, I see it
I see how the scratches add depth to the painting
I run my finger over each one
Cherishing the memories

Why when an artist dies, does their work increase in
Value?
You've added a huge ****, right through the
Heart
Of the painting.   And it's more beautiful than ever
Why are life's lessons always so
Painful?

I  understand unconditional love in a way I never did
Before
When we love someone for who they are -
Not who we want them to be
We discover the hidden treasures
So often overlooked

I stare at this painting, as I have a thousand times
Since you died
And a tear rolls down my face -
I never told you how beautiful it is