Aapka saath humein har janam mein mile,
Dua hai hamari aapke jivan mein phul khile.

Sabse khushnaseeb hai hum mere humsafar,
Jo aapka saath hai hamare saath har dagar.

Meri rooh ka rishta hai gehra us rooh se,
Chehra basa hai sirf aapka dil ki tasveer mein.

Sagar ki gehrayi bhi kam hai is mohabbat ke saamne,
Beinteha mohabbat hai tumse kehti hai dadhkane.

Ruke na zindagi me hamare pyaar ki hawa,
Hum tumhare hain tum hamare oo humnawa.

Sukoon milta hai sun khud ka naam aapke saath,
Jaise koi subah judi ** shaam ke saath.

Meri haathon ki lakeere, mehandi sirf aap **,
Har pal aapka hi rehta hai khayal humko.

Qubool ** gayi har dua tumhari,
Jab se mili hain saanse hamari.

Dil ki gehrayi se chand ki roshni se,
Kehna chahte hain hum kuch aapse.

Phulo ke kagaz par likhte hain kuch labz,
Beinteha mohabbat hai har lamha har nabz.

Jaati nahi aankhon se surat aapki,
Aapki zindagi mein rang bharne ki kasam khayi.

Mil gaye humein hamare bholenaath,
Jab se mila is khaas dost ka saath .

Aapko dekhte hi ** jaata hai dil bekaraar,
Aapko mile khushiyan beshumaar.

Jab saath hai aapka dil mein dadhkan ki jagah,
Fir zindagi ko saanso ki jaroorat kahan.

Rabb se yhi ibadat mein karte hain fariyaad,
Ye jodi yu hi banaye rakhna kr tumhe yaad.

Kabhi ruth na jaana humse piya,
Saath rehne ka vaada hai kiya .

Jabse mehsoos kiya is dil ne aapko,
Milne gayi zameen par jannat humko.

Pyaar saccha ** tou waqt bhi Ruk hai jaata,
Is pavitra rishtey ke liye aasman bhi jukh jaata.

Aapse shuru hote hain hum aapke saath hi khatam,
Saath rahenge aapke har janam mere sanam.

DRESSMAKERS to the stars J’Aton have turned designer detectives after one of their most valuable couture gowns was stolen from a bride’s home last week.

The one-of-a-kind gown, which was stolen from Leanne Bartucca’s Greenvale residence along with other valuables, is estimated to be worth more than $40,000.

It weighs more than 18kg, and features intricate 100-year-old vintage French lace that has been carved and sculpted onto leather and layered tulle.

J’Aton designers Anthony Pittorino and Jacob Luppino, who also made the wedding gowns of Rebecca Judd, Nadia Bartel, Jodi Gordon and Yvette Prieto, wife of Michael Jordan, are appealing to the public in the hope that if it goes for sale online, someone will recognise the distinctive dress.

“We are so devastated for our dear friend Leanne; that dress has a special place in our hearts and is so sentimental to us all,” the pair said.

“It’s a dress that we created especially for Leanne, it has her and her husband’s initials embroidered into the train and we just hope that if anyone recognises the distinguishable design for sale on websites or social media, that they ­report it to the police.”

Ms Bartucca, who wore the dress in March, 2014, says she has been devastated by its theft.

“It’s such a sentimental thing; my family and the J’Aton boys have been checking the internet daily in the hopes that we will see it for sale,” she said.

“I had dreams of using the fabric from it for my children’s christening gowns, and even framing a section of the fabric for our home.

“[The thieves] definitely knew what they were doing. As a former fashion buyer, I was surprised how much they knew — what they left behind was just as telling as what they took.

“They could tell the difference between real and fake jewellery, they left certain shoe brands behind and obviously went straight for the J’Aton dress, which was covered in tissue paper and in a white box at the top of the wardrobe.”

Police said they were investigating whether the burglary was in relation to another in the same area.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/white-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses

Ryan he likes slags called kim
I wonder if Kim's fat or slim
Is she ugly, is she grim
I guess Kim's good enough for him

Kim she's Ryan's piece of trim
Is it because she licks the rim
Are other slags out on a whim
Maybe their filled up to the brim

Bus stops talk they say so much
They seem to have that magic touch
Slags lives scrawled on shelters hutch
Straight to the point, not double Dutch

No other slags are good enough
perhaps their skanks and far too rough
Slags called Kim, must be so tough
When Ryan does not get enough

Not slags called Julie, Emma or Jane
Jodi and Rachel must be too plain
Just try Michelle, are you insane ?
Limiting tarts is loss not gain

Is Ryan partial to whips and chain ?
And Kim obliges him with pain
Kim must be different with the cane
It's no wonder he wants Kim again

Kim maybe great, from where your stood
She's just a ****, who likes hard wood
Come on now Ryan, you know you should
There's other slags that's just as good

Aapse hi har subah ** meri aapse hi har shaam,

Saans ke katre katre mein samaya hai bs aapka naam.



Achha lagta hai jis qadar pawah karte ** aap humari,

Ishwar aapki jholi mein daal de khushiyan dher saari.



Itne khushnaseeb hain hum ye baya nahi kar sakte,

Meri zindagi, meri jaan meri rooh hai sirf aapse.



Khuda ka tarasha hua sabse anmol farishta **,

Qismatwale hain hum  jo mile aap humko.



Aapke har kadam par saath hai aapki mahiya,

Beintehaa mohabbat hai aapse saathiya.



Jis din milengi rooh ki rooh se nazar,

Jaane jaan pe kya hoga asar.



Rakhenge humesha aapko dil mein,

Bhar lenge aapko baahon mein.



Aapse pyaara nahi hai koi sanam,

Saath hai hum aapke janam janam.



Aapki muskurahat hai taaqat meri,

Ye jaan sirf hai aapki sirf aapki.



Hum par haqq hai sirf aapka,

Aapki dadhkano se hai ye dil dadhakta.



Rabba is pyaar ko nazar lage,

Humari jodi humesha salamat rahe.



Meri zindagi meri har khushi hai aapse,

Aapko paakar mil liya us rabb se.



Mangu mai ishwar se aapki khushiyan hai meri ye bandagi,

Har janam bs aapke naam ye meri khubsurat zindagi.

I saw a brown boy in Mexico
couldn't have been more than eight years old
he was wearing jean overalls, face covered in ash
using an axe to chop up the wood of his burned down home
helping his father make room to build anew

we said we're giving away clothes
can you take us to the center
of this shantytown
he said sorry no, I have to work

so his smiling little sister waved to her mom
and said cheerfully, I can give you directions
as she sat next to Sister Jodi in the van and led the brigade
I looked out the back window and saw that little man
still focused,
chopping.

i.

I think meetings are like satsumas;
the skin
can peel
off in
tiny pieces,
your fingers will get covered in the juice
and you can spend hours picking off the white stringy bits
and then the fruit will taste sweet and it will be all worth it.

Or it peels off in one easy motion and it’s all full of pips or it’s dry or it’s bitter and that’s like meetings.

Meetings are strange because they can go on forever or they can be over in a minute.

Some people you meet everyday.
Others you meet once and never see them again.
My parents had the second type of meeting.
They met at a bus stop and my mother complained about the weather and my father agreed it was too hot and then he gave her his number and then she called him.
He became her window cleaner.
He moved in.
They lived in the same house.
They never saw each other.

Everything was terrible.
They never met again.
They drew up different lists:
Frankie, Rae, Teagan.
Genevieve, Emily, Jessica.
Somehow it became something else that neither particularly liked and the outside world didn’t much like it either. They locked the doors and I watched from the window.

Why don’t you go out? Don’t go out.

Everything was terrible.
Mother saw it on the TV.
Father saw it through other people’s windows.
But I can seem never break the peel.
It doesn’t come off in one easy motion
and it doesn’t come off in pieces.
It doesn’t come off at all.

But I am the girl from the cobweb;
I am the spider who stopped catching flies.
From the smell of gravy and soapy water to the kebabs and urban fox.

Meetings. Where do I begin?

ii.

Adrian Wren was wondering how many leg bones
it would take to build a wall around his house,
or rather round his old house.
The bones would have to go around the neighbour’s houses too
so he supposed it would take quite a lot of bones to go round all the houses.

He was writing an article about a murderer who kept the leg bones of his victims.
This was not a crucial element.
It was supposed to be about the murderer’s childhood,
in which the murderer was the victim.
The childhood did not answer the question: why leg bones of the victims?
The bones were building up in his head.
How would you glue bones together?
Adrian began typing;
the isolation and loneliness of being a middle child, the least favourite son.
The problem with being the victim.

It was actually kind of funny, when he thought about it.
Why a leg bone? Why not something smaller, that could be hidden?

Adrian wondered if the girl in the red boots thought about things like that. The girl who had knocked on the door of the too small flat to use his shower and borrow a cup.

Her shower,
she said,
kind
        of
            just
                   dripped.

iii.

Sometimes, I tell lies. Or not quite lies. Half truths. For example:
• These shoes belonged to a dead woman.
• Sea cucumbers can use their internal organs as a defence  mechanism.
• My cousin nearly died whilst attempting to eat a match.

I just want to tell something to someone but I don’t always have the real story, so I tell a not quite story. Or ask a not quite question. For example:
• What would life be like if humans had shells?
• Do we have shells?
• What do people living on mountains do with their faeces?

Right now, I’m looking at the flecks on the carpet, trying to find faces. Once, there was a house built above a graveyard and faces appeared on the floor. I wish there were faces on this floor. I wish I lived above a graveyard.

I live on the ground floor, above the bins. It’s interesting to watch what people have to put in the bins.

If only you’d concentrate on something important as much as you concentrate on that window.

But here’s the man from four floors away, putting his ******* in the bin. His clothes frown, his hair frowns, his whole being frowns. Frowns are like creases ironed into clothes, but who is the iron, what are the clothes?


*iv.

Adrian Wren was still trying to solve the riddle.
Most people thought they gave cryptic clues
about themselves but they were actually
just the conventional ones reworded.
This was a real riddle.
It was about her and it wasn’t about her.
It began with a J and ended with an I.
Anything could fit in between.

Jaci? Jessi?

She had a habit of appearing,
maybe at the bottom of the stairs.
Adrian was somehow angry at her,
just for being there,
sitting on the stairs,
picking a spider out of her hair,
walking out then coming back in as
if to test she really knew the code.
He was trying to write up an argument about people
on benefits but the space bar
keptgettingstuckandthewordsgotclumpedtogetherintonewwordsthat­noonehadanysuggestionsfor.

Jenni? Jodi? Juli?

Sometimes, he was certain she was trying to steal something.
Other times, she was one of those strange specimens
who attached themselves to another, because of an accidental look.
Mostly, she was just the girl in the boots without a name.

Jerri? Josi? Jani?*

Adrian found that the riddle hung
                                                             on
                                                             the edge
                                                              of­ the mind,
an itch which wasn’t really too itchy.

There were other things to worry about:
• Work
• Old things reopening
• Work
• Ignoring the phone
• Work
• A knocking at the door.
• Do you mind, if I come in – it’s just there’s this programme on telly and-

v.

Just tell me your name. He didn’t want to play this game.
Only, it was addictive, now he’d got started.
Now, it was a matter of having to know.
I gave you all the clues I’m giving, she grinned.


Joni,
Adrian said finally,
looking back at the screen
of his laptop.

vi.

Joni-Rae.
It was hyphenated because they couldn’t decide,
because they never really met.

Sometimes, people will call me Joan if they hate nicknames and Johnny if they can’t pronounce it.

Joni-Rae, but actually only ever Joni.
Begins with a J and ends in an I.
Does that still count, if I amputated part of it?
His middle name was nearly Ray too.
Adrian Ray Wren. Too many Rs.

I’m still looking for my middle name though. Does it mean I’m missing a bit of my meaning? Is there a bit of me I haven’t met just yet? Can we meet ourselves or only other people?

Mai phul hu agar meri khushbu ** tum,
Tum bin adhure hain hum sanam.

Jaan hain hum tou rooh ** hamari tum,
Tumse judi hai zindagi saaton janam.

Is dil ki awaaz ** tum,
Sirf tumhare hain hum.

Tumse pyaar beinteha karte khuda kasam,
Rishta hai hamara janam janam.

Aapki hard rag see waakiff hain hum,
Hamare lahu ke har katre mein ** sirf tum.

Hamare naam ki pehchaan hai tumse,
Khushnaseeb hain hum jo khuda ne.

Milaya hai is jodi ko shiddat se,
Dil se dil tak bandhe hain ek duje se.

Hamare haathon ki lakeere hain ek si,
Bigaad nahi skti kuch meelon duriyan bhi.

Har imtehaan ek dusre ka haath thame,
Himmat atoot hai jab hain saath mein.

Mere haath mein jab hai tumhara haath,
Maut se bhi lad jaane ki taaqat hai saath.

Aankho mein khwaabo ka dariya tum **,
Saanso ka ye rishta pyaara hai mujhko.

Haathon ki chudiyan tumse hain khhanakti
Pairo ki payal tumse hain chhanakti.

Is maathe par sindoor hain sirf aapke naam ka,
Sagar ki gehrayi se gehra hai rishta hamara.

(An mémwa granfré an mwen Dodo, frè jimo a Roderik, ki disparèt an *** lanmè koté Sentlisi lé disèt maws démildisèt anbo kanno ay, In God we Troust, menm jou ti frè an mwen Toto fété swasantkatran ay)

Lè Manzè Frégat, on vyé zwazo épi tèt a sizo lan mè, rivé

Konpè Dodo té ka ba dé kudmachwa adan on ponm arak kon i té ni vyé labitid fè

Dépi lé i té ti manmay chak trwazyèm vandrèdi a mars o pipiri chantan

Sété on sèl pélrinaj pou y té pran gou a sé prèmyé ponm malaka ki té vinn friktifyé

Vyé zwazo la diy konsa: « chaben, apakonsa zafè ka fèt ! avan ou té sèvi kow, avan menm ou té comansé manjé plen vant aw, ou té dwèt ban mwen lajan an mwen, ban mwen sa anfwamenm »

Konpè Dodo pa enmé pon vyé zwazo diy pon vyé biten ! I wondi bouch, i toufé, i manké tranglé :

-Ki pawol a foumi fou ki la ? i taw ?

-i tan mwen. ban mwen lajan an mwen, man, ou alo, ranjé zafè aw byen pas dènyé vandrèdi aw rivé !

ou pé kriyéy jan ou vlé malaba, malaka, kwachimelon, otaheite, pomme d’amour, ponm tayti, manzana malaya, séw ki sav, ou pa papay

sé mwen ki mèt ay, ou tann ! Ou tann byen !? Pa fè mwen trapé dézod épiw

Pa fè mwen jiréw, avan ou ay pran zafè a moun prokiré sav ki moun ki mèt a kann la

mwen ja las jouwé domino épiw, kouté sa byen, wouvè gran zorey aw ! An ja diw sa, yo ka kriyé mwen an lot koté Jambo, Prensès Scisour Lanmè

mwen pa vlé sav si ou métodis si ou advantis si ou ka fè penti

si ou rosikrisyen si ou catolik ou si ou ka trasé lèt asi olivetti

si bon dyé aw vodou, endou, ou témwendjéova, fwa aw sé taw, tan mwen sé tan mwen,

Non an mwen pa Séza non an mwen pa Bondyé sé Jambo

ponm arak ta la sé tan mwen, sé awryè granpapa granpapa mwen ki té arawak

ki plantéy, si ou vlé sav, ban mwen diw on ti biten malgré vyé mannyé érétik ou ni dépi toupiti. ou ka ékri tout koté « In God we Troust » sé pousa ou dwèt ka vinn trousé mwen ! foutémwa likan, espèce de malélivé

manjé kénèt aw ou chenet aw ponmsitè aw fé sa ou vlé épi yo mé pa mannyé vyé pyé ponm arak an mwen

sa ja ka fè plis ki katvensètan ou ka fé la fèt asi pyé ponm arak ta la

Ou pa sa li fransé , chaben ? espèce en voie d’extinction! An ké diw li on lot fwa an nanglè si ou pa vlé tann fransé

Endangered species !

Mé Kompè Dodo pa té vlé tann march ! Kompè Dodo mété koy ri ! I pa té pé rété ! Telman i té ka ri i té ka pléré !

Ki jan i té kay péyé pou on ponm arak pou on vyé frégat malkadik, dapréy non ay té « Prinsès Scisour Lanmè »

Manzè Frégat ou ni on jan dapréw ou sé yen a dan lé trwa Moiw, on Manzé Atropos

Konsidiré séw ki mèt a bobiné é débobiné

Mé apa mwen ou ké kouyoné, sé pa jodi jou disèt mars pon vyé zonbi ké koupé filsèvolan mwen

Banw diw sa, Tiré gran zèl nwè aw anba la pli la é ay pozé kow anba on pyé kowosol

Demen samdi avan jou ouvè mwen ké vinn kué ti ponm arak an mwen

Manzè Fregat pa pèd tan, vitman i poté mannèv, i anki ouvè gran gèl ay, bèk ay té ka parèt sizo

I vorey i varéy i valéy, i wotéy – zyé a zwazo la té ka sanm on sèl fé dartifis woz fichyia –

A las siete y media de la mañana, eran las siete y media en punto de la mañana

Kompè Dodo bat dènyé ti domino ay, a las siete y media de la mañana

Manzè Frégat comansé ranjé tou dousman sé domino la an bwat a domino la

Epi rès a ponm arak la i préparé pouy on ponch ponm malaka.

Sé pa pou ayen ni on proverb ki ka i konsa:

Pa jen jouwé domino épi on frégat si ou ka dwouéy on biten.

Pta nahi kyu rukta nahi ashqon ka behna,

Jab bhi yaad aati hai aapki aankho se hain kehna.

Hoth kuch keh nahi paate,

Dil aur rooh bhi seham se jaate.

Chaha hai aapko chahat se bhi badhkar,

Khade hain khuda ke ghar jholi failakar.

Hey uparwale agar kabhi zindagi mein koi accha karam kiya **,

Toh jeevan ki saari khushiyan meri unke daaman mein bhar do.

Wo har us mukaam ko haasil kar le,

Jiske liye unhone khwaab dekhe.

Maa ji papa ji ko wo har khushi de paaye,

Jinke liye unhone sane sajaye.

Har gum seh jayenge hum khushi khushi,

Unke chehre par kabhi na aane dena koi mayusi.

Meri jaan basti hai unmein,

Unki dadhkano se chalti hain meri saansein.

Unke kadmo ki aahat ko ye dil dhundhta hai hardum,

Zindagi se bhi pyaare ** aap sanam.

Itne imtehaano ki ghadi se kyu guzarna padta hai khuda,

Pal pal ki duri bhi sahi nahi jaati kyu krte ** juda.

Haath jodkar fariyaad karte hain hum aapse ishwar,

Koi aanch na aane dena kabhi unpar.

Jab tak thoda dur hain hum,

Khayal rakhna unka tum.

Unke siva hai hi kaun humara,

Jodi humari humesha salamat rakhna.

Mehfooz rakhna unhe,

Bhut yaad aati hai kasam se.

Meri rooh mera dil meri jaan hain vo,

Hum khush hain khush dekh unko.

We were kissing on the other side of the truck,
with trees bending over the bed as a dark shadow
in the hours after midnight.
You had your hands up my shirt and my beer can
was in the one hand I had wrapped around your neck.
We were pulling on each other from different ends.
You were telling me you had to leave between separate kisses,
whispering how you wanted me and even though
your body was walking away your hands decided to stay.
I was begging you to come back with tiny pleading and the trace of my fingers
in the spaces of yours
when a name floated from your lips and landed on mine
it tasted bad and wasn't right because it didn't fit
she wasn't me
"Jodi!"
I'm Sophie.

Your invisible fist came like a sucker punch to my chest,
all the breath gone and the steam reaching my tongue
until I was cross eyed with anger and tearing up
with my back against your body trying to apologize
for getting it wrong
when I felt hands on my face and suddenly your mouth
against mine in a deep, regretful silent message
that you were sorry for saying her name,
and I believed that kiss because it took the pressure off
of finally admitting I actually had feelings for you or actually cared
about you.
I believed you were sorry for calling me someone else,
but really you were just sorry you got caught and let it slip.

This was uncharted and I knew from the beginning that it wouldn't last,
but I haven't been telling anybody how mean you are to me
about that incident behind the truck
or how you back hand my writing and won't let me speak
about it because you give me that weird look and just start
touching me to shut me up.
I tell everyone you're busy when I show up without you,
but really you just found someone better to do.
I tell everyone it's no big deal when they hear you were somewhere
I said you weren't,
but it's just as a surprise to me and it stings just as much
as it did that night you called me her when I'm me.
I don't tell anyone how awful you are to me
because it would make me the fool
and it would justify every "I told you so"
that would come my way from the fair warnings I was given
when I said you were almost mine and we were sort of together
in a casual, "I'd still like to *******," way.

I don't tell anyone because I'm still waiting for you to fall in love with me,
and I'm dangerously surrounding myself with thoughts of you
when I can't sleep at night and I find myself
smiling when your name comes up on my phone
or blushing when I hear your voice
which isn't good, because it's not just a physical thing
where I have my fun and make my own breakfast in the morning.
It's a stupid romance that has me actually falling for you,
and I don't tell anyone how much damage I take from your
nonchalant words or your false commitment
because I want you to turn out right after all the mistaken ways.
I want to prove everyone, mostly myself, wrong
about how you don't really want me and how all you ever actually wanted
was a pretty body to pass the summer time
until you went to school.
I don't want to be the fool.
So I don't tell anyone the truth about you.
I don't tell anyone about you.

Aapse hi har subah ** meri aapse hi har shaam,

Saans ke katre katre mein samaya hai bs aapka naam.



Achha lagta hai jis qadar pawah karte ** aap humari,

Ishwar aapki jholi mein daal de khushiyan dher saari.



Itne khushnaseeb hain hum ye baya nahi kar sakte,

Meri zindagi, meri jaan meri rooh hai sirf aapse.



Khuda ka tarasha hua sabse anmol farishta **,

Qismatwale hain hum  jo mile aap humko.



Aapke har kadam par saath hai aapki mahiya,

Beintehaa mohabbat hai aapse saathiya.



Jis din milengi rooh ki rooh se nazar,

Jaane jaan pe kya hoga asar.



Rakhenge humesha aapko dil mein,

Bhar lenge aapko baahon mein.



Aapse pyaara nahi hai koi sanam,

Saath hai hum aapke janam janam.



Aapki muskurahat hai taaqat meri,

Ye jaan sirf hai aapki sirf aapki.



Hum par haqq hai sirf aapka,

Aapki dadhkano se hai ye dil dadhakta.



Rabba is pyaar ko nazar lage,

Humari jodi humesha salamat rahe.



Meri zindagi meri har khushi hai aapse,

Aapko paakar mil liya us rabb se.



Mangu mai ishwar se aapki khushiyan hai meri ye bandagi,

Har janam bs aapke naam ye meri khubsurat zindagi.

Lori,
Logan,
Jodi,
Jojo,
Hilda,
Weeping Willow
and **two Tims!

Ya ever read a book
N think
"**** I'm in this book"
I am Sarah Grimke
Sally from A Nightmare
I am Jodi Picoult's
version of a heroine
But it isn't much a nightmare
But a life so much like mine
Just lacking uncertainty
Regarding fear
Anxiety
These women knew what to do
And I

I feel your mission
I know why you did what you've done
It was so clear, but
for me,
who is my enemy?

I want to hide
Under or in a tub
So long as
You can't find me

Is this my millenial
sloth, gluttony?

We try try try
Nothing becomes of it

You are so drunk and you say that
You're dying
I ask you,
*What is your insurance policy?

“Let me tell you this: if you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it's not because they enjoy solitude. It's because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them.”
― Jodi Picoult, My Sister's Keeper

this quote,
it strikes me in the heart
a sharp blade of truth and fear
of knowing what i know.

loner is a strong word,
and yet i keep telling you that is what i am,
i don't fit in, never have, i don't want to,
oh, but how i do.

solitude is a long word,
highlighted again and again and again,
because rather than "face my demons"
i prefer to stay at home, alone,
not that you'd know.
it's odd how often i seek solitude,
how often i wish to stay in a place where there is no one, to judge me
or look at me
or rate me
or ask me how i'm doing
or shun me for my grades/pass/fail
i am not numbers on paper,
i am not an email of red and green dots
i am not a string of senseless symbols on a portfolio,
i am not a percentage or a candidate number
i am a person
i am me
and i expect to be treated as such, but i
am too afraid to tell you that
no, not afraid, anxious,
why?
you tell me.

disappoint,
a harsh word,
something i've seen in your eyes many times,
something i've always associated with,
it's hard to type this out,
because those ten letters
(ten is a lovely round number)
because those ten letters
will always haunt me,
a ghost of my past, present and i fear, my future,
i try,
i try,
i try,
i try,
but i can't
not when you make it difficult,
people speak of how they can tell their mothers anything and yet,
i find it hard to even say hello,
so yes, disappoint is the right word,
in more than one way,
i don't say this with conviction, because i don't think you deserve it,
(and yet somehow i do)
but i'm sorry.

Every time I open my mouth to
Response to idiotic people my language change
It was so early in the morning,
And believe me, I wasn’t in the mood

For female nonsenses: one drops on her knee
And raise her hand to the ceiling, open her mouth
And let out a bunch of nonsense. The other whispered
“God protect me from these evil people,

I look at my co-worker, and he looked at me
Such juvenile malarkey, so early in the morning:
“He said” with a loud Sigh!!!!

I lost another one, it gone, it no longer moves,
What, whom and where, and why!  The baby!
My eyes drop to her knees with such unspoken grief,

I was told that’s where they go for safety:
It had to be some conspiracy:  five small angels
In five years, how does she control those tears?

At the moment, I need a glass of water and two aspirins;
She looks so emotionless and calm: the same exact composer
Like my friend had after the death of her son:

I on the other hand saw myself standing on the edge
Looking down into the darkness of a bottomless pit

Each night, when I go to sleep, I die. And the next morning, when I wake up, I am reborn.”
― Mahatma Gandhi

** If you gave someone your heart and they died,
did they take it with them?
Did you spend the rest of forever with a hole inside you that couldn't be filled?”
― Jodi Picoult,

Bani rahu suhagan humesha,

Yhi hai dil ki pyaari si aasha.



Sajan mera mehfooz rahe,

Yhi dua mera dil kare.



Maathe ka sindoor,

Chehre pr pyaar ka noor.



Haathon ki mehandi,

Kalai ki chudi.



Gale ka mangalsutra,

Humara rakshautra.



Jodi humari humaesha salamat rahe,

Har janam mein hum par haqq sirf unka rahe.