"simrik" poems
~~~~
*I am seventeen already.
With a chameleon where my
heart should be, curled up,
safe and sound as I look for
something to punctuate
the expansion of my universe
of a being with. My mother,
she taps at windows in the
dark between my temples
and God says 'let there be
light', only to prove and
disprove, prove and
disprove, prove and
disprove his/her
existence over and
over again. And I,
mindful, soulless,
wait on the comfort
of volcanoes to be seen,
to be heard, to be felt."*
Simrik
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
Where is Simrik?
she's with me
In the kisses i give
the air i breathe
Where is Simrik.
shes in the flowers i pick
in the streets of lalitpur town
brick by brick
In the sloppy kisses
in my cheeks
under the trees
next to the creek
thats where is simrik
she's under my skin
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
Can you not? Why do you ask
me how my day was
when days are short this
season, and you dont know
how my answers swings around
your head and winds me up in
your dreams
And you would tell me
about yours, but Simrik
i can swear to you I want
to be a part of your
Camu jacket,
in the cluster of your
combat pattern so it could be
never washed away from it
except from your tears
Can you not ask
me why? Because
the swinging of answers will
roam around and keep you again
in four walls of solitude
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
You must turn 16, soon. Before the year is over.
Your year of birth, your current age tell me.
Your birthday is yet to come.
You weren't born in Spring.
When leaves were springing green and wriggling their way out of the cold.
You weren't born in Summer, at least not yet.
But you could be,
the smell of crickets chirping through the air.
Or the sight of fresh flower smell.
Maybe fall, when
Campfires and trees all lean together against the wind
And the dark huddles close to keep warm.
Winter?
Are you days of weak and bleak, redeemed by
The penitence of snow?
Are you the sorrow of snowflakes
Or the loneliness of Christmas?
Do you know the sadness of winter, at fifteen?
You must turn 16, soon.
When you do, I hope the skies sing you a song.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 6:33 PM UTC