poem
Reader Submission / States
"That’s why I have jars of jealousy, anger, sadness, monotony, but this – it’s important."
Love poem for the reflection in the mirror
I will not even begin with the skies
POETRY / October: An unfinished poem
Glamorous lightweight raindrops from the October sky keep
POETRY / Silence
A star fell on the ground in the windy night
POETRY / Republic of the dead
As if playing a game of chess / Still the world waits for the next dawn
POETRY / Birth of a poem
Hark! / Busy work of Hands
POETRY / Carpe diem
but i can't. i cannot be bothered to find / meaning behind the faults in my father's eyes
POETRY / My heart's longevity comes from my maa's magnifying kindness
Maa, you are an endless exhibition / of sweet-sour happiness
I heard they are changing the dictionary
I heard they are changing the dictionary.
My van my grief
I tried to be renamed in the middle But my van and I have never been apart!
Cosmopolitan Dream
I see you, with whatever half awake, sleep drifting irises, I see you. Dusted in the shelves of unread books, I see you and I know you, They will never know you but I do, in ways you are afraid.
for my weeping mother
her heart was a two seater unfit for a family so big i grew to be a woman mirrored in her shadow when she was younger
Cog against the machine
you spend what you make to make what you spend, and you do it today to do it all over again
Love will live
Or will you bloom into a new life with me?
Memory
Memory is a winding range Of coniferous mountain pine Catching the fiery light
Dark, blue night
Like wild leopard's skin, I spread out my hair The dark night uncurls with his roaring fleet; I pounce on his chest, bare foot, like Kali–
On rainy days and reading
The fact of the matter was this: the poem had been written, the call had been answered, and as lofty as it sounds—at that moment there I was, as Frank O'Hara put aptly—"the center of all beauty! / writing these poems!/ Imagine!".
Concrete sorrow
We grasp on and we hold tight.
Baba
try my best to paint the place blue Pouring all the sorrow after you With no colour left in my palette, As though the canvas breathes its last