So go in peace, be free, be kind.
You thought you had escaped, didn't you? / Outran everything that weighed you down
A quiet, seniority in its touch, / A tenderness that feels like it's meant to last
Sometimes at early dawn / You overpower my eyelids / And won’t let me wake up
I love the texture of your hair and I wanted to tell you about it in far too many words than either you or I are comfortable with.
We'll put up feigned politicians / And their fake promises instead
Who do I tell, sir? The walls do not listen, The roads do not answer back
Here are a few things I learned in the one month we haven’t spoken
you don't recognise yourself, / everything is lost like a fish in Lethean space. / you have mistaken truth for love again
Dust patterns have gathered around my landline phone, huddling around the maroon. my fingerprints take some dust off of it, and they rejoice.
You called me close in the moments of grace/ Veiling my delicate senses
You know how that day the wind brought out/ The crazy thoughts I had in me all the while.
I wove necklaces of lyrics/ Which you'd wear beautifully
Buckets of water I pour on my head; my vision gets blurry./ "The blurrier, the merrier", my mother said.
For poet Abul Hasan Neither the pen nor the camera has changed
The yard in this noontime is buzzing with/ The white aroma of the guava flower
I’m going through a heartbreak
A reflection on Mahmoud Darwish’s 'A River Dies of Thirst: Diaries' (first published by Archipelago in 2009)
I'm tired of living with this nagging thought that we'll cross paths someday, /You and I
