Rainbow

you are light

 bend over for me

you are colour.

Young believer (cont'd.)

I was a bride to belief...

...until the world made me its widow.

All day, I have walked 
around seeing children, 
without their heads.

Houla

"You are defeated you despots and bigots, as long as the blood of children is spilt. A pit of fire is soft recompense for your hate" - Isa (@Cheesa)

Young believer

I was a bride to belief.

Fair warning (2)

keep that closet
in your head
tightly shut

those skeletons
you know,

they love
to fuck you
up.

Every year,

she takes a walk
through these ribs
and cuts down
a heart

I kiss them when I read them

the stem of
your tongue

finds the rose
in my mouth

Look at what the light did now

Where did you
pool,

were you in the place
between our shoulders-

was that you I saw
                             wink?
                     
Or curled in the palm of a hand
                                   
swung over a hip?

Or did you slide
up my arm    
                 searching for the fingertip

grazing at her hair-

Oh how, you lit us both
                               then,

Oh, how you did. 

Love letter

A piece of the sky
fell into me

I wrote a letter on it:

I follow you on the moon

my eye grew a telescope

watched you sliding     round and round
you never fell down

If a tree grew
from your mouth
                            I would string my self on a rope
and swing from it

I am always ready
to be the first rain drop caught   on your mouth

the season blooming first in you
through me

This is how the sky
lives in me

through things that fall
reach out and travel

round and round

                          through it.


This is how love gets written in.

How To Love Me and Forget Me

via @deja_raconte

You silly thing (part 1)

how could you not
see the flower

blooming beneath
your arm

it ran down my pen
travelled across the page

turned to you
as if you were the sun.

Don't you know

I would hug your heart if I could.

If only love making were about two

that night

when the wind fell

into our room and

you were swept

out the window

into the storm

I was left

clinging

on to the edge

of our bed.

This ill-health thing is getting old.

It must now be the eighth time I have fallen sick in this city. I wonder what it is I am expelling-what it is that my body refuses to hold that the dulled down mind can take in and shove aside. 

like the dragon fly wing

resting on my table

top

I too have given up

on the flight.

Flat

I was told the earth

was a sphere

that we would circle

back to the other

but here I am 

hanging off 

the edge of the sea 

the supermoon 

from her

perch in the sky

laughing at me.

You,

flicker.

I,

burn.

Dear S,

I populate my poems too often with loss. In return, they help fill the spaces inside that get emptier and emptier as time passes. When I found you in my mail today-winking, I scoured the pockets of my heart and found them filled with love-given and received. And so to that moment, to us, I tried to write a poem. I tried to put pen to paper and found myself too full to write-like I had eaten the best meal, or had the world's best hug, or just heard the song I had always been looking for. In this place where is the space for poetry?

Language has no business getting close to what is already full and frothing to the brim. 

Nomad

I keep looking
for a home

in

his words
her arms

these songs 

when I know it lies

in

your arms
your words

your songs

when will you
open your

shuttered windows 

and look out
to the bird
perched on
the sill?

Come over

poetry is the arc
across my heart