Achacha

They told me that my name rose from your lips in helpless clouds as they struggled to keep you alive, that when Megh fed you, it was me you saw bending over. She tells me this story with no bitterness just a touch of sadness.

I was miles away when you slipped into a deep sleep and never woke up--away from the funeral pyre where Viv tried to take back your pillow and miles away from knowing my place with you.

You once built a house in my name. I remember the white letters stark against the black, perhaps that is why I never felt at home in my own name. It had already been owned. Any claims I have, are temporary. I say it out loud now--alien sounds tumbling from my lips. If you knew me now , I wonder if you would see what I have always feared, that the name and the girl, were never a good fit.

"And as we stray further from love
we multiply the words,
words and sentences so long and orderly.
Had we remained together
we could have become a silence"

Yehuda Amichai, from "Quick and Bitter" (trans. by Assia Gutmann)

via @ekphora

the bizarre poetry
of tears travelling
over the face--

a perfect
spiderweb
of despair

cruel

there is a wound

inside my heart

that I can never

empty

it is filled with 

your silence

orphans

in matters of the heart
we are like children
scrawling stories
in crayon on the walls
of abandoned houses.

Child's play

these puddles
are continents
I leap across

after a night
spent weeping
to the steady

beat of rain. 

Healer

I am only
a mere

weed

drifting
in your

gentle breeze

What else is insanity,
but being alone in a dream?

flirts, us

something more
teases from the

circumference
of our smiles.

mermaid

who needs legs
when your God
lies under the

sea?

The last one

"There is no refuge from confession but suicide. And suicide is confession"

Daniel Webster