Series of knives, aimed at my heart
Lying on the ground, bleeding
With glimmers of a broken dream, of what once was
Floating and shimmering in maroon hell
Twinkling like stars in the vacant sky
Crusting along the winding route
Trying to find hope, something
Trailing warmth, till it dries
She’s in her palace; her head resting on its beautiful marbled floor. She sighs at the way it cools her cheek on such a hot summer’s day. Breeze comes through the large windows and balconies that surround this grand architecture. They tease her wavy hair strands, which in turn tease her face. She’s listless and still, and the only thing constant is her repetitive breathing. Her chest heaves up and down, slowly, bringing life to the stone surroundings. Her long flowy skirt splatters like paint over the beautifully patterned white floor. The atmosphere is impeccable; it’s an intoxicating mixture of floral scents and dampness. Lilies, jasmines, roses, lotuses, and lilacs. She twists and turns, as she slowly rolls to face the high ceiling. There, a green gecko crosses path. She turns to the side, and several ants are marching by. She reaches an arm out and rests her finger on the ground in front of them. They avoid her finger and continue to march around it. This little play makes her smile for a second. Glancing at the ants, their image blur before her eyes as she looks beyond towards the open balcony. There, the bright green banana trees sway under the sunlight. Then beyond them, she stares at the clear blue skies. This is everything she’s ever wanted. This is everything she has. She hears the sound of a sole peacock calling for its lover. It soothes her to sweet sleep.
She wipes away a sweat drop on her forehead as she regains consciousness. Her hairs stick to the side of her cheek when there’s no breeze.
Her heart slowly thuds in somberness. She clenches her long skirt as she twists over the hard marble.
This is everything she’s ever wanted; she reassures her heart,
before it surges into uncertainty once more.
Each of my fingers imprint love over your back. Scented warm rose water ooze out of my pores. You’ve managed to unlock a chamber of my heart and decided to open it. And now you take care of the rest, as you hold me together. Bundling a puddle. Holding onto a slippery fish. You’ve owned it. You take the responsibility. It was your choice, your game, and you’ve won. And now you feast,
In full content
Hand to skin, and skin to hand
Pore to pore, and drop to drop
Back and forth
And forth to back
In a circle, in a pod floating down a heavenly path
We feast, head to head
And heart to heart.
Amid an ocean of glistening gems
His chest heaves up and down, slowly
Like the waves.
The waters are gentle and warm
And they tease his skin sometimes
Making him smile at their playfulness.
Vishnu sleeps, above a bundle of anxious nerves
He sleeps sheltered underneath the umbrella of a cobra head
There’s gentle sounds of bells lulling him from somewhere
There’s a shower of fragrant flowers soothing his senses from the heavens above
There’s a soft glow in the rays from the sun god to the side
There’s a water goddess who he dreams of.
Vishnu sleeps, floating amass a boundless universe
Vishnu sleeps, through creation
The rivers overflow, the waterfalls rush down, the mountains crumble,
The volcanoes erupt, the ground rips apart,
And the vegetation freezes.
The world thaws, the butterflies come back,
Children laugh and hold hands
And the elderly wave their goodbyes
Life goes on,
in disappearing circles.
His chest heaving up and down, slowly
Cushioned over a bundle of wrecked serpentine nerves
His face glowing
His lips, smiling
Vishnu sleeps consciously
amid an open warm ocean
Inside the heart.
Heart on fire
Too many questions, too little time
Instinctive, fueled by passion, high on drive
Burning with curiosity
Direct and raw
Uninhibited and fearless
Wise and confident
Worshiping the answers
There’s a beautiful bird out in a forest. She flies her little wings up and down the hilly terrain near the glistening, cold Himalayas. They refer to her as Noori; this beautiful, colorful bird. On rare occasions they get a glimpse of her striking beauty. Yet always, they hear her tweeting her silly, sweet songs to herself. Tunes that echo across mountains, resonate through valleys, and penetrate through souls.
She makes me cry, this little bird.
I’d sacrifice a limb for her. I’d die for her.
There’s a little bird that sings her sweet songs in a forest. Her innocence is what lovers fall for. Her beauty is what poets write of.
who is my father.