I don’t talk about God with my mother I don’t tell her a lot of things like how I struggle to sleep, or laugh and go through another day. I tell no one that I am sad How I let my soul wander and it goes away. I don’t talk about how I don’t care…
Category: poetry
Crossing over
My night, fractured into a million pieces Skitters away from me, a pile of mirrors Glittering in the dawn. There’s that dark Of the uncertainty, the fears that strike Without time or reason, keeping me awake Most of the rhyme. Then there’s the laughter Of my daughters, iridescent and bright Of friends whose words delight…
Lockdown 5:13 am.
I woke from dreaming because of the dogs I was ordering Chinese for grandparents Who have been dead for almost 30 years, My husband sat at a table with important men Talking of revitalizing the system. I look back on the year almost gone And the years that actually have been lived You may tell…
The last mango of the Salt Lake house
was starting to rot. I cut carefully around the edges, juices dripping down fingers Into mouths that eagerly waited to bite into the sweet yellow flesh. No one lives in that house since you left. It lies abandoned, a shadow of what had been, a house full of memories the walls a reminder of all that…
We are safe #CycloneAmphan
The rain lashed the walls of my face Each drop piercing the skin as I chased The old unused tent that threatened to fly Off the terrace. Someone gave that tent To my daughters for them to play, And there it stayed for years thereafter, out grown, But not remembered to be thrown. The clouds…
To the stranger in the dark.
Faces change over time grow up and move away But eyes? Eyes remain the same, windows to all that was. I think I see you cross the road our eyes meeting only for a second to move on, obscurity measured in a single glance. Maybe you too thought I was someone you knew from another…
The poem I was writing
Died a senseless death The body waits In the crowded funeral homes For the rich In lime covered mass graves Of the poor Tortured and twisted In the agony of birth Breathless and blown By gathering storm clouds The cadaver awaits A decent burial.
I: Itinerant : The roads I take
On my way to work I often shut my eyes and in my mind I am on a road that does not race through a concrete jungle Where there are no buildings or the jostle of cars Where roads wind through mist ridden hills Lined with pine trees that rise above the clouds Curving through…
