Darkness wears this part of the world with shadow
& there is the patter of water on the tarred road outside.
I pick my phone & stride through the memories in photos
& then your portrait pops up at the last few slides
The one where you carved your face into an image
Of smiles like a sculptor
& it held my gaze. Like glue to paper.
It’s been a year after. The day the flower sprouting
In the soil of our hearts died. & I died with it too.
You had asked us to see. The meet morphed into the
aftermath of a knife through meat— caressing
The thread that held us with a blade.
Found my voice under waves of death
Decaying, the chorus thinned to an anthem only mother's bear
Everything licks out, Cries became murmurs of what filled lands green
Fields sugared in Sunday gospel
Hear their cries their lord
Open up your ears deaf lord
Mine and my mother’s and my mother’s mother’s grave,
Barren land stretch for miles
Full of symbols of decay and love,
Water browned where they’ve washed their hands
And tried their hands at purity
Back then we were savages
back then we worshipped
as it was constant
in its inconsistencies
in complaint of inadequacy.
Winters were untameable
so we rode glaciers to
fresh islands birthed
hot and steaming from
fire cooled sea.
They say all angels have soft skin
And wings made of white
They say they tread lightly
And spin gold through the mere sound of their voice
But they don’t tell you
About the tearing of the flesh when the wings come
How you never know how dark blood really is
until it is all over your hands
They wanted me to be soft, to be vulnerable
But look how much that has taken from me
Her mind too escaped to the green fields.
When the sun tingled her delicate skin,
And her Ma’s clay-burned hands
Were the only things that could heal.
She remembered the cold winds of Spring–
Sharp and essential.
Like her Ma’s stern face,
Or her Baba’s hands of metal.
She dreamed of magic carpets and glossy mangoes,
No more slippery stairs or crowded windows.
But as she bundled her whole life in bandages,
And felt the wet dirt
Beneath her feet,
Maybe the soiled boxes weren’t the
Only damaged packages.
Risen from a blood-stained sea, a maiden broke through the foam-coated waves.
She took her first breath. Pain sliced through her body as air filled her lungs, and she
released a cry that shook the very heavens. Like a child unleashed from its mother's womb.
Violent and desperate.
Saltwater flooded her mouth, silencing her. Choking, she fought the waves that began
to drag her from her birthplace.
The force of the currents weakened her resistance to the point where fighting was
useless. The waves, no longer daunting, lulled her into a sublime stillness, cradling her until
she washed up on pearly shores.
Time passed slowly as she laid there. Unmoving, like a fish stuck on the scorching
sands that turned her frail skin pink and blistered.
Eventually, she took her second breath. She tasted the salty waters on her tongue, and
something stale, and coppery.
Strands of her golden hair, infused with fire from the burning sun, clung to her flushed
A deep nothingness echoed in her mind for each breath she took, dark and forlorn,
until golden heat began to surge through her veins—divine ichor pulsating within her
Did you know Persephone plucked
those damn pomegranate seeds-
all on her own. Poor girl
so desperate for some
sweet, scouring nails
into arteries for teeny red gems.
The history of all hitherto existing society
Is the history of women and the other one
Women who weld the world sitting on stools
And the other one who spoils it sitting on thrones
The female who is feline in heart
And the other one who wears a lion face
Women who are meek , responsible and considerate
And the other one, proud, arrogant and aggressive
Women who are mothers by role
And the other one, a father by biology
Women, whom in matrimony heed to social instincts
And the other one who in matrimony prefer animal instincts
In history, a haunting narrative unfurls – a tale of women unjustly branded as witches. These
women, accused with unsettling ease of dabbling in the mystical arts and harboring powers
beyond the human realm, found themselves ensnared within a complex tapestry of fear,
superstition, and power dynamics.
Their bond with the natural world and its enigmatic wonders set them apart. In moonlit
clearings, they would dance with abandon, their voices intertwining in ethereal harmonies,
defiantly casting aside the norms that society sought to bind them with.
Yet, these women, enigmatic and misunderstood, were fated to confront trials that bore no
resemblance to justice. Accusations of malevolent sorcery and dark enchantments tore them
from their lives. They were shackled, imprisoned, and, in some heart-wrenching instances,
led to the gallows. Their cries for understanding echoed through the corridors of time,
unheard by those whose duty it was to shield them.
You called me brave
and I smiled to myself, thrilled
at the thought of some self
of mine as a protector
wielding a bow, all grace.
I stood with my feet apart
clawed my way up
out of myself
chills spread like flames over my shoulders
and faced this straight on.
I felt this infinite feeling
in the last second, elated
held tight to the fear in my heart.
I traded every weapon for a shield
and started down the mountainside
when the clouds give way to sky
and stars shake off their bright disguises
I hope you can see them.