I realize I am growing old with my mother’s home prepared coconut oil, pressed flowers on the sheets. I sleep next to her almost like a ritual now, I realize when she mumbles softly in her sleeps the childhood was different- It was full of prayers, folk songs, odes, laments. I see her sleep walking… Continue reading Growing up
My mother has paper lips / beautiful, stale pages of love rubbing against each lip. She sings a dream of a crochet bag, each night, the times when I am unwell. My mother often dresses in saree that is obscure and restless, a brown hem of her dress slightly caressing my face. And I begin… Continue reading An ode to my mother
cold hands meet me like temples, adjoining bodies of splash. a mother, a sister, a verb, a noun, it all begins with me, a feverish touch of mine, endless spots of joy and birth. a door often conjures murmurs. continuous, ephemeral drops of dreams, hanging like autumn leaves, a transitory position slips beneath me. i… Continue reading no reasons
i see you spreading like blob of colors sunset inside your mouth, a hundred nights of sickness grows. somewhere, arms growing like a living room. mother, your chin spewed chemicals, on the night I was born. 1:00 am. a night that swallowed both of us. You carried varicose time on your sickening waist, like time… Continue reading I float like a spot
Resolute flames of candle burn on my windowsill catching your white still fierce memory laughing in the atmosphere, Tonight, I rebuke the ashes and the time of Thar to halt, a clock eating another clock somewhere If I slit tomatoes with you, you shall give me memories and formations. For you create footsteps and geometry,… Continue reading As I Pray
With hallucinating fingers of forecasting I counted your skin and your mouth and I counted you Your mouth poured water on my soiled heart, almost a surreal thing. And you buttered my hair, my lips, my hips with cerulean droplets of your vintage mirror. I saw you taking vodka and pills while sobbing near the… Continue reading Mother, I see you.
Mother: You are a hyperbole of the moon and the star, a hubris of soliloquy. Like floating wax, you extend your skin to my mouth, forming chains of bewilderment chains of congruence chains of mammoth frills of hope. You lie in the darkest of hours with a sparkle of holy water on your chin,… Continue reading The-wisdom- is- her
The epitome of peach shaped markings, Defining the extended fields of valour and hope, Drooling in my walnut bones, Mingling in my solitary ebb, Lies inside a place where my mother Wakes me up from a cascading nightmare. To the jubilant staircase of rainbow meadows, To catch an intrepid molecule of a butterfly Then to… Continue reading A place like this