Poetry makes me pause in apprehension, like a six year old sitting atop the banyan tree, wondering how fast I can fall from this height. Poetry makes me pause in joy, like a seven year old, sitting under the banyan tree, wondering how fast I … Continue reading Sometimes, my words know me better than I know myself
(iii) fem-mine he thinks, ignorance is not
a bliss for his innocent nieghbour-ess-que.
For Halloween, I dressed up as a pretty girl.
The bullet in our hearts melted into arson,
And then, there was fire inside.
Where do poems tread?
Do they ride on limericks or horsebacks?
I curl my toes, it seemed a reflex to drowning,
And the bottomless pit was my haven,
There were no words between my lips; only smoke.
His castle is a forgotten rainbow,
A ballad which spent its summer
In the pocket of his haggard denims.