Into the thickness

I wish I could follow that bird
Which flew into the fog and
Vanished in its thickness.
I wonder if it managed to find its
Familiar surroundings again,
Or did it lose its way
And find a fantastic beautiful world
Or did it lose its way
And find a world more grey than
The fog that engulfed it.
Or did it lose its way
And find a world it learned to live in.
I wonder if I follow its shadow
Will I see it go up to find the sun
or tailspin down in the dark.
I wish I could ask the bird,
If it would like fog on a rainy day
Or a cold one
Or a slightly sunny one-
when the world on the other side
Seems to be a bleak image
Of what one expects it to be.


If I could be that bird
Set sail into that fog
Get consumed in the haze
Stretch, ache and gasp for breath
Not knowing
If I would see the light again
Of another world
That could have been,
And could now be-
Then
From this cage,
I'd be free.

The Storm

The storm came.
The day grew darker
But the leaves
Had a strange glow of
A looming end.
Rain pattered,
And pattered,
Like distant memories
Trying to break in
The warm homes
That protected us.
The wind howled,
Shaking the trees,
That swayed begrudgingly
And painfully
Against the peace
They had grown accustomed to.

I watched
As the lightening flashed and
Turned everything
Into grey and white
As if to bare open
The skeletons of a world
We'd falsely clothed
In our minds with flesh.
Thunder followed
And shook souls
Insulated with the dust of time.
It rolled and rolled,
As my insides churned
With its beckoning.
The storm spoke to me,
and lulled me into the darkness,
As the rainbow
faded, with the glow of the leaves.
Only the skeletons
I had denied myself to see
Remained.
Even the new warm sheets inside
Were not spared
Of the glare
Of truth and past,
That once again
The storm had come to purge.
Once again,
We all had to come to terms
With the fear of what we truly are.

I sit in the comfort
Of a home
That doesn't burn in the flames
Of the lightening,
That doesn't crumble
In the acid of the rain,
That doesn't wet my skin
To the point of hot fever
Near death.
And yet
The storm clutches my heart
With every blow
Of thunder-
As it spares no one-
Not the poor
The indifferent
The brave
Or the lovers.
It threatens us all,
This inevitable,
Cleansing, violent
Force of nature.
Making us cling
To that we cannot let go-
And making us choose
That which we must.

Starting tomorrow

Starting tomorrow
The sun
Will no longer be cold,
The winds
No longer harsh.
The whispers and echos
Of those
Who told us otherwise
Are fading,
Starting tomorrow.

Starting tomorrow,
There will be no past
Only a future to see.
The fear that we
Allowed to consume
All our reason
Will inch away
From the skin
That washed itself
With its own blood.
Starting tomorrow.

Starting tomorrow,
There will be hope,
Life,
Luster,
Beauty.
But today?
Today,
We shall tear the walls
With our bare hands,
We do not care for ignorance
We do not care for questions.
We shall forget
The consequences
Of breaking voices
Breaking personalities
Into little boxes
Of convenient stereotype.
Today,
We will destroy heritage
In our drunken rage
So tomorrow we may forget,
The vomit and the rampage,
With a slice of lime and water.
Because tomorrow,
Is a new day.
It is tomorrow that we live for,
Because
Tomorrow always comes.

Yes, tomorrow always comes back.

Burn

You.
Yes you.
You who confine me
In the chains of your mind.
You who cage
My spirit into
A box,
Whose bars
You believe are my freedom.
You.
Yes you.
Who haven't had to
Break walls,
Only to see them cave in again.
You.
Yes you.
Who will not shake
Under the mountain
Of judgement
When you make mistakes.
You.
Yes you. 
Who will not shake
Under the wind
Of loud whispers
Of your quiet rebellion
To assert your identity.
You.
Yes you.
Who will not shake
In seething anger
Because you let them shake you.

You.
Yes you.
You know nothing
Of reality,
Of this box,
This cage,
This hell,
That you have fantastically
Claimed to realise.
You.
Yes you
Are the wood
Of the fire
Lit to test my purity-
By those
Who have no claims to it.
You.
Yes you.
Will let me burn.
You.
Yes you.


You.
Yes you.
Who didn't hear
Sneers and jibes,
Open and discreet,
Like the red spit
Splattered on
Railway stations.
You.
Yes you.
Who haven't seen
How trains
Have crushed
The rubble beneath their
Well oiled wheels.

You.
Yes you.
You.
You who will
Never be questioned of
The validity of
Your sex,
Your sexuality,
Your purity,
Your legitimacy,
Your love,
Your beliefs,
Your humanness,
Your voice.

You.
Yes you.
You know nothing
Of consequence,
Of empathy,
This abyss,
This madness,
That you have fantastically
Claimed to realise.
You.
Yes you
Are the coal
Of the fire lit
To test my purity-
By those
Who have no claims to it.
You.
Yes you.
Will let me burn.
You.
Yes you.

So, look at me,
And watch me burn
At this pyre
For my crime
Of freedom.
Look at me,
And watch me burn.
Can you stand
The stench of my burning flesh?
Can you stand
The sight of my melting eyes?

Look at me,
And watch me dance,
As the ashes of
Your ignorance rise
And make your eyes water.
Look at me,
As the heat in my soul
Makes you
Nothing but a mirage.
Look at me
And watch me rise
From those ashes
Of the shallow
Promises of tomorrow.
Look at me
And hear me scream
Silently
With my eyes
At your betrayal.

You.
Yes you.
You won't forget me,
Because,
You,
Yes you,
You'll see me survive,
And,
You,
Yes you,
You'll find me free.

You,
Yes you.
You won't forget me,
Because,
You,
Yes you,
I will forgive you,
You?
Yes you.
For torching me.

Life after you

Through that window
From which I watched you go,
Life after you.

The light seems different now
When it streams down
Through the window.
The covers no longer
Have the shadow
Of your body.
No caresses linger anymore
In my imagination.

The wind seems different now
When a draft slips
Through the window.
I'm not used to snow-
But its another season
That will pass.
Its another season
I will learn to love.

The people seem different now
When I see them below
Through my window.
Sadder stories have been written
Of the sometimes
And the maybes
And the nevers
Of love.

The warmth seems different now
When I see my breath
Fog up the window.
Its no longer
The warmth of bodies,
Memories,
Or futures,
But of today and
And of the living.

The memories seem different now
When I feel their marks
On the window.
Each crack is now part of me
and my personality
That I no longer fear.
This cage may burn
But even the pieces where
I loved you will survive.

The mess seems different now
When I see it reflected
Through the window.
In the home that
I once knew was mine
And now I slowly redefine,
Turn it into a museum of escape
To make the body whole again.

The loneliness seems different now,
When I see it
Through my eyes in the window-
Through that window
From which I watched you go.

Life after you...

Soul

The music
In the hallways

Reverberated.

The sounds

Shook the wooden boards

Beneath the feet

Of the young,
the wise,

and the innocent.

The rest of us

Stood there 

With our eyes closed,

Waiting for the music
To travel past the soles
Of our shoes
And make us

Feel our hearts again.

Who?

Who are you?
I have seen  this face
Lurking in the curves
Of my smile.
Who are you?

Who are you?
Why am I scared
Of asking difficult questions?
Why do I not understand you
Vilify you instead?
Make effigies
That burn the mirrors
Of my disquiet
And contradictions?
Why do I want to run away?
Why do you make me scream?

Who are you?
What are you doing here?
In my school,
In my streets,
In my buses and books,
In my messages,
And my phone,
In my room,
On my wall,
In my bed,
In my dreams,
In my eyes...
Talk to me.

Talk to me.
Don't insult my intelligence,
Don't insult our past,
By looking the other way
And letting my cries
Fall into the abyss.
Don't insult us both
By walking away
With a snigger on your face.
Look at me.
Look at me and
Talk.

Who are you?
Are there two different Earths
Or two independent Moons
Or two separate Suns
Or two different periodic tables-
That make us
Eat, drink, breathe-
Survive?
The scientists,
They told me,
I swear, they told me,
The dirt on your hands
Is the same as mine.
Did your god tell you differently-
Because I thought I heard you yell,
"Who are you?"

Who are you?
Tell me.
Talk to me.
So I can hold you.
So you can hold me.
So we can hold on.
Because I am shaking too.
Shaking from pain
From anger
From confusion
From fear.
I too am drenched
In loss and
The spit
Of water, fire and blood.
Your fire, my blood
My fire, your blood.
Look at me.
Touch me.
Feel me.
There are parts of me
Which are real
That are made of the same earth.
I see the likeness in those eyes.
Look at me.
Talk to me.
Hear me.
Feel me.

Who are you?
The skin is burning
As our faces melt
Into the unrecognisable plastic
That we created.
As the mirrors that we burn
Blacken the windows of light-
The clock is ticking
Like a time bomb.
Look at me.
Let this not be the last time.

Who are you?
Who am I?
Where are we?
Who are we?
Talk to me.

Looking for Answers

Looking for Answers
Between the pages.
I should have written neater notes
And paid attention
When they were telling us.
All I can see
In place of charts and graphs
Are scribbles of
Words and stick figures,
Giants and dragons,
And other fantasies of
Terrible adventure
That we all want to be heroes of.

And now when the time has come
To look for answers,
That I know they told us,
I'm left with a notebook
With pen stains and blots on paper
That I can't take back.
And now when the time has come
To look for answers,
About the vastness of the world
And the smallness of us all
I'm left with my heroes
That win over demons
Only in my head.
And now that the time has come
To find the answers,
To know my place
To find my way safely,
I'm left with
Nothing but paper
That could barely burn
To glow
Or warm
And last.

Tomorrow

Theres no tomorrow.
Theres only nightmares.
Only sweet dreams that
Break in the morning
To remind me
That every waking moment
Will be a nightmare too.

There is no tomorrow.
Theres only memories.
Only old memories
That live in every object
To remind me
That every touch of mine
Is lost and inanimate.

There is no tomorrow.
Theres only poetry.
Only scattered words
That is open to scrutiny
Or indifference
To remind me
That every word's an illusion
Of the realm of broken dreams.

Perhaps, in some world,
Where there is less pain,
Tomorrow is a day
When people can hope,
For a new god,
For being their own god.
Perhaps, in some world,
Where there is less pain,
Tomorrow is a day
When there is salvation
And we can close
Our eyes in peace.

But in a world,
Where there is less pain,
Where tomorrow is promised,
There is no love.
What kind of world
Would that be?

Of Monsters and Silence

Eyes meet in the distance

Of strangers or lovers

It is hard to tell.

We all have a story of pain

That needs its telling.

We all have stories

That need to see their end.

But some stories

Will die their painful deaths

In silence

As time slips by,

And it is too late.

The silence

Says too much.

More than what

Imagination can bear.

Silence, like poison,

Trickles into

The veins of souls

Of people

Dissolves in their blood.

It deceptively

Takes innocents' lives

Until the dirty froth bubbles

In the mouth for help.

Is it too late?

To salvage humanity,

To salvage the love lost

The heart and mind torn apart?

It is too late.

For those who will not rise

From their pyre's ashes.

It is too late

For those who crept back

Into their holes of ignorance.

Because it is too late

For those who are dead.

And the rest of us,

Half dead and half alive,

Is it too late?

Let us not fool ourselves

With an afterlife.

Because in this world

There is too much pain

Of unrequited love,

Of unanswered questions,

Of unacknowledged wounds,

Of unfulfilled dreams,

For any kind of other world to

Make us forget.

Should we fool ourselves

With the living?

Those who stabbed us

In their rage,

In their grief,

In their greed,

In their fear.

Should we fool ourselves

With our living?

Those who we gutted

In our rage

In our grief

In our greed

In our fear.

Can we forgive ourselves?

For being imperfect?

Can we forgive ourselves

From being monsters?

Monsters

In our silence,

In our forgetfulness,

In our disregard,

In our apathy,

Of other monsters among us,

As lost

As confused

As hurt

As tormented

In their loneliness.

But as silence grows,

Our bodies will mutate,

Into unrecognisable shapes

And colours.

As silence grows,

The deafening noise that conceals it,

Will give us the illusions

That the world

Is just made for some demons.

As silence grows,

Each one of us that still breathe,

Will slowly see

The blood on our hands

Of different hues and intensity.

The fire and darkness

Melting our flesh and blood,

As we choose to be blind.

Then,

When our eyes meet in the distance,

Old friend,

Can we recognise the look in our eyes?

Will we leave each other for dead?