sky people

i used to be like you
wary of those
wayside wanderers,
scared
of their manic mutterings,
their tattered appearance
was distasteful.

i would cringe too,
exactly as you just did,
afraid to catch their germs
hated the smell
that would linger
long after our paths crossed.

but i’ve been touched
by the Blue one now you see,
and i guess most of you
who now cross my path
miss me completely.

you saw me stare at the sky,
bump into street lamps,
you rolled your eyes,
and crossed the street.

you spotted me,
in deep conversation
at crowded coffee shops
and thought me strange.

you did not see him at all!
all you heard was muttering,
you thought too much coffeecino
had driven me crazy.

you bumped into me
at the bookshop,
my nose buried
(literally)
in a brand new
book of love poems,
you moved away
a patronizing smile later.

you don’t know,
how he smells of nutmeg,
of snow lillies,
and the elusive clean
of new books.

i am sorry i missed
the questions
your eyebrow raised.
would i really care
if the sun and the wind
were roughing up my body?

the stars in my eyes,
and the occupant
of my heart, leave no room,
for anyone or anything else.

flu season

use.
and throw.
use.
and throw.
use.
and throw.
use.
and throw.
use.
and throw.

how little it matters
to you, my friend,
whether it’s kleenex
or people.

raw

i feel positively
unpoetic,
because i want you so.

its not just skin.
the need goes deeper
its pace is inelegant
crazed? i don’t know.
but there it is,
frantic, directionless.

this mortal need
to hear your laughter
in the hollow of my bones
once again
is driving irrational
thoughts deeper
into my head.

it feels as good as
that usually uncouth gesture
when one drives
the pointing finger,
manic, and unheeding
of any warning,
uncaring of damage,
into the ear.
to scratch rapidly
that unseen
but heartfelt itch.

it is as satisfying as
that demented stretch
of the neck,
and with closed eyes
curling the tongue
to smoothen
the raw edges
inside the throat, when
voicing your forbidden name.

platitudes

trophy boys don’t ask,
are you bleeding?
don’t call to ask,
do you breathe?

trophy boys should not care
if cold cuts of accusations,
so cruelly served,
on a platter of silence,
were fatal or not.

trophy boys should
stay safe, nine to five,
in a predictable world.

it’s a risk to be out there,
wayward women
might tell all,
in drunken giggly fits.

or the conspiracy
of the stars,
might just reveal,
how angels get drunk
on chocolate
and forgot to fly.

no, no don’t bother
to translate pixels
on the screen
into casual concern.

nothing will happen to you
no finger pointing.
no languishing and decaying
nothing will happen

take comfort in your safety,
and uncross those fingers.
mouth those mundane
‘hello, how are yous’
only when you are ready,
really ready to hear the truth.

cleaning up after

she was gone. dead. buried.
with no one mourning her.
the cleaning crew
for muchos dolleros
came in to clean house.

they could've dumped it all
in gallon cans
for a curbside pickup.
but one of the chaps,
an aquarian with a pony tail,
stumbled upon a thought.

a tiny random one,
but not unfamiliar to him.
did she fill holes
with memories too?
so they all sat down,
and used six work days
to sift through them all.

the brown button on a khaki shirt
the crease upon a brow
the remnants of a laugh
the touch of roving hands

ghost text messages
and used coffee spoons
napkins used to mark
the tyranny of waiting

mental pictures of shared sunsets
and accounting of tears
a bill book of anguishes
a notebook of fears

would anyone else understand
the need to remember
gestures, words, promises?

they could fill boxes of those
but who could want them now?

the clean-up crew knew
one day upon a distant landfill
these and many other
hoarded desires would flower.
and the earth would smell
of nutmeg and coffee,
of honeysuckle and lillies again.

why blue m&ms are blue

have been sitting right here,
under the dappled sky,
solving little mysteries
of this thing called life.

see the vastness of the sky?
it includes all the flaws,
of this erring earth,
of the faltering moon,
even the lying promises
of distant glimmering stars.

sink into the deep of the ocean,
with me, if i don’t cling
to treacherous breath,
it will accept everything,
your bonds, my insanity
it can turn us blue.

ever close your eyes
and hear the eternal lover
play a tune? He’s blue too.
when love shattered me
into a thousand crystal faces,
each reflecting your color,
he scooped me up,
made me safe. whole. blue.

so close your eyes
and kiss me now,
share this blue m&m.
it’s a sweet universe
in a bite of chocolate.

Complaint

every morning i see my love
and sit him down,
for extended complaints,
over creamy Malabar Monsoon.

(he doesn’t always listen,
he's distracted by my singing anklets,
but i sit him down nonetheless,
and open my heart for him.)

sometimes my love,
i think you’re here
only because of the coffee.
i complain, daring an answer.

he laughs, and emboldened
by the kindness I hear,
i stop him from spooning sugar.
the spilt grains of sweetness
melt in my tears.

where were you
when the motorbike boys,
put wind in my hair
and drove me away from you
at thought deafening speeds?

where were you when
the drummer boy played
fast and loose with
what i thought was my heart?

or when the traveler
carried me away
across sunsets and moonrises,
but could not reach
the far corners of my mind?

don’t you dare smile
and give me an answer
that you always do.
they were shallow waters,
and i was but learning to swim.

if indeed they were, and i was,
tell me why you wait now?
when my heart is truly touched
by one who laughs
just the way you do?
by one who makes soul renting promises
you know he will never keep?

tell me how much further
do i fall, until you save me
from myself?

how much longer
do i have to wait?
how much do i suffer
before you deem me worthy
of your eternal embrace?
before you color me Blue?




(malabar monsoon is a wonderful new coffee i have recently discovered...)

brb

when you put me on hold,
i counted the beeps,
i sang silly songs,
imagined how long
it would take, for
strange roots to grow
from my palm
into the phone.
but I waited
to hear your breath
on the other side
of the earpiece.
you see, you had promised
to set me free.

the coins ran out,
and so did the time.
i held on foolishly,
allowed the anguishes
to simmer before they grew,
and then came the pain.
it racked my soul
ribboned it
and flung it afar.
buffeted by pitiless winds of logic
it was strung out to hang
on a shabby string of trust
like torn Tibetan prayer flags.

you didn't see how the phone cord
rebelled at my patience
and strangled my wrist,
my neck, my desires,
and drowned me
in the vast blue
of the endless waiting.

the gods were jealous
when they knew i wanted
a mere mortal more.
'you've been used!
'your faith is pointless!
they said, then
they rejected me,
offered me no haven
no respite, no rest...

i've wandered since,
looking for a place to hide,
where no knowing laughter
would mock my foolish effort
to pause that fraction in time
when you said, 'brb'.

Krishna

they say, "he's dark,
your Krishna.
dark as the stormy night
he was born."

i used to turn away,
had no answer
to their taunts.
wondered why
others were made so fair.

the years have passed,
and I've stopped looking
at people, at their gods,
and learned to look inside.
i know now, why, my Krishna,
you are the dark one.

so great is your love for me,
to cleanse my soul,
from its darkness
you took on its colors
and made me new.