First comes craft, then poem

I’ve been finding it difficult to write poems. It’s not for a lack of inspiration; life is full of strange and moving moments that are suited to poetry. I feel them intensely, and there is intent—both of which are needed to write a poem—but then, my words just don't sound or sit right (if I... Continue Reading →

Vow to Behold – a poem on a lasting friendship

Girlhood period boys -- Minor complaints Weighed heavy Like dew on white snowdrop Caressing memories Comforting echoes of life lived Reckless wanting Womanhood womb woes (men) -- Now we are talking Grown-up stuff Made easy, forgivable, enjoyable Still your shriek shrill thrills Ears fill with electric talk Starts stops self-doubt Crushing living burdens Us, we... Continue Reading →

Dark fingers

Rubbing, I remember, your fingers, as you watched cricket, to see if the dark came off you (hoping it may come off me too). Heaviness, I remember, of your arms that I placed upon my thighs while I examined your fingers, my fingers. Knobby joints, I remember, from injuries from fighting giants (or was it... Continue Reading →

Will be back soon: Gone Lookin’

Fear is a good thing[…]fear is what drives us to take risks and extend ourselves beyond our normal limits, and any writer who feels he is standing on safe ground is unlikely to produce anything of value. - Paul Auster, "Invisible" Dear Void, I have felt fear this past nine weeks. A lot of fear.... Continue Reading →

I look at my limp body in my arms and I wonder who saved whom. I can only hold the weight of my own conscience, talk the truth I know. Never a hero was made by saving himself: Completely untrue. You can read more about this philosophically forceful sculpture here.

It is OUR loss

Voiceless art speaks volumes about a culture of courage. When made silent the message screams ferocious fear.   This is a shadorma which I wrote after reading the following quote, In this latest video, an unidentified man says Islam calls for the destruction of all idols. The museum worker was dismissive of this piety, saying the... Continue Reading →

If this was my last poem…

If this was my last poem, I should suffer immeasurably. I'd wake late in the day- there'd be nothing in the early light of collective awakening to record in cursive letters. I'd eventually lose my sight for irony and ecstasy in the mundane, then life would be perfectly uninteresting. The ream of used printer paper recycled for blotted... Continue Reading →

Erasure poetry: Stranded

Here's my second attempt at Erasure Poetry which is a type of Found Poetry. My first attempt was just an abridgement of the text! I have used the text from 'The Voyage Out', the first novel by Virginia Woolf from It's a useful website with a number of interesting texts (and poems derived from them),... Continue Reading →

Twin beds

I lost my dreams in between these mattresses we share. The gap is pressed against my spine and I wake up feeling disjointed. Sensory elusion, recession at this gorge-made of bed sheet- marking our sleep, where dead cells accumulate. Vertical blinds open at one slat allow light through without interference to light the room in... Continue Reading →

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