Not mine.

I have pulled at

the language of my oppressors

Tread on it, kneaded it

leaving my footprints behind

my thumbprints pressed in

Imprints of myself

As I touch and touch and touch

The tongue of those who’ve hurt me

I’ve washed myself

in its wetness

in its coarseness,

in its slang.

Slept in its phonetics

slept with its consonants

kissed its vowels

Until we became one

until the language of my oppressors

remained no more

Until it became, the weapon of my emancipation.


India Untitled.

I know India mothers

In its pulsating belly

(The epicentre of life)

A darkness that expands each day

And yet, each time

I can only feel

The rain on my skin

An ambled road carved into a field

Taking me home to sweet grains

And soft dal and warm hearth

The light that I capture in my eyes

Perhaps makes me truly blind

From the darkness that I just won’t let

Seep into my lashes.

Dal: lentils

The spoken word on our beautiful generation

Do i feel strongly,
About anything?
Nothing, nothing nothing
Not even strongly about this word
Repeating, singing repeating
for the sake of a cause I can no longer remember,
No longer care about anything but December
Why? Why?
It’s my birthday, that’s why?
Am i arrogant, selfish, conceited, like a teenage girl
Don’t care again, again
This I ask eveytime
You ask me anything
I have embraced the modern pop culture
Of not caring, of not giving a damn
Of not giving any fucks, of ain’t having no jam
Don’t care, did I say it already?
Well who cares?
Apparently no one
We’re a mass movement of anarchy
Of lost history and geography
born from fear, capitalism and a state of democracy
Is it democracy?
The lines are all blurring,
even my speech is s l u r r i n g
What an excellent way to show
I don’t care,
I dont care
I’ll be on my way
Going along a road, that has been well formed by the million footsteps that preceded me.
The long road not taken is
overrated, overrated
Hop on this bandwagon
We’re all sheeps of the same fleece
Raze us, graze us
We eat the same weeds, the same grass
Fiber, moral fiber. what is that?
We understand money,
Bitcoins, dollars and cash,
blank cheques and pots of gold,
There’s nothing here
the soul long sold
Don’t care, don’t care
empty flesh, empty heart
This is our end, and this is our start
We’re walled minds for humanity’s sake
We roll, smoke, snort and bake
Rotting skin and pink entrails
daddy’s dying in metal jail
Who cares?
None of us do,
We’re the blossoming generation
of a dying world.

I heard the Koyal sing.

I wonder
If or when I do bear children
Will they be able to see
The same world as me
See the sky darken
A brilliant shade of fire
See the frog skip over water
See a butterfly landing on my shoulder
See the vines
Growing over a wall
The lakes, the rivers
The intimidating mountains
The gut wrenching waterfall
See the snow
The sea, the ocean
See a baby dolphin
Elephants, Geese
The extra ordinary
And the mundane
Will they be able to see
What I see now
Will they be able to hear
Which I hear now
Feel what I feel
And in the uncertainty of my answer
Lies my Gratitude
I’m so glad
I heard the Koyal sing.

Koyal: Cuckoo




I’m living a good life, I’m just not sure if it’s the best kind…
And I’m wearing expensive clothes and clicking selfies for my thousand followers on my iphone and I’m carrying an expensive bag to party at a high end club
And I’m drinking vintage wine and imported liquor and smoking gold cigars.
I’m just not sure if that’s all I want from my life.
Maybe all I want is lazy days and wearing clothes that make me feel good about myself and drink coffee and lookout into the ocean.
Maybe all I want is to listen to lana del ray and watch the autumn leaves fall from the trees and hear the wind howl mingled with the sounds of the birds and read book sitting by the fireplace and hear stories my grandma tells me and laugh at silly things and dance at the beat and sing to my heart’s content and kiss a boy who kisses me back with the same feeling and talk with my best friend and smile at strangers and compliment other girls and enjoy school and learn new things and have long picnics.
But somewhere between providing for ourselves and living a luxurious life, we got enamoured by materialistic pleasures and gave more importance to clothes and makeup and gossip and mindless competition and forgot that the the most precious things in life are the simplest of them.

I wonder. ..

I wonder if she knows this but sometimes all I can think of is her…
Her soft hair in my hands,
Her soft lips on mine and sometimes when she snorts in laughter and her eyes hold that twinkle that make me feel like I’m right up there with all the other stars…
And when she grins at me
So uninhibited and so utterly free for the entire world to see, sometimes I wish she’d grin like that just for me, so that the world wouldn’t know how beautiful she is and it’d be like an inside joke with us
‘You’re gorgeous and you have no clue,  but I do and God it is something’
I wonder if she knows that when I see her
I don’t see that she is having a bad hair day or that pimple she is crying about or that her old jeans doesn’t fit her or that her bra size isn’t big/small enough. ..
All I see is an ocean in its savagely beautiful form, and I want to drown in it…