Poetry

Yateem

Yateem(Arabic) : Orphan(English) ‘Umi, It’s been fifteen days you went out looking for Abbu, I count nights with your needle on my fingertips, my blood oozes out in red. ‘Umi, I am still staring into your eyes, trying to read the words in your silent war. I woke up in the middle of my sleep. …

Death, in waves.

death comes to me, in waves- in the clotting of blood on my fingertips, my lips tasting the same on my wrists- in the crumbling of the letters addressed to you, dying lusty deaths in my closed fists- in the eyelashes of a lover that weaved dreams for me, the Rhapsody now sounds like dirge, …

Across the warfield

Across the warfield, there is a garden- where paper-flowers breathe life, and grow into hearts. Across the warfield, words inked on letters come to life when lit on fire- the ashes mix with blood to form scriptures. Across the warfield, there’s a mountain; where nothing but feet is allowed, nothing but broken hearts sing. Across …

I promise.

‘I promise.’ It was dark and silent. I could barely hear maa’s sniffles, over my heart knocking on the walls of the cage that was built of rotten flesh and stitched skin- I could barely see baba’s eyes, turning red and teary, as he looked away from me, staring into the void, running out of words to …