Letters, Poetry

c l o t s

blood looks different on every letter that I write to you. they all reek of my desperation, like your heart reeks of me. my fingers have forgotten  how to move in circles over ridges and falls of your name, but my dreams whisper your name to me at 2:14 a.m.; remember how you left me… Read More c l o t s

Letters, Poetry

Le dernier

The last time you were home, the six walls felt like shelter in the midst of a hurricane; we sipped cold coffee toppling with ice cream, took out our paint brushes and instead of the blue galaxy we dreamt of painting in a cloth big enough to hide us from the wars outside, you drew… Read More Le dernier



“No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness,… Read More Toska


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,… Read More Death, in waves.


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… Read More I promise.


f r e e d o m ft. love

last night in my dreams, I screamed aloud, ‘freedom, freedom, freedom!’ my lover lying naked next to me, his hands wrapped around my neck like a noose about to tighten on my life, and choke me to oblivion- woke up, startled! he was drowning in worries, and miseries, trying to loosen my anchor, trying to… Read More f r e e d o m ft. love