Postcards

Tomorrow,
Tomorrow is Sunday.
Glorious, glorious
Sunny Sunday
(Probably).
I think I shall
Get up in time
To see the sun
(Whatever little there is).
I think I shall
Go find a cafe
On a busy street
And hope my coffee
Is a starburst
Of perfect bitterness;
Tarty pleasure-pain.
I shall pull out
A sheaf of Postcards
And I shall write
Dear----
I have been missing you
Edinburgh is beautiful today.
I wish I could show you
How are things over there?
I'll address one to my
Father- tell him
'I thought of you
at Westminster
I cried at the grave
Of the unknown soldier.'
I thought of you.
One will go to a girl,
Who cares so much
One will go to a boy,
Who makes me cry
One to a girl who,
Keeps my heart
One to a boy,
Unexplainably loved.
One to a woman,
Who taught me myself
One to a boy,
Who makes me laugh
Another to a boy
Who makes me think - too much.
There are dirty dishes
Spread across the kitchen
There is hoovering
That needs be done.
I forgot to take the
Trash out- again.
My room is alight
With chaos- like my life.
Plans to be made-
Stretching to infinity
But I think
Tomorrow,
I shall go out
And write a few,
Postcards.

 

No One Writes About Not Being Home for Diwali

No one writes about not being home for Diwali.

They’ll write songs and stories and poems

So full of pathos

For the tragedy

Of not being home

In festive December.

But November

Keeps getting shortchanged.

November, lonely November

When darkness falls

A little too early-

November could use some cheer.

Some lights, as it were.

Some fireworks, some diyas,

Some fairy lights, perhaps?

There’s never too much

Tradition or pomp in Diwali

Back home.

But there are fairy lights

And diya designs to be made

Brightening the house

So the goddess Lakshmi doesn’t miss it

(And I can afford to rip my father off

For the rest of the year).

There is good food, good cheer

And good company

(As good as family gets).

I haven’t burst crackers

Since I turned 13

And turned righteous.

But it was nice to climb the roof

Stand with my sister

Have some coke

And watch the streets

Grow molten

With light and life.

It was good to remember

The joy of an anaar flaring

To the skies

The sparkle of a phooljhadi

Aloo bombs making

Screaming, giggling children

Run back

Charkhis painting the road

There is always

The taste of ash and chemicals

That mingles with fresh oxygen

And means, home.

There is a cowering dog

To be comforted

And laughed at

(Just a bit).

There is my mother

Stuffing me with food

Till I collapse

My father waving around

Boxes of barfis and ladoos

Insisting I have them all

Teasing my mother-

Bargaining with her on how many she’s allowed.

Gossiping about our crazy family

With my sister

Pretending we are the normal ones

(We aren’t).

Perhaps I’d please my daadi

And roll my eyes

And wear something ‘traditional’

Muttering about how stupid it all was

(Secretly, it looked so lovely).

Lights drip down the ivory and onyx

Exterior of my house

And wrap around bushes

(My dad and I were being artistic).

If I sniff hard enough,

There is jasmine in the air

Wet earth

From earlier

When I helped the maali water the garden.

There is so much joy

And exhilaration-

Unabashed laughter

I feed on it

And can’t help but smile

Indulgently

At the children

Yelling themselves

Sore; In the streets

While thinking

I am above these youthful shenanigans

(I am not).

There are gifts to be given

In shiny wrapping paper

And so much to be

Brattily demanded

And boxes of dry fruits

To be opened

And all the kish mish to be stolen.

There is so much

That happens

In just a few hours

That I could never

Run of out words

To describe it.

There is so much to miss

And so much to crave.

So much light, love, happiness.

So much thanks to be given

(Perhaps a quick word to someone up above?)

So much to write about

And yet.

No one writes about not being home

For Diwali.

Memoriam

There are memories

I have concealed

Jealously

In deep hushed forests

Of dark pine trees

Each needle

A jabbing thought of you.

Deep memories

Buried in winter

That came tumbling out

Because a friend

Was owed some honesty.

Could you,

Make me feel a bit or more or too much?

Not today, not again

Always, forever.

I love you still

Madly and sadly

And differently

And samely.

I love you still

But there isn’t any still

In you or in me.

So I love you

Not as much as I should

Far less than I could

But more,

Far more than I thought.

Today

Today I spent

An age

Staring down

Blank, lined paper.

My laptop

Has a folder

Containing snapshots

By a camera lens

That adored

You both.

Today I hate you both-

A little, very much, 

Not at all. 

Today I wish

We weren't so

Screwed up together.

Today I don't want 

To be a living

Mausoleum; Of your 

Fucking love story. 

Today its 4:40 am

And I would like

A little love

A lot of sleep

And perhaps- absolution.

Today it's killing me.

Today I spent 

An age

Staring down

Blank, lined paper.

Autumn Dresses

Autumn will come again
And I will see it

Amble by

Unlike the Summer Sprint

That broke my heart

The tiniest bit.

I will look forward

To wind and clouds and manic laughs

Thick woolly scarves

Hot Chocolate with marshmallows

With a side of Essays

At the Library café.

I’ll pick a bench

At the Meadows

And freeze

Yet determinedly

Sniff the grass and trees.

I’ll discover

That dresses look good

On me.

I’ll discover

Looking in the mirror

And thinking,

‘Pretty’.

I’ll discover

The world is bigger

And smaller

Than I perceived.

I’ll learn to live

With wanting someone

I’ll never allow myself to have.

I’ll learn to love

Myself more than
I already do,

Narcissistic Personality Disorder

Be damned.

I’ll learn to be me
More completely

Less apologetically.

All this and more

I’ll take from autumn

As recompense

For what Summer

Took from me. 

Smudges and Trails

Sometimes

Times

I can’t admit

To even myself

I think of smudges

And you.

I think of deep red trails

My lips could leave

If I had the gumption

To cross over

And take, just take.

I think of smudges

Marking up

Borders and lines and territories

Precious order

That you love so much.

I think of wrecking

Red carnage on your skin.

Precious chaos

That I love so much.

I think

Of contrasts

And blood red lips

And the jut of a hip

The line of a back

And curve of a neck

An imprint of teeth

And red lipstick

Marking a temporary claim

I like such claims the best.

I think I could

Write an epic on you

Of you

With smudges and trails

And red, red lips. 

Dysfunctional

Once, just once

One time only

In this short life

I would like

To be in love

Dysfunctionally.

Once, just once
I would like

To be in love

Selfishly.

Once, just once

I would like

Very much like

To create a space

A world

A universe

Meant for two.

Just for two.

Me

And

You.

Once, just once
I’d like there to be

No space

No air

No nothing

For anyone else

Just a sacred

Hallowed

Part of time

Cut away

That is

Ours.

Just ours.

And no one intrudes.

I would will it

If I could

That I would be

All you see

All you dream

All you breathe

All you need.

Once, just once

Let’s shut the world out

Too loud, its too loud.

Let’s be in love.

Once, just once

Let’s be needy

Selfish

Co dependant

Stupid

Just a for a little time

Just a moment

One moment

Let me love you

Dysfunctionaly.