I call your name
and the rain answers,
but it is not you.
The streets are cold,
and my hands search
for you
in the dark of the world.
You are not here,
yet I feel you
in every silence,
in every breath
I cannot breathe alone.

-

The Day I Fell in Love with a Spoon

I was reaching for a fork,
But there it was.
Shiny, smug,
Curved like it knew all the secrets of soup.

It wasn’t love at first sight,
No.
It was lust.
(For mashed potatoes.)

We stirred,
We scooped,
We spooned.
(Well, obviously.)

But then came trouble.
The knife was jealous.
The fork said I’d changed.
Even the ladle gave me the cold shoulder.

Mum said,
“It’s just a phase. You’ll settle down with a nice teaspoon.”
But I couldn’t.
I loved her.
My stainless steel sweetheart.

Until the dishwasher incident.
She came out…
Bent.

Now I stir my tea with a chopstick.
It doesn’t taste the same.

-

‎‎i do not love you
‎like thunders love the sky,
‎(too loud
‎to last)
‎
‎i love you
‎like roots love silence,
‎secretly
‎completely
‎beneath all things.
‎
‎you are not the sun
‎but the way light
‎climbs through
‎shattered windows
‎at 4:13 a.m.
‎when everyone else has left
‎but the moon
‎(and me)
‎
‎my heart is not a poem.
‎but if it were,
‎you'd be
‎every
‎misplaced
‎comma
‎i'd never correct.
‎
‎and when i die,
‎let the earth know
‎not to bury me
‎too deep.
‎
‎i’ll want to reach you
‎still.

-

A Small Note from God
‎
...‎‎I never asked
‎For the war to wear my name
‎Like a badge,
‎For prayers to sound like bargains,
‎Or temples to forget
‎The dust outside their doors.
‎
‎I gave you rivers,
‎You built borders.
‎I gave you stars,
‎You built clocks.

(Poem in caption)

-

The day after Sunday is sharpening it's claws!

-

‎Dead Fish
‎
...‎What crime did I commit
‎But being made of flesh,
‎And swimming
‎Where the hook waited?...

(Poem in caption)

-

I loved you like petals love silence,
Wrapped in ache, blooming from wounds.
My arms were a home I built for your sorrow,
And still, the roses grew.
They leaned towards the dark like lovers,
Dripping your name into the soil of my sleep.

-

The Cartographer of Dreams

I found a map drawn on the inside of a seashell,
It whispered your name in the language of rain.

Mountains bent backward like sleeping horses,
And rivers flowed uphill, drunk on moonlight.

You were there,
Gathering lost minutes in a jar made of breath.

I asked you what time meant,
And you fed me a spoonful of dusk.

In your eyes,
The sky was a wound stitched with silver fish.

And when I reached for you,
My hands turned into birds
And flew away!

-

I Spoke to the Earth

I pressed my mouth
To the belly of the earth.
It smelled of copper,
Of bones
That once sang like rivers.

I asked her,
“What have you done with my dead?”
She opened her arms,
And silence fell out
Like pomegranate seeds.

I lay there.
Not to listen,
But to become,
The stone,
The root,
The dark pulse that beats
Without needing a name!

-

Ashesong

Who stitched the sky with invisible thread?
A blind spider, spinning from my head.
Why do mirrors refuse to speak your face?
They swallowed your shadow, and kept the taste.
Who taught the clocks to bleed in reverse?
Time fell asleep inside a verse.
Why does my heart sing when stones appear?
They carry your footsteps, trapped in a tear.

-