THE LAND OF HOMELESS
The fingertips of mountain gods write novels on sinned mortals while the teeth of a dentist is rotting.
The carpenter's door failed to be closed,while the molted fur of a sheep is shaved off in preparation of coming winter.
A bullet in the size of a bee, fatal but small , waiting to be entered into electric spores.
A nest of baby teeths were mermaids curl into peaceful sleep, unafraid of fishnets with pronouns of "he/him".
The light bulbs pumping darkness to take care of the travel of guns.
The tentacles of a wasp cuddling the prettiness of a shark smile, putting safety pins to keep it on place.
Dismantling the collar bone of a salmon before turning into a lavish feast.
Bruises of aggressive flames punched into your skin.
Gunpowder becoming the soil were my roots stand.
The song of an engine,kept near to the head of a one eared man, mocked for being same as your heart beat .
The inherited questions flowing from your mouth with a courage for the first time in lineage.
Holding pain close to my breast, like a mother touching lumpy head of a kid.
A brief muteness that is peaceful.
The final blow.
Our cheeks on the dust,
the dusk dividing the riven basin into coffin and land.
Dropping my body like a spoon in the floor, hoping to be picked up and cleaned- only to be rejected into a dust bin.
Waiting the bones to become ash, to spilled over the name of beloved .
Setting thunder as an alarm, because otherwise I will forget to wake up.
Whiteness that is colourless.
The carpenter's door failed to be closed,while the molted fur of a sheep is shaved off in preparation of coming winter.
A bullet in the size of a bee, fatal but small , waiting to be entered into electric spores.
A nest of baby teeths were mermaids curl into peaceful sleep, unafraid of fishnets with pronouns of "he/him".
The light bulbs pumping darkness to take care of the travel of guns.
The tentacles of a wasp cuddling the prettiness of a shark smile, putting safety pins to keep it on place.
Dismantling the collar bone of a salmon before turning into a lavish feast.
Bruises of aggressive flames punched into your skin.
Gunpowder becoming the soil were my roots stand.
The song of an engine,kept near to the head of a one eared man, mocked for being same as your heart beat .
The inherited questions flowing from your mouth with a courage for the first time in lineage.
Holding pain close to my breast, like a mother touching lumpy head of a kid.
A brief muteness that is peaceful.
The final blow.
Our cheeks on the dust,
the dusk dividing the riven basin into coffin and land.
Dropping my body like a spoon in the floor, hoping to be picked up and cleaned- only to be rejected into a dust bin.
Waiting the bones to become ash, to spilled over the name of beloved .
Setting thunder as an alarm, because otherwise I will forget to wake up.
Whiteness that is colourless.
The end.
The beginning.
(For Hijam Linthoingambi and Phijam Hemjit Singh )
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